Seven

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I walked straight in without knocking, this had to be the quickest friendship I'd ever developed. I'd never just fitted so easily with a group of people before. It probably helped that they let me in as if I'd been there all along. PJ and Chris were on the floor, taking apart some complicated looking camera equipment. Bryony was lying on PJ's bed reading a book and I guessed Phil was in a class. Chris looked up briefly in greeting, but was too absorbed in his work to say anything. I collapsed onto Phil's bed, letting out a sigh of relief as I dropped my heavy bag.

I paid little attention to their conversation as I pulled out the essay I was supposed to have written several weeks ago, settling down opposite Bryony in comfortable silence. The room smelled warm and homely. The scents of the three boys merged to form a woody, musky aroma so different to the smell of sweat and booze that wafted out of most of the rooms. I leant against the heavy curtains as I wrote, able to gaze out the window towards the forest in the distance. A guy in a purple shirt was out jogging towards the woods, and the tops of the trees looked almost golden in the sunlight. I couldn't see the path I'd followed with Phil, but I was pretty sure it was on the other side near the station. I'd barely seen him since Saturday, and the river seemed so many miles away from the stuffy confines of the classrooms. I hadn't mentioned it to anyone, I wasn't even entirely convinced it was real. It felt like if I let the words escape my mouth they'd be gone forever.

"Why don't we put the dance bit in the title and end sequences?"

This caught my attention, literature instantly forgotten.

"Yeah, that's probably easier," PJ agreed, "I reckon it could look pretty cool, too. Spooky silhouette dancing, blood effects, music. That sort of thing."

The picture formed in my mind and I was already choreographing; leaps, jumps, a loose contemporary style... I wondered what music they'd pick, presumably they had to write that too. Maybe PJ would sing.

I thought about dancing. We'd get the studio when no one was around, I wanted it just the three of them. PJ and Chris because it was their project, Phil because well, I'd been secretly wanting to dance for him since that first kiss in the bushes. I wanted him to see me fly.

It didn't stop me being horrifically nervous though. What if I was awful? They'd be too polite find someone else, what if I failed them? What if Phil was put off me forever? What if I danced into a mirror or something... too many what-if's. I tried to stop myself thinking about it.

"I hope Phil gets a move on," Chris sighed, looking at his watch. "I really need to show him how this works so he can handle the camera this evening."

"It's that guy he's seeing," PJ muttered. "He's probably fucking him in the toilets or something, his lesson finished half an hour ago."

I froze. The word I had been writing came to an abrupt end with a huge ink blot, but I didn't notice. My eyes were wide, transfixed on the paper. It took me a full minute to remind myself to breathe. It was another minute before I managed to slowly and manually unclench my hand, the pen leaving an angry red imprint in my skin. I turned my head to face them. They hadn't noticed me.

"What?" I whispered, my voice high and shaky.

Chris looked up at me in surprise. "I just said we're going to use the Panasonic, better pivoting system."

"No, I mean earlier. Is Phil — does he have a boyfriend?" I tried to keep my face neutral, cursing myself inside.

I'd been so fixated on what was really a quick kiss.  A spur of the moment thing. It meant nothing. Nothing. I'd been so stupid to think that there was anything to it, that Phil and I...

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