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“They call themselves ‘The Children Who God Forgot’,” Lottie said, rolling her eyes. She gave her ice cream a token lick with her pointed pink tongue and tucked her hair behind her ear as she shook her head at their stupidity.

Louis raised an eyebrow. It had taken a lot of bribery in the form of ice cream to persuade his little sister to tell him more about Harry (he didn’t care; he was just trying to get up to scratch on local gossip, that was all). So far, she’d told him all of the boy’s favourite haunts, the many reasons why all of their strictly Christian neighbours completed hated him (gay, wore eyeliner, listened to ‘horrible music’ – although apparently always at an acceptable volume that never disturbed anyone, so their disapproval was unwarranted – liked to wear black, didn’t come to church, disliked haircuts, had a divorced mother and yet had insisted on keeping his father’s name so that people would know about it, and had a tightly-knit group of non-Christian friends) given him a detailed description of said friends, and was currently explaining the name of Harry’s little gang of eyeliner-wearing misfits.

“It’s supposed to be ironic,” she explained, shaking her head. “When Harry came out as gay, Father Marshall went around to pay him a visit and try to talk some sense into him. He was very reasonable about it; he explained that it’s just a childhood phase, and God will help him through it. He told him that homosexuality isn’t God’s wish and that he understands Harry’s going through a lot of turmoil at the moment, and he knows it’s hard, but he hopes that Harry will start coming back to church and let God help him instead of shutting him out. Apparently, he said something along the lines of ‘I know it must feel like God has forgotten you, but I think you’ll find that he’s waiting on the sidelines for you to make the right decision’. Well, Harry obviously didn’t take him very seriously, because the next day his little gang suddenly started announcing that they were ‘The Children Who God Forgot’, and thinking it was hilarious.”

Louis couldn’t decide whether he was appalled or amused; on one hand, it was clearly a mark of intelligence that the boy had twisted their argument against him and found a way of mocking it, but it was incredibly disrespectful as well.

“He’s, uh…he has an awful lot of…tattoos and stuff,” he said inadequately.

Lottie giggled. “Oh, I know! For someone so pale, he takes his top off an awful lot! There’s far more underneath that shirt of his, believe me.” She giggled again and covered her mouth to hide her laughter; her mother would have been horrified at the kind of conversation they were having.

“Who are his friends, then? Do I know them? I don’t think I actually know him, when I think about it; I haven’t seen him at school.” He’d have remembered that boy, most definitely. Besides, the dress code at Louis’ school didn’t really allow for angel bites and tattooed elbows and such.

“Nah, he goes to the public school on the other side of town. He doesn’t even go to church, Lou; you really think they’d let him go to your school? His best mate is that Irish kid, Niall something, and that guy Zayn, and they’re just as tattooed and covered in eyeliner as he is. That Zayn guy has taken tattoos to a whole new level, though; it’s ridiculous, actually. He’s got them everywhere.”

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, Lottie nibbling on the cone of her ice cream while Louis wondered whether she was going to demand another one once she’d finished it, and whether he could really afford to keep satisfying his younger sister’s ice cream desires, and whether it was fair to buy one for her and not for any of the other girls, even if it was for the sake of bribery. 

“Does he cause a lot of trouble around town?” he asked, attempting to sound casual.

It evidently didn’t work; she glanced up at him suspiciously. “You’re as bad as Fizzy! What’s gotten you so interested in him all of a sudden? What’s with all the questions?”

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