“I don’t even know, Nick. Why are you still here? It’s been over two years.”

Nick just laughs and kisses me quickly on the cheek, then starts to walk backwards away towards the drinks table. “You’re nice to look at.”

I give him the middle finger.

When we first started going out I didn’t really like being too flirty with Nick around school because we’d get a lot of weird looks, particularly from the younger boys. I didn’t really like holding his hand anywhere where people could see us. I even felt kind of awkward just talking to him in school, because groups of other boys would look at us like they weren’t quite sure whether they were supposed to be making fun of us or not.

Nowadays the weird looks only make me want to hold his hand even more.

NICK

So I might’ve cried when the final bell went. Just a little bit.

I wasn’t as bad as Harry. He was bawling his eyes out and hugging everyone, including some scared-looking Year 7s who just wanted to catch their bus.

Even though it’s not like today was the last time I’d ever see my friends, it still feels sad. Never wearing our uniforms again, no more lunchtime rounders on the field, the end of Wednesday period five biscuit hour in the common room.

No more hanging out with Charlie at school.

I guess there are a few things I’m a bit nervous about. Coming out as bisexual again is probably the main one – it was painful enough the first fifty times. There always seems to be someone who hasn’t heard yet or doesn’t understand what you’re talking about or doesn’t believe you until you’ve repeated yourself. Leaving home’s gonna be scary too. I’m a bit worried about my mum being at home by herself all the time.

And, again, there’s leaving Charlie behind.

Still, there are loads of good things about leaving school – God, I’m ready for university, for doing my own thing whenever I want, for actually learning stuff I’m interested in. Finally getting out of this dingy town, having my own place, buying my own food, choosing how to spend my time. It’s gonna be ace.

“Harry wants to know whether we’ll be at his leavers’ party tomorrow,” Charlie says from the passenger seat of my car, scrolling through something on his phone. People we know usually message Charlie these days when they want to talk to either of us because I’m horrific at replying to messages. He’s way more organised than me.

“Well, I’m still up for it if you are,” I say, turning the car out of the school car park.

“Yeah, we should probably go, since prom’s going to be crap.”

“Fair.”