Creeper

                                    

                                          


                          
Saturday morning dawns bright and cheerful. I whip my bedcovers off and slide my legs out of bed, happy that the weekend has come at last. Then I remember the load of homework and club assignments that I've been putting off, and groan. 
                          
'Finally facing the consequences of procrastination, are you?' 
                          
Clay's propped up on his bed, watching me. 
                          
'I thought you were asleep.' I say.
                          
'I woke up early for a change today. It's the weekend, after all.' Clay says. 'Besides, I like watching you sleep.' 
                          
I pull a face at him. 'Creeper.' 
                          
'Aww man,' he says, and makes a fake confused face when I facepalm. 'What? Wasn't that the right response?' 
                          
I shake my head. 'Whatever. I'm going to go take a bath.'
                          
'Do you want me to watch you do that, too?' he asks, biting his lip and trying to keep himself from laughing. 
                          
'Ew! I never gave you permission to watch me sleep in the first place,' I say, trying to think of a clever response. 'You stinky poo.' 
                          
'Me! I'm the stinky poo! I won the bet about the literature club and you still haven't given me the three pounds!' 
                          
I cross over to the corner of the room to get the clothes I wore yesterday, stick a hand in the pocket of my old jeans and throw the three pounds at him. He snatches it out of the air, surprisingly swift, and says, 'You're still a stinky poo.' 
                          
I throw my hands in the air. 'Any unpaid fictitious debts I don't know about?' 
                          
'None. You're just a stinky poo in general. I thought you were gonna go take a shower?' 
                          
'Yeah. I better go wash off the stink you rubbed off on me.' I open the wardrobe doors and begin pulling out clothes at random. 
                          
'That suggests that we did something last night.'
                          
I cringe and look around. 'I swear to god Clay, if you make any more homosexual jokes I'm going to call you Gay Clay.' 
                          
Clay shrugs. 'Might be a good thing. It's twenty-eighteen.' 
                          
I shake my head, exasperated. 'I'm done talking to you.' 
                          
Clay doesn't reply, but when I turn around he has a big grin plastered across his face. I huff and march out of the room, clothes and towel in hand. 
                          
The first thing I see when I push open the door to our room after my bath is Clay sprawled out on his bed, phone in hand, laughing at something. I walk over to my own bed and sit down, drying my hair. 'You aren't going to take a bath?'
                          
Clay looks over his phone at me. 'Dude, it's Saturday. Who cares if I take a bath or not?'
                          
'Oh my god, Clay, you really are a stinky poo.' I swat him on his arm with my towel. 'Thank god I won't have to spend the rest of the day with you.'
                          
'Where are you going, then?' he asks, looking back down at his phone.
                          
'My parents' house. I told them I would come to visit today.'
                          
'Isn't calling and texting enough, mama's boy?' He smirks at me. I swat him on his arm again. 
                          
'Shut up. You don't know my mum.' 
                          
'What about the party those guys invited us to, then?' Clay asks. 
                          
I suddenly remember about the encounter we had with the seniors yesterday. 'I told you I'm not going either way.' I say. I'm not one for socialising, and I never know what to do in parties 
                          
'Come on. It might be fun.' he says. 'And anyway, it starts at ten. You have like twelve hours to spend with your momma.' He says the last few words in a sing-song, high-pitched voice.
                          
I ignore his mockery and think about it. 'Maybe. I'll see.' 
                          
'Oh, don't act like you're a busy man.' He rolls his eyes. 'We both know you have almost nothing to do today.'
                          
I cross my arms. 'Yeah, right. Like you know anything about my personal life. You've known me for less than a week.' 
                          
'Tell me, then. What things do you have scheduled today?'
                          
Almost nothing. That's the truth. But I say, 'Let's see. I have to complete my work, then I have to stream. After that I have to go to my parents', then we have the party.' 
                          
Clay laughs. 'You sly fox. So you're coming to the party, then?' 
                          
I quickly backtrack. 'I never said that.' 
                          
'You liar! You said, quote unquote, "After that I have to go to my parents, then we have the party".' 
                          
'Can we just leave this conversation now?' I say, seeing no way out of this. Clay shakes his head, still grinning. 
                          


                          
Breakfast comes and I start thinking about how the heck I'm going to reach my parents' place. I don't have my own car, and I don't have enough money for a taxi. I could ask Clay for a ride, assuming he brought his car, but I don't want to bother him. 
                          
'Uh, Clay?' I say as we're carrying our empty breakfast trays back.
                          
'Yeah?'
                          
'Could you lend me some money? I need some for a taxi.' I ask, embarrassed. I don't like asking other people for money.
                          
'Fine, as long as you return it.' He says, balancing his tray in one hand and reaching into his pocket with the other. He extends his hand to give me a note, but immediately withdraws it.
                          
'I'll give it to you if you say that you love me.' 
                          
'What?' I ask, incredulous. 'I'm not saying that.' 
                          
Clay waves the note at me. 'Say it, George.'
                          
'No!' I put my empty tray down. 'Why would I do that?'
                          
'Say it!' Clay pesters me. 
                          
'No way. I'd rather stay here.' 
                          
'Okay, then.' He puts the note back into his pocket and dumps his tray on top of mine. 
                          
'Clay,' I whine. 'Come on.'
                          
'Say it, then.' He grins at me.
                          
'No!' I repeat. 'I'm not doing that.' 
                          
'Fine,' he shrugs. 'Your loss.'
                          
I groan and turn around to go out of the cafeteria. 'Damn it, Clay.'
                          
'What? I didn't even do anything! You just had to say three simple words!' Clay says.
                          
'Honestly I'd rather die than say that to you.'
                          
'Aw, come on,' he says. 'Scared of saying the truth?'
                          
I whirl around to look at him. 'What the hell, Clay!' 
                          
Clay starts wheezing, and I clamp my hand over his mouth. 'Just shut up. I don't want to hear a word from you.'
                          
Clay licks my hand, and I snatch it back, disgusted. 'Ew, what the hell?'
                          
'You're so weird,' he says in between wheezes as I wipe my hand thoroughly on my shirt. 'Just say it, George, and I'll give the ten pounds to you.'
                          
'I said no!' I say, flustered. 'Shut up.'