“These rifles are weird,” Fizz said. Without another thought, he picked his up from the counter. The
weight and shape was all wrong, but still, he would make do. He held the rifle, keeping it straight even
though it hurt his arms. “Sight’s off,” he muttered, squinting one eye. Aiming at the bottom can of the
stack right in front of him, Fizz glanced above the sight-helper, readjusted his aim, and pressed the
trigger. The pellet left the rifle with hardly any backfire or noise, and the tin cans toppled down like a
stack of cards. Their tumble knocked down the stack next to them.
The stall holder’s eyebrows shot up, as Ash gaped.
“Fizz, how did you hit that?”
With a grin, Fizz lowered his rifle. “Care to make a wager? Bet I can hit more than you.”
After a stunned moment, Ash smiled back. “Hah. What did you want to bet, exactly?”
“Er...” Fizz looked away, unsure. Fleetingly, the thought of money had crossed his mind, vague and
distant. How strange, he thought. Why would he want to bet for money? He’d never gambled, and he
had enough from working at the pub.
No, he certainly didn’t want money.
Fighting the blush that rose in his cheeks, he shrugged. “Um, no bet. Let’s just see who wins,
yeah?”
“Okay,” Ash agreed. “Well, how about the loser buys the next bag of donuts?”
“Deal.” They raised their rifles together and aimed. The stall holder took a step back.
After a few more rounds, Ash conceded defeat, and Fizz took pity on the poor stall holder. By
rights, Fizz’s shots had earned them a whole heap of prizes, but Fizz didn’t feel like being greedy. He
picked out one prize, a large stuffed toy of a stripy zebra. Laughing, he’d given it to Ash, and now they
walked back along the pier, Ash cradling the zebra under one arm, Fizz holding a new bag of donuts.
“That guy was ready to ban you from his stall,” Ash said with a chuckle. “Have you ever played
darts?”
“Darts?” Fizz laughed at the thought, passing a donut to Ash. “No, never.”
“Target practise?”
“What? No.”
“Then how come you’re such a good shot?”
Fizz shrugged. “Don’t know. It just felt...easy.”
“Hm.” Ash hefted the zebra, its head bobbing with the motion. “Maybe we should try pool. I’d love
you to thrash Dee sometime. I’ve tried, but I’m crap.”
“I’m sure you’re not.”
“No, honestly, I am. Ryan banned me from the pool table after I tore the material one night.”
They stopped at the railing, leaning over the side to watch a boat in the distance. Ash stood next to
him, resting his zebra on the railing with his arm over it. Fizz snickered at the sight.
“What?” Ash asked, in all seriousness. Fizz didn’t miss the twinkle in his dark eyes. “Something
funny?”
“Nope.”
“Liar.”
“Yep.”
They laughed, then an excited kind of quiet fell over them just as quickly. To hide his nerves, Fizz
looked away, at the water crashing away far below. He fought for something to say, and said the first
thing that popped into his head. “If this were, like, a Bollywood movie or something, wouldn’t this be
a great place to do a song?”
When Ash didn’t respond immediately, Fizz worried he’d said the wrong thing. He glanced up,
seeing an amused smile on Ash’s face. “I knew I’d convert you.”
“Huh?”
“To Bollywood.”
“Oh.” Fizz was relieved. “Sure. Um, sorry, I just thought...it would be a cool place for a song.”
“I agree.” Ash lifted the zebra, thrusting it at Fizz. “The whole pier would be full of dancers!” He
flung his arms out, gesturing at the board walk. “Lights, camera, action!”
Fizz laughed, holding the zebra as he followed Ash. “I liked those scenes with the coloured powder
being thrown about. What was that?”
“Oh, that’s for Holi,” Ash said. “Festival of colour. Everyone chucks scented powder at each other.
It’s for the spring.”
“Looks cool.”
“Yeah.”
They walked back along the pier, falling into companionable quiet.
“So...” Fizz bumped the zebra against Ash, returning it to him. “Guess I should head back.”
“Yeah, probably should. I’ll walk you back, I have to go past that way.”
Fizz didn’t want to leave Ash, but it couldn’t be avoided. The sky was growing darker, and the
street lights had come on. Ash said he had to get home for dinner, and do some studying. Fizz didn’t
want to keep him from that.
Cars hooted at each other as they thundered past on the road, their headlights moving fast. The
Queen Anne’s Revenge was lit up, a soft beacon of home, Fizz thought. His home.
Ash dropped him off at the side door. The distant hub of the beer garden was close, but hidden from
view, they were mostly alone. Ash shifted on the spot, smiling nervously as he offered the zebra to
Fizz. “Hey, look, why don’t you keep this for me? I mean, you won it after all.”
“It was for you.” Fizz teased, pushing the zebra back.
Ash chuckled. “Yeah, but I don’t particularly want to get beaten up for carrying a soft toy down
London Road. Look after it for me?”
Relenting, Fizz took the zebra. “Okay. I’ll keep it safe.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
Fizz waited, wondering what would happen next. His heart beat anxiously. The moment was broken,
however, by the front door of the pub opening with a slam, and Pete marching a rather drunk patron
out onto the pavement.
“When I say you’ve had enough –!” Pete barked at the drunk man, who flailed in response.
A couple more regulars followed through the door, to point and jeer, by the looks of it. Fizz sighed.
Likely, Ginger wouldn’t be far behind, and he’d rather not have to put Ash through a potentially
awkward situation. Especially holding a giant toy zebra.
“I’d better go,” he muttered, about to duck into the courtyard. He’d have to sneak through the beer
garden, and hope Ginger didn’t notice him.
“Hey, um, Jamie?” Ash caught his hand.
Fizz paused, looking back at Ash. “Yeah?”
“We’re, um, I mean, my band is playing here on Sunday.” Ash’s fingers squeezed Fizz’s hand as he
babbled. “I haven’t told my dad or anything; we’re keeping it quiet. Which is just as well, ‘cause we
probably suck something rotten...but...um, are you around? Don’t know if it’s your sort of music
though?”
Fizz grinned, and squeezed Ash’s hand before letting go. “I’ll be there.”
End
About The Author
A picture is worth a thousand words, but a long time ago Melanie realised she couldn’t draw for
shit, so she chose to write instead. Thank you for reading one of her stories. To view her full list of
books and free reads, please visit her website
www.melanietushmore.co.uk
Acknowledgements
Some stories are written because they have to come out. This story was written for myself, because
I had to and, once finished, it may never had seen the light of day, had it not been for those who
cheered its corner, and wanted to read more. To everyone who has helped me along with this story,
and asked to read it, I can’t thank you enough.
Jade, Katy, Anna.
For my friends in Brighton – you know who you are! – there aren’t words to describe how much
you mean to me, and this story wouldn’t exist without you. Things may change, beyond our control,
but I hope that we can always be assured that our friendship and – yes, I’m going to use the L word! –
love, will endure.
In parting, I feel the need to state: punks certainly aren’t allowed to drink fancy-pants coffee.