So I have decided to continue the story... let's see where it goes.

It’s A Boys Life: Chapter 29

Marco To The Rescue

Somehow, somewhere along the line, I agree to let Marco help me. I tell him the street I am on, and somehow he knows exactly where it is. Now I am standing on the corner waiting for him to come pick me up. This feels extremely strange for me, the boy who has never snuck out of the house, never even broken curfew before tonight.

I look at my phone, it’s now 4:35. He said he would be here about twenty to, so hopefully he should be here soon. Every car that drives past, which isn’t really that many, I wonder if Marco is inside. I don’t even know what he looks like, but he told me he drives a dark blue car. He mentioned the type, but I wasn’t paying much attention. It’s pretty dark, so any car that is darker than yellow looks like it could be dark blue.

A car that looks dark blue to me stops at the corner that I am standing at. He’s early. My heart starts doing summersaults, what if it wasn’t him? What could happen? The driver leans over to the passenger’s door, opening it and sticking his head out, “Jake, I assume. Unless a lot of teenage boys hang about these streets alone at night.” I nod to him, relieved that it is him, and climb into the passenger seat.

I close the door and look over to him, taking in his blonde hair, scruffy clothes and cocky smile. One that looks rather impatient right now. “So, where to?”

I tell him my address and he gives me a blank stare. He might have known where I was, but he doesn’t seem to know where I am going. I take a breath and lean back in the chair, thinking for the millionth time this evening that this was all just one long bad idea. I turn back to Marco, and while I am doing so he starts the car again and drives down the street, does a U turn and drives on.

I am slightly taken aback by the sudden sharpness of his movements, “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Maybe.”

The abruptness of his answer leaves me with no reply. I subtly look at my phone, which shines out the numbers of 4:40. I obviously don’t do this quite as subtly as I originally think, as Marco notices, “Any particular time you need to be home?”

Everything he says to me sounds as if it has been dripped in sarcasm and slight contempt. I shrug it off, wondering if he was like this with a lot of people, answering “Before 6 would be good.”

“OK. Will do.” He is beginning to sound like he is making an effort to loosen up.

After about 15 minutes I am still not exactly sure where we are going, and it seems like we should be somewhere that I would recognise. “are you sure you know where you’re going?”

“Yes. I have a friend who lives near where you live. Don’t worry; I’ll get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.” I look at him, wondering what he is thinking, and why he wouldn’t just take me here. But since he is the one driving me around, I decide to go along with it. For now.