Stranger - 1. Stranger

“Woah! That’s a proper bush!” The three kids surrounding the boy with his arm up were fascinated, but he himself remained neutral. He couldn’t understand what they found so interesting. The way he saw it, underarm hair was something everyone had at that age. He put his arm back down and buttoned up his shirt.

Magnus stood a few feet behind the other boys, not really part of the group, but a spectator nonetheless. He hadn’t joined them in coaxing George into showing his pubescent fuzz, nor had he commented when it was revealed. Instead, he had observed from a distance and, though he said nothing, had felt just as awestruck as the other boys. Reaching under his t-shirt, he stroked the bare skin under his arm. I’m 4 months older than him, he thought. Why don’t I have that?

All was forgotten when George forced the ball from under Nick’s foot and dribbled it down to the makeshift goalpost on the other side of the square. They all chased after him, but could not prevent him from taking it right to the goal and smashing it through. As he celebrated, the boys chided him, calling him a cheater and attempting to discredit the goal. All Magnus could do was watch the black-haired boy jump around in delight, his cheeks having gone the distance from white to full blush in a matter of seconds. Magnus started to slink off towards one of the cobbled alleyways, but was called out by one of the boys.

“Hey, Magnus! Aren’t you playing?”

Only half-turning back, he muttered, “Er, umm – no, I have to go back. See you later.”

“What? Why?” The boy raised his arms up, incredulous, and by that point had drawn the attention of the other boys, who looked towards Magnus but said nothing.

“Sorry! Got to go!” He didn’t bother looking back this time, and continued downhill until he reached the stone staircase leading down to the beach.

It was a long way down, and a sea breeze blew salty and damp against his body as he plodded towards the white sand.

In a way, he wished he hadn’t seen it. It was another reason to feel inferior to the other boys. Managing to get invited to the game of football had been hard enough, and he had felt like an intruder throughout, especially standing in George’s shadow; George, that confident, popular kid whom he deemed the epitome of coolness. And now there was proof that he was more of a man than Magnus. Why was it all so unfair?

The sand under his feet was cool. It was almost evening, and the sun no longer scorched it to a furnace heat. The waves came to their final rest on the sand softly, rhythmically, and the only other sound was the faint hum of a tavern somewhere in the sleepy whitewashed village above. Only Magnus and his thoughts occupied the beach.

In the past year, his emotions had taken on a life of their own, and had become almost impossible to rein in, no matter what he tried. What’s more, he felt completely alone.

Nobody has the same problems as me.

All the success and happiness he saw around him was directly mirrored by his misery and misfortune. Boys in his class seemed happier, more popular, more confident. They had girlfriends and gadgets and pool parties at their house to which he wasn’t invited. And they didn’t have to deal with all those crushes, those weird, heartbreaking, soul-destroying infatuations that seem to last a lifetime and threatened to split the earth underneath his feet and swallow him whole. Nobody understands me, he would think.

Impulsively, he threw off his t-shirt and ran at full speed towards the water, getting a couple of meters in and turning and falling over on his back voluntarily. Time slowed as he plunged flat into the cold saltwater, looking up at the surface and the setting orange sun piercing it weakly. He let his arms and legs relax so that they floated upwards, and exhaled and watched the bubbles rise in slow motion until they broke free on the surface. He darted up to the surface and broke through, gasping for air.

**

The road up through the town center was crowded on account of a nearby fete, and the supervisors frantically ran around trying to corral the kids and make sure nobody was lost. Traditional music spilled out of every alleyway and local children were running amok.

One of the boys in Magnus’s class broke off from the group to tackle a younger kid playing football nearby, and he managed to gain possession of the ball and proceeded to dangle it teasingly in front of the three local boys who had come up to challenge him. It was not a friendly gesture - he did it to impress the girls.

Typical Ross, thought Magnus.

He was undeniably skilled, and managed to outdribble all three kids, which was impressive, despite their age.

The stunt achieved its desired effect, as the girls cooed and shrieked. Even the ones who feigned disinterest couldn’t help but take a peek at the action and pass comment to their girlfriends.

The sideshow was brought to an abrupt halt when one of the supervisors stepped in and forced Ross to give the ball up. He returned to the group red-faced, not from embarrassment, but rather fatigue. The boy was not at all apologetic.

Magnus didn’t appreciate the move; he considered it bullying, but, as he watched his classmate receive high-fives from his friends, he couldn’t help but feel envy – that familiar envy that hit him like a sledgehammer and left him brooding for hours. Ross was superior in every way, Magnus told himself. Look at that immaculate blond hair, that perfect face. And who taught him to dress that well? No-one had ever taught Magnus, who had thrown on some cargo shorts and an orange t-shirt he’d never even bothered to read. His lack of self-esteem drove him to quietness and withdrawal.

A souvenir shop provided relief from the blazing sunshine. Magnus would much rather have spent the morning at the beach, but, under instruction from the school to provide a cultural experience, the supervisors had decided that a trip into town was the best course of action, much to the group’s chagrin.

Magnus gripped some loose notes from his pocket, uncrumpled them, and tried to estimate their value. It was his first encounter with the strange currency and he still hadn’t got his head around it.

So, a hundred equals six – so that means I have…thirty on me, plus these coins – I think these are worthless…

He turned pieces of copper around in his fingers and, though he considered throwing them out on the street, pocketed them, and kept two of the larger silver ones in his palm. He thought about how much he had back in his room, but could barely remember – it was his first solo vacation, and never before had he had to manage his own finances. He thought he must have at least four thousand stowed away for the rest of the trip – 5 days – which would be more than enough.

Everyone around him was picking something up for their friends and family back home – a keychain, a magnet, a snowglobe. Magnus had already bought something for each one of his siblings, but nothing yet for his parents, and so felt an obligation to make a purchase. Looking around, he settled on a watercolor print of a museum that looked familiar – it might’ve been the one they visited on the first day.

The old lady at the till beamed at him as he came over and pointed across the room at his choice, and she sent her young daughter to the supply room to fetch a copy. When the girl came back and placed it on the counter, Magnus peered over at the price sticker and his heart skipped a beat when he saw the number: three hundred, much higher than the price he though he saw listed on the display. Turning around, he saw that a small queue had formed behind him, and, panicking slightly, he pulled the notes from his pocket and handed them over to the lady, who accepted them, smiling, without returning any change, and thanked him in a language he didn’t understand. He walked away sullen and empty-handed, having forgotten to take the picture, and embarrassment ensued as the shopkeeper alerted him to the fact by shouting over to him in front of his classmates. Heart racing, he rushed back to the counter, accidentally bumping into a lady in the queue on his way. Apologizing without looking at her, he continued to move on at speed to the counter, chuckled awkwardly, grabbed the item and made a beeline for the exit. He felt absolutely awful.

It felt like pure providence that nobody brought up the souvenir shop fiasco for the rest of the day. Maybe they were keeping quiet out of respect, or maybe it wasn’t as big a deal as Magnus made it out to be. He did have a knack for exaggeration, but it was undoubtedly linked to how strongly he reacted to everything, how badly he took every loss and how emotional the slightest setback or mishap made him. It was natural, therefore, that throughout the rest of the day’s activities - the beach trip, the boat journey, the restaurant meal - he remained meek and withdrawn.

As he retired to his villa, he thought about the day’s events and was glad that, despite everything, people seemed friendly towards him around the dinner table at the end of the night. Things seemed normal, despite how he felt inside. He remembered Andrew offering him the rest of his soda, which he accepted gratefully. He recalled George and the gang talking about the football and not mentioning Magnus’s departure. Maybe things are picking up, he thought.

The stone path snaked its way around the villa complex, lit white by the lightposts dotted around the grass. Cicadas chirped hypnotically in the bushes, and there was no other sound, as he’d been making his way back alone, having left the restaurant early. Above him, rainclouds gathered.

Feeling around in his pockets for his keys, Magnus wondered how much cash he’d had left, and found after some digging that only coins remained. He panicked slightly. Where has the rest gone? Furiously performing the calculations in his head, he realized that the dinner bill must’ve eaten into what little he’d had left after the souvenir shop debacle.

Picking up his pace, he made his way down the path and turned right at the signpost indicating villas 14-19. George was still in the restaurant, so the lights were off at number 16. Fumbling through his keys, he unlocked the blue wooden door and jogged over to his safe.

4-2-1-9.

He unlocked it and grabbed the notes within. One thousand, two thousand – where was the rest?

Magnus pawed furiously through the safe, but couldn’t find any more notes. He tried the pockets of all his shorts but found nothing, and a dreaded thought came to his head: Could this be it? Could I really have spent that much money?

It took a while to finally sink in that that was truly all he had left; there was no way George had accessed his safe, or that he, Magnus, had lost any money. He tried to play back all his purchases in his head, but was too panicked to think clearly, so he did the only thing he could do: he picked up the phone and called home.

The kids had been given strict orders not to use the phones for international calls, which amplified Magnus’s anxiety as he keyed the number in. After five rings, his mother picked up. He was frantic.

“Mom!”

She picked up on his panic immediately, and asked what was wrong.

“I don’t have any money left! I mean I only have 2 thousand!”

Upon discovering that her son was not in mortal danger, his mother breathed a sigh of relief, told Magnus not to scare her like that, and said that it wasn’t a problem and that she’d call the supervisors the next day to sort it out.

“Mom, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened! I’m sorry!” Again, she told him not to worry, and when he started sobbing and telling her that the call they were on was against the rules, she assured him that she’d make it alright with the supervisors the next day.

They talked for another five minutes, and she attempted to put his mind at ease before they finally said their goodbyes and I-love-yous.

Magnus put the headset down and lay flat on his mattress. His crying had subsided towards the end of the call, but a sadness persisted, one that was entwined with deep guilt for having spent that much money so quickly. In a way, he felt as though he had let his parents down. How would he have coped if George was in the room as he made the discovery? It would’ve added injury to insult on one of the most insulting days of his life.

After wallowing briefly, he made his way to the safe and solemnly replaced the items that had fallen out during his rummage. One of his cards had fallen onto George’s unmade bed, the foot of which sat perpendicular to the workdesk which held the safe. Magnus’s hand lingered on the fabric of George’s quilt as he grabbed the card, and suddenly, he’d given himself a reason to start sobbing again. He held the card under his nostrils – it bore a trace of George’s scent. Magnus sunk down against his roommate’s bedpost, closed his eyes and held the card against his chest, sobbing.

The human brain is odd. It flinches at any hint of danger, urgently spurs the muscles it controls into fight or flight, protects our physiological integrity when threatened by injury, and even brings us back to balance when our psychological chemistry is out of whack. But when it comes to emotion, it has the tendency in some to stoke the flame and perpetuate the wallowing. Despite having been kicked down by circumstance that day, Magnus chose to close his eyes and summon painful memories of the boy on whom he’d had a crush for two years.

Through the slightly open window by Magnus’s bed came a patter of rain that jumpstarted him back to the present. He stood up and walked over to it and discovered that a few drops had found their way through the gap and onto his exposed bedsheets. Reaching over, he pulled the window down and made his way through the corridor to the bathroom to ready himself for bed.

He placed both palms on the edge of the sink, and, with his elbows extended, leaned towards the mirror. His eyes were puffed up and red, and he splashed them with cold water to hide any evidence of crying, though he felt the floodgates could open at any time.

George was still not back, to Magnus’s relief. It was best he didn’t see him in this state. Standing at the foot of his bed, he took off his pajamas, leaving only his boxers on, slipped into bed and turned off the light.

It was half past eleven by the time George came back, soaked and panting after having sprinted to the villa in what had turned into a fully-fledged rain shower.

All the lights were off, and he was careful to be quiet coming in. He kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, which were thoroughly soaked, and wiped his wet feet on the rug.

He snuck into the corridor and peered through into the bedroom, where he saw Magnus’s unmoving outline under his blanket, and moved quietly to the bathroom, where he took off his clothes and lay them over the side of the bathtub, leaving only his underwear on. He toweled himself off, brushed his teeth, and made his way to bed without turning any of the lights on.

Through the closed window by Magnus’s bed came the faint sound of raindrops beating down on the windowsill. George slipped under his quilt and waited for sleep to come.

As he lay silently, he heard a sound coming from Magnus’s bed.

Is he…crying? He thought.

He turned over to face the bed against the wall on the other side of the room, lifted his right ear slightly so that it wasn’t pressed against his pillow, and strained to listen. The blind was pulled down three-quarters of the way, and some light seeped in from outside, allowing George to see the outline of his roommate’s body, and he could tell from that way it arhythmically bobbed up and down that Magnus was crying, but crying so lightly that he could barely be heard. George felt heavier inside, like a weight had been dropped straight down his throat to his gut.

He didn’t sleep until Magnus did.

**

The sun blared relentlessly on the boys during their morning game of football. Last night’s weather had not carried over, and the only evidence of its passing was an odd stubborn puddle here and there.

Magnus didn’t have to ask to partake in the game, as he’d been summoned over by Nick, who’d found him wandering the hotel grounds after most had vacated them. He, Magnus, wasn’t particularly in the mood for sport, or entertainment of any kind for that matter, as yesterday’s events still weighed heavy on him, and he wouldn’t have minded being left alone the entire day, but he couldn’t say no when Nick dragged him over to the park, as he was in no mood to argue.

“Nice shot!” Magnus’s strike was accurate and powerful, but was skillfully stopped by the goalkeeper. One of the older kids had given him encouragement. On the next possession, George, who was on the opposing team, received the ball, outdribbled two defenders, and struck the ball through the posts cleanly with the outside of his foot. It was a masterful shot, and he celebrated accordingly.

Magnus looked him up and down, observing his genuine smile and pink cheeks. He hadn’t been in bed when Magnus had woken up that morning, and, as soon as he did, he had begun to think about the night before, and whether or not George had heard him crying. He’d tried his hardest to be as quiet as possible, and decided that there was no way he could’ve been heard.

George glanced at Magnus as he walked back to his half of the makeshift pitch. His smile was fading now, and he noticed that Magnus was glum. He gave him a second glance, and this time he caught his eye, and Magnus could swear he felt sympathy coming from the boy. It was short-lived, however, as George turned around rapidly in response to the ball rolling towards the back of his feet, and the game continued.

Despite his mood, Magnus was playing better than ever before. He had already scored a goal, and was dribbling past defenders with confidence on his way to a second. He passed the ball accurately to the wing and made a skillful run to receive the tail end of a one-two, which he tapped home with the inside of his foot right under the keeper’s arm. He was about to start celebrating, but restrained himself, and just smiled and jogged back to his half with one arm raised. On the way back, he turned and glanced at George to see his reaction. He was just upset at having conceded the goal, and was readying himself for the next play. Magnus felt slightly disappointed, so it was a consolation when Ross gave him a high five, which boosted his confidence.

The game went on normally until, as Magnus was making a run down the left wing, he tripped over one of the more overzealous boy’s outstretched legs and tumbled over. He’d scraped his knee, and it wasn’t major, but a few of the players asked if he was OK, and George came jogging over, squatted down and looked very concerned.

“Hey, are you OK?” he asked sincerely, his voice low, his eyes worried. It was the most welcome sight, and it picked Magnus right up.

“Yes, I’m fine, just a little scratched.”

Satisfied that the injury was only minor, George stood up and offered his hand forward, and Magnus gratefully accepted it and used it to pull himself up. It was a small gesture that left Magnus glowing.

Throughout the evening, Magnus noticed that George seemed to be watching over him, like an older brother. They didn’t talk, but George would occasionally watch Magnus’s expression when he felt he may have been catching flak from the other boys, and saw to it that he, Magnus, stayed with the group and remained very much a part of its dynamic. When the match was over, he approached Magnus, pointed to his knee, and asked him if he felt any better.

“Yes,” said Magnus, smiling.

Towards the latter part of the day, some of the kids retreated to their villas to prepare for dinner or to kill time. George and Magnus had gone back to number 16, but not together. George was there when Magnus walked in.

“Hey,” muttered Magnus, without looking up.

“Hey.” George was tying his shoelaces.

“Do you need the shower?” asked Magnus, retrieving fresh clothes from the wardrobe and placing them gently on his bed.

“No, just used it,” he replied.

Magnus grabbed a towel and made his way to the bathroom, and as he did, George turned his head slightly to watch him walk out of the room, and he felt sad.

Time alone in the shower forced Magnus to retreat into his thoughts, which he did not particularly want to do. The money situation still lingered over him, despite the fact that, earlier that afternoon, he’d been pulled aside by one of the supervisors and had been told that as soon as he ran out of money, all he had to do was ask for more.

He wanted George to still be in the room when he got out, even though he, George, probably wouldn’t want to walk up to the hotel with him, and, even if he did, Magnus wouldn’t have been able to strike up a conversation, and was too glum to be decent company.

As it so happened, George was already gone, leaving only a messy bedspread and a pair of sneakers behind. Magnus sat on the edge of his bed looking at George’s, and his breath became quick and heavy as he caught a flotsam of his scent.

It was only their third night sharing a room together, and they got on well, but would have been closer were it not for the crippling combination of Magnus’s low self-image and his romantic feelings towards his roommate. They’d been randomly matched in the same room, and it was not the worst pairing, as they were in the same peer group, but, put alone together, they didn’t have much to say.

Magnus got ready and made his way up to the main hotel building, dreading the meal ahead and all its social obligations. There’d be Ross, showboating and talking to all the girls, there’d be Nick and Andrew talking about football and Panini stickers, with George and the boys chiming in every now and then. And all the girls, dolled up and ready to judge anyone and anything that came into their view. At least the food was good.

The meal went by mercifully fast and without major embarrassment from Magnus’s side. In fact, he was praised for his play in the morning game of football, and was the butt of only one, light-hearted joke.

The plate holding the remnants of his rabbit stew was cleared by the waiter, and soon it was time for the dreaded bill to be paid. Magnus dug both his hands into his pockets, and, to his surprise, found two extra notes of five hundred each. He desperately racked his brain thinking about where they may have come from, looking around wide-eyed as though the table might somehow hold the answer. He’d only brought 300 with him – he was sure of it – but somehow now in his fist he clutched over triple the sum. Could he have left them in that pair of shorts by accident? He hadn’t worn them since the first day, so it was possible, but it still seemed unlikely.

He didn’t share his discovery with anyone, instead choosing to celebrate internally. His heart was racing and his mood was lifted, and, after he’d chipped in for the meal, he became chatty and engaged.

The walk back to the villa provided ample time for Magnus to reflect on his luck. While the supervisors had reassured him that he needn’t have been concerned about the money, they could do nothing to alleviate the guilt of wasting all that money, of being so irresponsible the first time he was entrusted to go on holiday without his family. Now he felt relieved; he hadn’t wasted as much as he’d thought, and, while the remaining sum should still have been larger, it felt good regardless.

Another thought crept into his mind: what if, in his rush to go out that evening, he’d grabbed more cash from the safe than he thought he had? What if the extra money he’d found in his pocket had been absent-mindedly withdrawn from the same, meager reserves? Picking up his pace, he made his way to the villa, slightly fearful of the possibility.

The lights were on. He swung the door open and stepped heavily through the corridor. George was sitting on the side of his bed reading a comic book and eating a KitKat. He hadn’t yet changed into his pajamas.

Magnus shot him a quick look, said hi, and went straight over to unlock the safe, trying not to look too panicked as he rummaged through the contents. George looked over, half-interested.

1000, 1500…

Everything seemed in order – he hadn’t over-withdrawn. Trying to look as casual as possible, he closed the safe and sat at his desk, mind at ease.

“Hey, everything alright?” George asked from behind him. Magnus turned around furtively to see that George had set the comic book down on his lap and was leaning back with chocolate in hand.

“Hm? Yeah, fine, thanks,” he replied brusquely.

George continued. “What was that about? With the safe? Did you lose something?”

A moment ensued where it felt like time stood still.

“No, I found something.” Magnus caught himself saying those words, and instantly regretted it.

“Wadduyu mean?”

He backtracked. “Nothing, it’s nothing. What are you reading?” Changing subject was the best course of action, he thought. George shuffled himself upright with his forearms and picked up the comic book with one hand.

“It’s Teen Titans. The latest edition, I think. My brother gave it to me.”

“Teen Titans? Who’s in that?” asked Magnus, arm rested on the top of the back of his chair and body turned to face George.

“Oh, it’s pretty random,” replied George, “come take a look.” George was actually beckoning him over to the bed. It was the most excited Magnus had been for a while.

George’s mattress felt the same as his own, but considering how Magnus felt being invited on to it, it may as well have come from a different planet. George casually flipped the pages over to show Magnus the cast of characters.

“Here they are,” he said, pointing at a page where the ensemble cast all made an appearance in a single caption. Magnus could barely think straight, but made an attempt to identify the characters.

“Is that Storm, and - Hawkeye?” he guessed. George chuckled, but not maliciously.

“No, that one is Nightstar, and that’s Red Hood. But yeah, they look like Storm and Hawkeye. This is DC though, not Marvel,” he explained.

“Oh.” Magnus was surprised and a little taken aback, and George noticed.

“It’s OK, I didn’t know who they were 'til yesterday. This is my first DC comic ever.” They both smiled. “Hey, do you want a KitKat?” He held out the pack of four chocolate fingers, from which two remained. In Magnus’s mind, George may as well have asked to be his boyfriend. The gesture was that touching to him. He felt weak.

“Thank you,” he gurgled, accepting it and snapping off one of the fingers. As he reached over to hand back the last finger, George pushed it back towards him and told him to keep it. He savored it slowly, disbelievingly. He was actually sharing George’s chocolate. Suddenly, it wasn’t like any other KitKat he’d had before. It carried more meaning. It was a beacon of friendship he’d never thought would be passed to him, and it seemed almost a shame to eat it and watch it disappear.

“These white KitKats are amazing,” said Magnus, twirling around the remaining half of the finger he’d just bitten into .

“Yeah, they’re my favorite. I can eat them all day,” said George, looking over at Magnus and smiling. Magnus responded by shyly looking down and smiling. George wagged his feet, causing the bed to bounce slightly.

“Who’s that?” asked Magnus between bites, pointing at the muscular blonde costumed man who appeared to be the leader.

“That’s Darkstar. He’s cool.” He certainly looked cool to Magnus, and attractive to boot.

“What’re his powers?” asked Magnus, still holding the chocolate bar. George had scooched up nearer to him and their bodies were almost touching.

“Well, he’s got this thing, it’s called an Exo-Mantle. It’s like a special suit, and it makes him super strong and lets him fly and shoot energy beams,” he explained, getting slightly excited.

“Cool,” said Magnus. He didn’t have much else to offer, being this nervous. George flipped through the pages idly, saying nothing as he did, and Magnus felt he needed to say something to keep the conversation alive.

“So, you’re into superheroes?”

“Kinda. I watch the X-Men cartoon sometimes-” Magnus smiled and nodded his head profusely at this tidbit, indicating he was familiar with the series, “- and some Spiderman and stuff. But I’ve never read a comic before this. I get most of my info from my brother. He’s a huge nerd.”

Magnus giggled. He was absolutely ecstatic about where the evening had ended up; where he now found himself. The only thing that brought him down was knowing that this would eventually come to an end.

“But, like, what I like about superheroes is, they’re just normal people, right?” George’s voice took on a more serious tone. “They could be anyone, just walking around. And they have to keep their identity secret. They’re so awesome and everyone would think it’s so cool if they knew who they were. But they don’t tell. They could be anyone walking around.” Magnus’s grin had rapidly subsided and he was now totally mesmerized and slightly slack-jawed as he listened to George speak. He almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was like the layers of cool that made up George were melting away and they were just two humans, on the same level, sharing real feelings, without pretense or theater.

At the end of George’s speech, Magnus could offer no response, and for a couple of seconds they sat silent, until Magnus snapped out of it and agreed with George, telling him that he’d had that thought before.

“Cool,” responded George. “Hey, want another KitKat?” Magnus smiled and nodded enthusiastically, and watched as George leaned over, opened the bottom drawer of his bedside cabinet, and rifled through it. He caught a glimpse of a pair of George’s boxers that lay among the heap, and his heart jumped.

“Here it is,” said George, pulling out a four-finger pack of white KitKats. Magnus reeled his body back sharply and desperately tried to make out like he hadn’t been staring. As George sprang back, his left hand grazed Magnus’s right accidentally. It was pure magic. Of course, Magnus reeled back as though the contact was undesirable, and George apologized sharply without paying too much mind or even raising his head. The contact raised Magnus’s pulse and sent him into a state of euphoria. He accepted the KitKat meekly and unwrapped it.

“Hey, what do you think of Ross?” George asked, accepting the single chocolate finger Magnus had just offered him.

What did Magnus think of Ross? He pictured Ross in his mind’s eye, summoning an image of the 5”2’ blonde kid who was as popular as he was attractive. He’d known him since the last year of primary school and had remained in the periphery of his friendship circle ever since. To Magnus, he was a role model, someone to emulate; to be jealous of. To obsess about. To cry himself to sleep about. Of course, he couldn’t say any of this to George.

“He’s OK – he’s fun. I like him. Why?”

George’s mouth sagged slowly as his expression changed. “Really? I think he’s a bit of a dick.”

This was unexpected. Magnus had thought that George and Ross were quite close; that they were of the same tribe. Eyes wide and intrigued, he said, “You do? Why?” Suddenly, he felt the image he held of Ross being shredded apart.

“Like, that thing he did on Sunday morning, with the football. And just the way he acts around girls,” replied George. Magnus wanted to pick George’s brain on the matter, to find out everything he felt about their classmate. When George spoke, his words formed a trail of gold that streamed from his mouth and became enshrined in a special corner of Magnus’s mind. “Don’t you think?”

George chewed his chocolate much more slowly. “Yeah, I guess – you’re right. I mean, he’s a bit of a douche to girls but he doesn’t really act any differently to them than any of the other boys.”

George looked away from Magnus, turning his attention to the other side of the room and lowering his voice. “Yeah, I don’t really like it though. From anyone.” A short silence followed.

“I don’t think many people like me either,” murmured Magnus. George turned his head sharply, looking confused.

“What? I’ve never heard anyone say anything bad about you.”

Magnus perked up. “Really?”

“Yeah, everyone likes you. You’re just really shy and never talk. This is silly, but I was kinda afraid to talk to you just now. You look like you’ve been pretty down for the past couple of days. Are you OK?”

Magnus was elated. George obviously cared about his wellbeing, and it seemed the only thing that held back their friendship was Magnus’s timidity.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just…I just-” He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to tell the truth about the money, lest he come off as irresponsible, and he struggled to make up an excuse on the fly. “Just a little homesick,” he finally said. “I’ve never been away for this long.”

“Oh. OK. It’s just four more days.” It was all George offered, and it appeared it wasn’t the confession he was seeking from Magnus. They both looked around aimlessly and slightly awkwardly.

“What’re we doing tomorrow?” Magnus asked to break the silence.

“I think we’re going to a new beach, then going on some kind of bus trip to a museum later,” replied George. “Hey, do you wanna sit next to me on the bus? We can read this,” he brandished his comic. It was a complete no-brainer for Magnus, who immediately and excitedly accepted. He had wondered how long it’d be before George asked him to vacate the bed, and was dreading the moment, but now, with the promise of further time together the next day, he felt it appropriate to announce that he was going to bed, and slipped off George’s mattress, wiping the crumbs on his lap onto the floor.

George got up to go to go the bathroom, and Magnus sat in his bed basking in warm ecstasy. His emotions were pumped up to capacity as serotonin flooded his system like water out of a broken dam. George’s presence, his aroma, his aura persisted in the room after his departure, and Magnus was fully caught up.

When he emerged out of the bathroom, it was as though George radiated an energy that caused such a stir in Magnus that he was almost intoxicated. Looking at him with new eyes, he felt such love emanating from every ounce of his being. He wanted to care for, protect and nurture every part of the boy.

After they wished each other goodnight, turned off the lights and retreated to their beds, they both lay awake in silence. Magnus watched George’s breathing in the dark quiet. After a couple of minutes, George spoke unexpectedly.

“Magnus.” It was almost a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Do you feel better?”

“Yeah.”

This time he really meant it.

**

The Mediterranean stretched upwards from the edge of the limestone cliff ahead of Magnus and out into infinity. It was a scorcher, with not a wisp of wind to blow cool the beads of sweat dotting his exposed torso. He begged for sweet relief, but water was a ten meter drop away, and discomfort had not yet trumped fear.

The other boys had remained surprisingly docile, not goading each other into jumping quite as aggressively as Magnus thought they would. A few hundred meters down the coast, on the sandy beach, was the rest of the class – mostly girls – and some watched, but most were indifferent.

Magnus stepped gingerly over to the edge of the cliff, his bare feet painfully navigating sharp pebbles and shrub, and peered over the edge, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody had a notion to push him off. It was uncomfortably high, and the cliff jutted out over an ominous-looking array of slippery rock platforms and exposed jumbles of fallen stone that should not have rendered any jump at a normal trajectory dangerous, but that scared Magnus nonetheless.

Some of the boys had already taken the leap and had come up and around to tell tales of their bravery, or to shrug it off like it was nothing and go for a second or third jump. Of course, Ross had been fearlessly tumbling and flipping every which way, leaving Magnus slack-jawed and heavy-hearted. The way he viewed Ross had changed following his talk with George the previous night, and while the feeling of envy and hopelessness persisted as he watched Ross continuing to be better at everything than him yet again, George’s words echoed in his mind and had planted the seeds of aversion to the boy he once looked up to.

“Come on, Magnus! Your turn!” Nick was being as annoying as usual.

“You’re bone dry, mate,” retorted Magnus. “I don’t see you jumping in!”

Nick gave a sarcastic ‘Ooo’, and then broke into a sprint and cannonballed over the edge. Magnus was the last man standing, and George had just climbed over and around after his jump, and was dripping wet. Magnus watched him ruffle his beautiful jet-black hair as seawater dripped down the stretched skin of his torso into the navy boardshorts hugging his hips and legs. The most beautiful smile was drawn across his face as he looked up to Magnus and shouted over to him.

“Come on Magnuuus!” He’d changed his tone when speaking to Magnus. It seemed like, overnight, they’d formed a brotherly bond, and now, when George talked to him, it felt familial and warm. There was nothing condescending or mischievous about the way he coaxed Magnus in – it was more supportive and encouraging, and Magnus could sense that.

He had all the courage he needed now, and, taking a deep breath, he ran up to the edge and jumped in, flailing his arms and scrunching his face up for what felt like a whole minute, and landed heavily into the cool water, plunging uncomfortably deep before darting to the surface and immediately swimming away from the point of impact so as not to be crushed by the next jumper. He breathed heavy and his heart raced as he swam his way over to the rocky underbelly of the cliff he’d just defeated, navigating his way around the jagged rocks to find the shortcut back up that the boys had been using.

If he’d known how treacherous the climb back up was, he may never have jumped in the first place. A series of makeshift platforms and narrow gullies carved in rock formed an upward path that had to be climbed with care. Magnus knew he had to be making his way up slower than any of the other boys had, but he didn’t care; he’d allow anyone to pass him by at their leisure – and peril.

The path led up to the back of the cliff, after which a painful walk to the jump spot was in the books. Counting his blessings for having avoided injury, Magnus hoisted himself over the final edge, put his hands on his knees and caught his breath. That was not worth it, he thought.

Just as he readied himself for the remaining walk, Nick darted past him towards shore, and he heard a commotion up ahead. There was a lot of shouting and calling, and the voices were panicked. He heard two consecutive splashes followed by more shouting, and started to feel nervous, and so hurried back to the edge, the pain in his feet subdued by adrenaline.

The boys came into view. They were leaning over the edge and yelling, and, as Magnus approached and called to ask what was happening, only Andrew looked back.

“George! It’s George!” It was like he couldn’t find the words to say what had happened. Magnus’s heart dropped at the sound of George’s name and he began to shake. He didn’t wait for Andrew to elaborate, instead speeding to the edge of the cliff and looking over. Below, Ross was guiding George’s motionless body towards the rock platform, while another boy, Chris, escorted them. Magnus’s heart stopped, and his head spun wildly. He was paralyzed; he wanted to run in every direction at once, and as a result went nowhere.

“Nick went to get help!” one of the boys nearby shouted, possibly in response to someone, or maybe to answer an unasked question from Magnus. He didn’t know – he was in shock. The boys around him seemed equally as helpless, some flailing around, some running as if heading back to shore, but turning around sharply and coming right back.

Underneath, Ross had pulled George out of the water and placed him lying face up on one of the flat rocks that just peeked out of the surface. Waves submerged the platform and surrounded George’s lifeless body with water as Ross examined his body in panic and Chris flailed around, not knowing what to do. Andrew lay flat on the edge of the cliff, arching his head downwards and yelling as loud as he could.

“Nick’s getting help! Just hold on!”

Tears gathered in Magnus’s eyes. “What happened?” he shouted to the boys, voice shaking.

“I don’t know!” replied Andrew frantically. “He just landed weird and floated up limp!”

Magnus started to openly and unashamedly cry his eyes out. He was the only one on the cliff in tears.

He kept looking back to see if help was coming, and finally spotted some movement in the distance. It appeared to be a pickup truck with a lightbar, trailed by several people who were running. Looking back down, he saw Ross attempting to administer mouth-to-mouth, and he was experiencing such a dizzying cocktail of emotions that it felt strange that envy should creep in, but it was far eclipsed by the guilt and weakness he felt for being unable to help in any way while Ross was doing all he could. All Magnus could do was watch the scene unfold, and it was hard to bear.

Rescue came in the form of two lifeguards emerging from the pickup truck, one running into the sea and the other up the cliff towards Magnus and the boys, while Nick, who’d been riding in the back, followed suit. A small crowd had formed by the beach consisting of the supervisors and some of the other schoolkids.

The lifeguard arrived at the edge of the cliff with Nick in close pursuit, asked where the victim was, and all the boys pointed and yelled towards George’s direction. He looked down, examined the situation for a few seconds, and then got on his walkie-talkie and said something that Magnus couldn’t hear.

Another pickup truck was pulling up to the beach, and Magnus could also see the second lifeguard swimming rapidly towards the rock shelter under the cliff. A boat was approaching from the marina to the east too.

Below, the lifeguard had reached the rock shelter which held the boys, and he examined George, taking his pulse and checking his breathing, and, to Magnus’s surprise and outrage, he did not perform CPR, instead being very careful not to move the boy and telling his rescuers not to touch him.

The boat took five minutes to arrive at the scene, and carried two muscular, surly lifeguards who moved with purpose. They brought the boat parallel to the rock platform, anchored it, received a quick briefing from the lifeguard crouched over George, and then moved to bring a stretcher down to where George lay, and the three of them very carefully lifted his body onto the stretcher, right side first, and then left, fastened him in, and proceeded to place him on the boat deck, where one lifeguard crouched down and attached something that Magnus couldn’t see to the top half of George’s body, as another held the stretcher down securely.

Magnus was lying flat across the rock, head peeking down over the cliff edge, feeling helpless. His crying had subsided as George received aid, but he was still overcome with emotion. The lifeguard watching over the scene down the way from Magnus reported the rescue into his walkie-talkie as the speedboat zoomed into the distance, and jogged back to shore without any regard for the group of boys who’d been observing the scene in panic.

A swell of feelings rushed over Magnus as the scene died down. He was in disbelief about what had happened; it felt a dream to him, the boat’s slipstream and anxious nattering of his peers the only proof of its passing. That he had not been present when it happened, that he’d not witnessed it, only exacerbated the feeling, and he could not help but feel guilty that he had not been able to do anything to stop it from happening.

He wiped the tears from his eyes and turned his head away from the boys, as he was suddenly conscious of his appearance. He lifted himself off the chalky rock and patted the residue off his front.

The possibilities of what had happened to George raced through Magnus’s mind. Had he broken his back? Had he drowned? If so, why wasn’t the lifeguard performing CPR? Magnus thought himself dizzy, each new theory contradicting and superseding the one that came before it.

The boys were already halfway to the coast, and Magnus stood alone, hands powdery with chalk and eyes blood-red and burning.

** 

The Alexander the Great hospital was a behemoth of a building standing alone on the outskirts of the capital city. Its weathered walls and barred windows bore the hallmarks of public sector neglect, and its sour-faced doctors did not have much patience or sympathy for foolhardy and reckless tourists.

Magnus naively thought that George would be a special case; that he’d be given VIP treatment and that hospital staff would stop at nothing to provide him with the utmost of care, but, as he crowded around with the rest of the kids at reception, the sulky nurse behind the counter didn’t even look up at the supervisor asking for direction’s for George’s room, instead pointing him down the east hall with her pen and spitting a couple of foreign words brusquely. The rest of the staff weren’t much better.

Throughout the day, rumors had been going around about the state of George’s health. At first they were ominous – he’d broken several limbs or been paralyzed. Baseless and sensationalized hearsay. But, as the day went on, the information had become more credible, and, after grilling a supervisor, Magnus learned that George had broken several bones and suffered a concussion. He was the first to find out, and soon everyone knew, and they’d arranged a trip to the hospital to wish him well.

Some of the girls carried flowers, but the boys had brought nothing. Many of them had not shown up either, including some who were on the cliff that morning. It might’ve been pride, shame, or guilt, but whatever it was, to Magnus it was inexcusable. He’d taken a tally on the bus on the way – the bus that was meant to be ferrying him and George side-by-side to the museum that day.

“In here. Be quiet please, he must rest.” The nurse spoke in a heavy accent, pointing the well-wishers to one of the doors towards the end of the wing.

George was out cold. He was sedated on a gurney and had a brace around his neck. A pulse monitor by his bed beeped steadily, and an IV drip was attached to his wrist.

The kids had been warned by the supervisors that George may not have been conscious, and that they were to drop off any gifts they had brought for him enjoy when he came to, and to provide words of encouragement, if they so wished, even if he wasn’t awake to hear them.

The girls crowded the table by his bed with bouquets of flowers and spoke to George quietly, wishing him well. Some even touched or patted him lightly. It was clear to see just how popular George was. The boys, on the other hand, hung back, shuffling their feet or clasping their hands nervously.

Hanging a few meters back, Magnus stood by them, and he could barely stand to look at George in this state. It was unnatural. It was wrong. Just two nights ago he’d been sleeping like an angel in his room, and now his face was a ghostly shade of yellow and cables twisted and coiled eerily out of his body. It was not the state a boy like George should be in, thought Magnus. For the first time, he appeared vulnerable, and it put Magnus at profound unease.

He turned his head to look at the flowers brightening up the side of the room by George’s bed, and slid his hand down his left side and fingered the outline of something in his pocket. He looked down, looked back at the table, and then sighed, and decided against it.

Surrounded on one side of the bed by a semicircle of girls, George cracked his eyes open slightly. There were gasps and quiet murmurs from the girls, and the boys took a step closer to see what the commotion was about. It was almost too much for Magnus to take; he didn’t know how to react.

One of the girls stroked George’s shoulder, beaming from ear to ear, and George, smiling, turned his head slightly to look at his guests. As he scanned, he caught Magnus’s eye briefly, but didn’t react in any way. All Magnus could do was stand rooted to the spot and observe. The girls offered him encouraging words, and told him to rest. In the back of the room, the supervisor stood by the doctor’s side, arms crossed and smiling, overlooking the scene.

George only had his eyes open for a few seconds before resuming his repose, and it seemed like he was back to sleep within seconds.

“Come on everybody,” the supervisor whispered from behind them. “Let’s leave him to rest now. He needs to recover.”

Everyone seemed pleased that George had shown signs of life, and it seemed enough for them to leave him now, content that recovery was within reach, but for Magnus, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to sit by George’s side for the rest of the night – if he wanted me to, he thought, feeling insecure. And part of him was upset that George hadn’t acknowledged his presence in the room.

The kids filed out, Magnus lagging behind and turning around for one last look before he left. He felt the outline of the object bulging through his pocket, and a lump formed in his throat. All of a sudden he felt a sense of urgency, as though he was about to miss something important.

The air hit them like an oven as they left the air-conditioned hospital. The feeling of urgency threatened to completely overwhelm Magnus as the kids made their way to the bus stop, and finally, it pushed him to march towards the supervisor, almost against his will, and ask when George would be discharged.

“Magnus,” the supervisor started, almost searching for a way to say the words, “George’s being flown home tomorrow. He’ll be in hospital over there a while longer.”

Magnus’s heart sank. He was struck with a feeling of disappointment and sadness so intense it felt like a bottomless pit in his stomach. He swiveled his head around to look at the hospital, as though it may provide some kind of answer, and then back at the bus stop, heart pounding, body urging him to take action. Without realizing it, he’d been nervously bouncing on the spot.

He turned around one more time, and then, barely taking the conscious decision to do so, he darted back towards the hospital, legs moving at their own will.

The supervisor’s protestations were a faint blur in the background as he zipped through the automatic doors and ran up through the sterile, white hallways to the east wing on the second floor. As he approached George’s room, he slowed to a brisk walk so as not to arouse suspicion, found the door, held onto the knob, looked around to see if anyone had spotted him, and when he’d confirmed that it was all clear, he pushed the door in gently.

George was still asleep, the heart monitor beside him beeping steadily.

As he shut the door behind him, Magnus felt a certain gravity, being alone with no sound but George’s simulated heartbeat. It was a wholly different experience to sharing a hotel room with him.

The lights were dimmed, and George was still out cold. No sound leaked in from the door behind Magnus. He stepped forward towards the bedside table adorned with bouquets and cards, slipped his hand down his left pocket and extracted the pack of white KitKats. He looked down at them, then back at George, and a lump formed in his throat. Whether he wanted George to see him do it or not, he didn’t know.

The chocolate found a home in a gap between a single rose and a bouquet of white germini, and bore no label or trace of its origin.

“Magnus.”

He’d been staring at the chocolate and hadn’t noticed George’s eyes open, and as soon as he heard his name whispered wearily, he whipped his head and saw George slowly closing his eyes. His heart beat at a hundred miles an hour, and he stood perfectly still, staring at George, checking for signs of life, but the boy lay in suspended animation, as he had been earlier.

He had no idea what to do next. The pulsing of the heart rate monitor on the other side of the bed was echoing furiously in his head.

Magnus stood rooted to the spot, trying to figure out whether George had consciously called his name. Surely he was still concussed, still dazed, not yet aware of his surroundings? Surely he was half-asleep, and just dreaming?

Only a few seconds after he’d shut his eyes, George turned his hand around slowly so that it was facing up. It felt deliberate to Magnus. Something inside him stirred him into action.

Breathing heavily, he took a step forward, raised his shaking arm slowly, and turned to look at George’s face. His expression hadn’t changed. He lifted his right hand, heart threatening to beat clean out of his t-shirt, and put it on George’s.

The emotion was so intense that he started to shiver. The pulsing of the heart rate monitor began to pick up speed, so much so that Magnus was afraid it may alert the hospital staff, and he wondered if George was conscious of what was happening.

Then, George tightened his grip and held on to Magnus’s hand, and Magnus knew that he was.