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“Thomas?”
You look up to see Teresa rolling her eyes at you. “Yeah?”
“He’s back.”
You groan, standing up and reaching out to grab the medical kit next to you. You push open the door of the sickbay to see Isaac sitting on the plastic chair, back hunched. The side of his face you can see is already starting to swell gently. His nose is bloody.
“Why is it,” you say exasperatedly, seating yourself beside him, “you always manage to get yourself punched up whenever I have sickbay duty?”
He shrugs and closes his eyes as you sponge off his cheek gently. “How’s that feel?”
“S’ok,” he mumbles.
“Ok. Hold that to your cheek and I’ll get some paper towel for your nose.”
He does, pressing the towel against the bruise, and watches you leave with mutinous eyes. You roll your own eyes back at him, and duck inside.
“Honestly, that kid’s face is messier than your room, Tom,” Teresa says, grinning. You snort, throwing a roll of bandages at her.
“Everyone else says sick bay is so boring and nothing happens; how come I always have to patch people up?”
She shrugs. “Maybe Newton has a crush on you. Gets beat up whenever you’re on duty just to see you.”
“Hardy har,” you say, clutching a roll of paper towels. You push the door open again and offer the towels to Isaac, who takes them without a word. “So I would say be more careful, or something, but I know that’s pointless. So, see you next time I guess.”
Isaac gives you a slightly sarcastic nod and ducks away, walking down the corridor and disappearing into one of the bathrooms.
The school bell rings through the room as you pop your head around the doorway, watching Teresa pack up the equipment.
“Can we go get ice cream?” you whine. “It’s too hot to be legal.”
“If you pay for mine we can get whatever you want, kid.”
“You say kid, but I’m only a few minutes younger than you!”
“Whatever makes you happy little brother.”
You glower at the back of Teresa’s head as she walks past you. Her long hair is caught up in a wild ponytail that straggles down her back; her shoes are splashed with red paint.
“I’ll buy you ice cream if you let me win next time we play foosball.”
“Deal.”
//
The air is so hot outside you can almost feel the asphalt road moulding itself around your foot. The ice cream shop door opens with a faint tinkling noise. Inside it smells like air conditioning and vanilla. You press your face against the cool glass, squinting at the ice cream flavours.
“You don’t have to put your face quite that close y’know,” Teresa says, peering over your shoulder.
“Shut it. I’m hot.”
“Mhm. Get me chocolate, ok?”
“Alright.”
You line up behind an elderly couple who are holding hands. When they get to the counter, the server looks them up and down and grins. Your eyebrows raise at the sight of him, smiling around his purple cheek. Isaac.
“Miss Samantha,” he says. “Who’s your date this week?” Samantha laughs, and the woman she’s holding hands with gasps in mock horror.
“Can I get a strawberry/pistachio waffle cone please?”
“Sure can. Gimme one sec.” Isaac turns his back on the queue, and you back out of the line, almost jittering with curiosity.
“Where’s my ice cream?” Teresa frowns as you make your way over to her.
“Never mind that!” you say. “Guess who the server is?”
“Who?”
“Newton!”
“Huh.” Teresa looks vaguely unimpressed. “You skived off getting me a chocolate ice cream for that?”
“Well, he’s always been a bit of a mystery, y’know? Always getting beat up, skipping school, that kind of thing. But he was being really sweet with these two old ladies.”
“Ok…” Teresa gives you a look, and you frown at her.
“Well, I’m curious about him.”
“You’re curious about everything.”
“Yeah I know but—“
“Are you gonna get an ice cream or not?”
“What? Oh. Nah. Don’t feel like it.”
Teresa heaves a pained sigh and you leave, the hot summer air slipping down your back like bath water.
//
The next time Isaac appears at the sick bay, it’s because you dragged him there. When you found him, his collar was in another boy’s grip and his expression was one of boredom.
You patch him up in silence, looking closer at him. He has very fine eyelashes, you realise. In the florescent light he looks almost delicate, and you gentle your ministrations without thinking about it.
“What’s buggin’ with you, Edison?” Newton asks, and you jump. “OW,” Newton yells, standing up.
“Sorry,” you say, wincing. “Didn’t mean to poke you in the eye.”
“I came here to get fixed up not bloody injured more,” Newton grumbles.
“You’re pretty much done, anyway,” you say. Newton walks away, holding his hand over side of his face. You sigh, wondering what the hell his deal is.
That evening you stop off at the ice cream shop again, under the pretext of buying a cone for Teresa so make up for the ‘heartbreak’ she’d been through a few days ago. Instead you get caught up watching Newton crouching next to a little girl, reading out the names of the flavours in a clear voice.
“Why didn’t you get it this time?” she asks. You bite your lip.
“He’s different there, somehow. It’s like a weird safe haven or something. I don’t wanna ruin it for him.”
“Whatever Tom.”
//
The next time you go to the ice cream shop, you go alone. Teresa isn’t there mainly because she’s given up on you ever lasting long enough to actually buy her an ice cream, but she also because doesn’t find the Newton situation nearly as interesting as you do.
You watch as Isaac compliments a little boy’s tutu, and before you know it you’re at the front of the queue. You blink.
“Can I get you anythi— Edison?”
“Uh.”
You stare blankly at Newton, he stares at you. “Hi,” you say. “Can I have the bubblegum? Waffle cone. One scoop.”
You watch as he turns, scooping out the pink ice cream, and sigh. You hate bubblegum.
“There ya go. Anything else?”
“About a bajillion questions. How much will that cost me?”
“The questions or the ice cream? Because the ice cream is four fifty.”
You hand over a five dollar note. “I can’t believe you work at an ice cream shop.”
“How come?”
You shrug. “You seem too tough for this kind of place.” Newton laughs. You realise you’ve never actually heard him laugh before.
“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” he says. “You should get your ass outta here, you’re holding up the other customers.”
You leave, licking your disgusting ice cream and feeling vaguely triumphant.
//
You don’t see Newton at school all day, and somehow end up at the ice cream shop again.
“The things you two sacrifice to see each other,” Teresa says as she leaves you on the doorstep. “Isaac his physical well-being and you your dairy intolerance.”
“I’ve only had one ice cream!”
“It’s all gelato from here my friend.”
You flip the bird at her as she walks away, and then you push open the door. The shop is strangely quiet, with no one standing at the counter when you enter.
“Hey,” you say as you walk up to Newton. You wince suddenly at how casual that sounds. Are you at the ‘hey’ stage yet? But Newton doesn’t seem bothered by it.
“Hi,” he replies, wiping a glass. “What can I get ya?”
You shrug. You actually have no idea what you’re planning on doing. “Haven’t seen you around the sick bay in a while.”
“Yeah.” He grins. “Miss me?”
“Wow, it’s true what they say! An ice cream a day takes the surly away.”
“I’m not surly.” Newton waves his hand derisively. “I’m a rebel, alright? There’s a bloody difference.”
“Uhuh. A rebel who works at an ice cream shop.”
“Why are you so fixated on that?”
“I dunno.” You shrug. “I thought if you had a job it would be… giving people tongue piercings. Or like those people who file teeth into weird points like a tiger’s? That’s you.”
“Sorry. I have a knuckle-sandwich flavoured gelato though, if you’re interested.”
“Perfect,” you say. “Fulfilling all my dairy-free needs.”
“Lactose intolerant?”
“Yep.”
Newton smiles, and you smile, and it seems like you’re smiling at each other for a very long time.
“Well,” you say finally. “See you, Newton.”
“Wait,” he says. “Call me Newt.”
//
“Newt!”
“Heya Edison.”
“Nice bruise.”
“Thanks, it was 50% off.”
You laugh, and press a cold pack against Newt’s chin. “So, tell me,” you say. “How come you get in so many fights, anyway? I mean, did you serve someone a sneeze-milkshake once and they never forgave you?”
“Gross,” he says. “Anyway, I don’t really get into ‘fights’. I just get ‘beat up’.”
He says it so lightly you don’t realise what he means until he’s waved goodbye and the sickbay door is swinging closed.
“Teresa, I think someone’s bullying Newt.”
“Oh, he’s Newt now. What’s next, he’s gonna start calling you Tommy?”
“Should I do something? I feel like I should do something. He’s being bullied? What kind of asshole would bully Newt?”
“I don’t know? The bullying kind?”
“Ok, Teresa, you are no help to me.”
“Tom, you hardly know the guy. I don’t think he’s gonna want you butting in on his problems just yet. That’s like… third base friendship.”
“Are you saying Newt and I aren’t at third base yet?”
“Oh my god.”
//
“… And she doesn’t think we’re at third base friendship yet!”
Newt pauses in wiping up a table and glances over at you. He’s smirking. You somehow ended up staying at the ice cream shop so long it’s closing time. You’re sitting on the counter as Newt cleans up.
“What’s ‘third base friendship’?”
“It means I can meddle with your personal problems.”
“I have a personal problem with the stain on this table. You can bloody meddle with that if you want.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re hilarious?”
“Every day of my ever lovin’ life.”
“Hey I’ve got a question.”
“Do you now,” says Newt dryly. You ignore him.
“Do you ever do sickbay work?”
“Yeah, Tommy, everyone does sickbay work.”
“How come I never see you there then?”
“Probably because you don’t trip over your own bloody feet often enough?”
“Huh. How weird would it be if you patched me up?”
“I dunno if our relationship dynamic could handle it.”
“What’s your phone number?”
Newt paused. “What?”
You shrug. “Well I can’t just hang around at the ice cream shop all the time. I need to go home, do homework. I’m missing deadlines for you, asshole.”
A slow smile spreads across Newt’s face. “You got any paper?”
//
“Did you know Newt’s afraid of thunderstorms?” you ask.
“I did not know, nor did I want to,” Teresa says distractedly, rifling through her notes. “Tom, get your ass off your phone. Nose to the grindstone. Work hard play hard. Whatever you want. Just get studying!”
“I’m getting, I’m getting!” The phone buzzes and you drop your text book in your haste to pick it up. Teresa rolls her eyes.
“No texting in the library, jackass,” she says for the third time, and you stick your tongue out at her.
“I’m gonna go get a drink of water.”
“Gonna go text your boyfriend from the bathroom, more like,” Teresa mumbles, returning to her book. You sigh, walking out the library and—
Your foot catches on a roll in the carpet. You fall strangely, twisting onto the side so as to protect your phone, and you hear rather than feel the strange crack in your wrist. You lie on the floor, not quite sure what to do.
“Tom!”
Teresa appears at your side. Her face is anxious but her mouth is twitching like she’s trying not to laugh. When you raise an eyebrow, she snorts slightly.
“I’m sorry,” she says, fighting to stay serious, “your fall looked like something out of a slapstick movie. How’s your arm?”
You consider. “I think I sprained my wrist.”
“Oh. Shit. Here,” Teresa helps you to your feet. Your wrist is definitely starting to hurt. You wince, cradling it with your other arm. “To the sickbay,” Teresa says, taking hold of your shoulder and steering you down the corridor. Soon enough you’re seated on one of the plastic chairs outside the sickbay, and Teresa is knocking on the door.
To your slight surprise, Newt appears.
“Newt!” you say before Teresa can open her mouth. “I’m wounded.”
“I can see. What buggin’ happened?”
“I. Tripped. On the ground. And sprained my wrist.”
Teresa stifles another laugh, and Newt rolls his eyes. “I’ll get ya a bloody compression bandage, hold ya horses.”
“Do you need me to stay and hold your hand, or can I go study?” Teresa asks. “Or do you want me to leave so you can have some quality time with Mr. Ice Cream Man?”
“I—“
“I thought so. Have fun. Woo him! Also I hope you feel better later.” Teresa winks at you and leaves.
“Sisters,” you say, shaking your head as Newt returns. He grins.
“Ok, I’m sorry if this hurts.”
“It’s ok.”
Newt sits down next to you and carefully takes hold of your injured wrist. You wince, waiting for the sharp pain, but you only feel a dull ache as Newt holds an ice pack to you.
“Is that alright?”
“Yep.”
“Buggin’ idiot,” he says absently. He’s positioned so that he’s clasping one of your hands in his own while he presses the ice pack to your wrist with his other hand. You imagine, fleetingly, what it would be like to hold his hand in another completely different situation. “I’m gonna wrap a bandage around the ice pack so it stays in place, alright?”
“Yep,” you say quickly, jolting out of your reverie.
“How’s it feelin’?”
“Alright,” you say through slightly numb lips. Newt’s hand is warm in yours.
“You should come to the ice cream shop after school. Got something to show you.”
“Ok.” You look at Newt curiously as he stands, his hand slipping out of yours.
“Yep.”
“I’ll see you then.”
//
You stand outside the ice cream shop. There’s been no sign of Newt for at least an hour and you can feel butterflies in your stomach. But not the nice, tingly kind. The holy-hell-is-he-ok flapping their wings until you feel nauseous kind. You’re not sure why you feel so anxious. You’ve tried texting him, even calling (which you’ve never done before) and nothing. You’re pacing up and down in front of the shop when finally someone appears around the corner of the street. One glance in their direction immediately reveals them to be Newt.
You almost race to him, stopping right in front of him. You can feel an anger bubbling in your stomach, a source-less anger but a fiery one none-the-less.
“Where the hell have you—“
Newt looks sheepishly at the ground, and spits a wad of blood onto the pavement. “Newt?”
You take his face in your hands, unthinkingly, and turn his head towards yours. His face is bruised, his lip bloody. He’s holding his arm strangely too, you realise. “Who did this to you?”
He shrugs, tries not to wince.
“Newt!” you say despairingly. “Why do you never do anything about these guys?”
“S’ok,” he mumbles.
“No it’s not,” you say forcefully. “They hurt you! Why do you let them get away with this?”
He shrugs, uncomfortable. You wring your hands, wanting to wipe away the blood on his chin, wanting to chase after the assholes who hurt him.
“Don’t worry Tommy. I’ll be ok. Can’t show you the thing tonight though.”
“I— wait! Let me help you…”
Newt doesn’t turn around. You watch him go, feeling as though you’re moving very fast but also standing still at the same time. You think you should chase after him, force him to let you help him, but you don’t.
“Newt!” you yell. Then you turn also, shaking with a directionless anger and make your own way home.
//
You don’t talk to Newt for a while. You don’t think either of you know exactly why, you just don’t. He still comes to the sickbay, you patch up his bruises and look away when he leaves.
You think you’re angry at Newt, but you don’t know why.
You wonder if he’s angry at you too.
It starts to rain one evening. You hear the water drip off your window sill and all you can think is how Newt hates thunderstorms. There’s a flash of lightning; you jump and fall off your bed.
You hear a knocking at your door. Teresa pokes her head around your door.
“You get that,” she says. “Mum and Dad are out and if it’s a salesman or a serial killer I need time to hide.”
“So caring,” you say. You jump down the stairs two at a time. You pull open the door to see Newt standing on your door step.
“What the fuck?”
“Hey Tommy.”
You stare at him. “Newt? You’re here? It’s? There’s a… aren’t you wet?”
“Bloody drenched to the skin.”
You shake your head. “Come in! Come in, you idiot! What’re you doing here?”
“I, uh. Miss you?”
“And you had to tell me right now? With a thunderstorm raging overhead?”
“More emotional that way.”
“Oh my god.” You rub his arm briskly. “Newt you stupid. You’re freezing.”
Newt stays at your house that night, wearing one of your own baggy sweaters and a pair of shorts. You watch movies and talk like you haven’t in a long time and even though every time the thunder crashes he shudders, you feel more carefree than you have in a while.
//
“So can I look now?”
You hear Newt laugh; he takes his hands from your eyes.
“Tah-dah!”
“What am I…?” You gasp. “Lactose free ice cream?”
“What d’ya think?”
“I think I could kiss you!” you yell. So you do. You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him right on the mouth.
Afterwards you sit on the curb, eating lactose free ice cream and holding hands.