… you broke the law.”
“She broke the law first,” points out Seb. “She stole your hairbrush.”
“Yes, but … you broke the law!”
I’m clutching stolen goods in my hand, it occurs to me. Oh my God. If Dad taught us anything besides Family first, it was Stay on the right side of the law.
“I didn’t break the natural law,” says Seb with assurance. “Think about it, Fixie. All those companies legally siphoning off money offshore to avoid paying tax. All those executives legally awarding themselves mammoth pensions while their workers get nothing. All abhorrent. I go to jail for restoring your hairbrush to you—and they don’t?”
He sounds so certain, so honest, so good, that I feel a bit of confidence seeping back into me.
“The law doesn’t always know what it’s doing,” he adds for good measure. “Humans have a far greater instinct for what’s right in life than lawyers do.”
“The law is an ass,” I volunteer. I heard that once, and I’m not sure where it comes from but it seems appropriate.
“The law is a wuss, if you ask me,” counters Seb, “but that’s another story. Or maybe it’s politicians who are wusses.” He grins at me disarmingly, his green-brown eyes shining. “Don’t let me get onto my hobbyhorse. You’ll die with boredom.”
“I won’t!” I laugh.
“Oh, you will,” he assures me. “Many have.”
“Well, anyway … thank you,” I say, giving the hairbrush a loving pat. “Thank you for breaking the law for me.”
“Anytime.” He grins. “It was fun.”
A thought occurs to me and I reach into my bag. I pull out the coffee sleeve, and Seb laughs with appreciation. I take out my pen and start to write Paid, but Seb puts a hand on mine.
“Paid in part,” he says. “Only in part.”
“Don’t be silly.” I roll my eyes.
“No, I mean it. I haven’t even begun to pay you back,” he says, and now there’s a serious tone to his voice. “What you did—”
“I told you. It was nothing.”
“You saved my life,” contradicts Seb. “In some cultures we’d be bound together forever now,” he adds lightly. “Bonded for life.”
And I know it’s a joke, but my stomach stupidly flips over—and suddenly I’ve lost my cool. I can’t find a witty answer. I gaze back at him, at his honest handsome face, and he’s silent too, but unreadable. And I’m thinking desperately, Say something, Fixie, for God’s sake, say something—when there’s a cry from the rink: “Yoo-hoo!”
We both turn our heads and there’s Briony, waving to catch Seb’s attention. She sees me and her face instantly tightens and Seb calls out easily, “Remember Fixie?”
“Of course! How’s it going?” says Briony, her smile dazzling and her voice so acid it could strip paint.
“Fine!” I say. “I should go,” I add automatically to Seb.
“Don’t go! You want to skate?” he adds, bringing a ticket out of his pocket. “I can’t use mine, obviously. Go on, have a go!”
I stare at the ticket silently, all kinds of thoughts shimmering around my brain. The music is thudding and the lights are twinkling and Seb is asking me if I want to skate.
It’s kind of irresistible.
“Sure,” I say at last. “Sure. I’ll have a go.”
—
The first few laps I make are like taking out an old musical instrument, tuning it up, playing the notes slowly, alert for defects and flaws. My body’s older than it was, but it’s still strong and taut. I still have muscle memory. You don’t train for that many hours and not know what you’re doing.
As I cut across the white surface, I try not to think longingly of my old skates, hanging up at home, and instead make the best of what I have: a crowded public rink, strange skates, and ice that’s already getting wet from people falling over on it.
I don’t care. I’m loving this.
I whiz past Briony, turn round, and see her gawping at me as I skate backward. I turn again, make sure I have enough space, then lift a leg in an arabesque. And I’m stiff—really stiff—but my leg still obeys, even if it’s screaming, “Whaaat? Seriously? But we don’t do this anymore!”
Poor legs. I send them a quick message, saying, Do this for me and we’ll have a hot bath later.
I head into the center of the ice and do a simple spin. Then a faster, flashier spin, ignoring the tremble that begins halfway through. Come on, legs, you can do it.… Then, for the first time, I dart a look at Seb. He’s gaping at