f o u r t e en

was that Woodway placed third, an impressive standing that established them as a strong team considering how many teams took part in the competition. The bad news was that Hampstead placed second. Both teams easily qualified to the next round of the competition, which would be held in Birmingham in a month, but Oliver couldn't help feeling irritated that his old swim team had beat him. Ife wasn't the type to gloat, at least not verbally, but Oliver didn't miss the smug look she cast him when the teams appeared in order of how well they did on the giant electronic board. Oliver had never thought of himself as particularly competitive, but he'd never wanted to beat someone as badly as he did in that moment.

"Interesting," Reed said, at whatever he saw in Oliver's expression when the board revealed the qualifying teams. "I thought you didn't care that much about winning or losing. I thought it was just the fun of swimming."

"It is," Oliver said, not lying – he really didn't let it bother him whether he won or not – but not quite sure if that applied this time. "I'm glad we qualified and all, but Ife does my head in. Would've been nice to beat Hampstead and rub it in her smug face."

Reed looked pleased with his response. "I knew there was a bloodthirsty need to win buried deep down beneath your rational calm."

"I don't know about bloodthirsty– "

"Next time," Reed promised, looking past Oliver to Hampstead. His blue gaze seemed to drift past Ife and linger on Finley. "We'll beat them next time."

Mr Jeffries gave them the usual run-down talk he ended all their meets with and sent them off to change out with the rest of the day free to spend however they liked, granted they were back in their hotel rooms by ten. "That's a rule, not a suggestion," Jeffries added, his stern gaze lingering on Kessy and Charlie. The latter affected a look of innocence no one believed for a second, while Kessy just shrugged. "I'm letting you all roam the city on the basis of trust that will be taken away the moment even one of your breaks it. There will be appropriate punishment for anyone who thinks about breaking the curfew."

"Two weeks of detention wasn't worth it," Charlie mumbled petulantly.

"To end on a happier note, well done. You all swam well and made the school proud," Jeffries said. "Now scram. Let me enjoy my evening in peace."

It was past five, nearly six, by the time Oliver had showered and changed out. He was following the others on the way out of the sports centre and shrugging on his Woodway sports jacket, to ward off the cold chill in the air, when someone caught his arm. "Hey," Marcie smiled, falling easily in step beside him. "You swam as well as expected. Congrats on qualifying."

"You too," Oliver said. "Still the reigning champion of breaststroke, I see."

"Of course, of course. Hey, are you free tonight? Unless you're driving back tonight," Marcie said, with a glance at the kit slung over his shoulder. "I guess you don't have any reason to stay in London any longer, huh?"

"We're spending the night and driving up tomorrow morning. Too long of a journey to deal with now," Oliver said, figuring Jeffries would rather spend another night at a hotel than drive four hours late into the night. "Why? Got any plans in mind?"

"Uh, is the sky blue? You forgot who you're talking to. It's Saturday night, of courseI have plans," Marcie grinned. "A few of us are going out into town. Couple of pubs, probably a few bars, maybe end the night in a club. Nothing concrete – we're just going to get drunk and see where the night takes us. Bring along your new swimming buddies if you want. You down?"

"As fun as that sounds," Oliver said, and it honestly did sound like a good night out, "I'm still seventeen for another month, remember? I don't have an ID."

Marcie shrugged. "Use Alistair's. Or Micky's. Both of theirs worked well enough last time and I'm sure they won't mind lending them out again."

Oliver was tempted. He had the evening off, and he knew he could find an ID to borrow, knew enough people in London to find one who would be willing to lend theirs out for an evening. It didn't even matter that he didn't really look enough like any of them to realistically pass – when it was dark, and busy, bartenders and bouncers alike didn't bother to look closely enough to pick out the differences on a black and white licence even with Oliver's distinct eyes. As long as they steered away from the higher end, stricter places that took weeding out kids trying to sneak in seriously, Oliver would be fine with a borrowed ID.

"Who's we?" Oliver asked.

Marcie hesitated and Oliver could already guess who she was about to say. "Oh, you know...just a bunch of us on the team. Me, Indie...Finley – "

"I'm going to have to pass," Oliver said, not even bothering to be subtle about his reason for refusing. On a night out getting drunk, he didn't trust himself but more importantly, he didn't trust Finley. "That's just a bad idea waiting to happen and we both know it. Thanks for the invite, Marc, but maybe next time."

Reed, who had been waiting for Oliver and clearly been listening to the conversation, chose that moment to jump in. "We should go," he said, and looked unbothered by the frown Oliver shot him. "It's not like we have anything better to do, is it? It's either spend the evening watching Charlie get drunk off whatever alcohol he can find in the hotel room mini-fridge or spend the night out in London. Doesn't seem like a difficult choice to me."

"Exactly!" Marcie beamed at Reed. "I like you. What's your name?"

"Reed."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Marcie. Help me convince Oliver to stop being a wet lettuce," she said cheerfully.

Reed's lip quirked up into a smirk. "You heard her. Stop being a wet lettuce, Oliver."

"Stop ganging up on me," Oliver said, rolling his eyes. "Even if we wanted to go out, bothof us are seventeen. Maybe I can find an ID to borrow, but what about Reed?"

"No problem," Marcie said, undeterred. "My brother's in town. Tall and blonde – oh yeah, Reed could pass as him, for sure."

"Tom has brown eyes," Oliver said, aware he was clutching at straws now.

"Oliver, you literally have two different eye colours. If you can pass as having Alistair's green eyes," Marcie said, "Reed can sure as hell pass as having brown eyes for one night. We're not trying to get in Ministry or anything like that. Just Spoons and bars where I can buy you both drinks."

"I've never been out in London," Reed said, seeing that Oliver's resolve was crumbling. He'd always been terrible at giving into peer pressure and of all the friends, Reed and Marcie made a pair pretty impossible to resist. Reed with his relentless stubbornness and Marcie with her hopeful pestering. Besides, Oliver couldn't deny that a part of him did want to go out. "You still owe me a tour of the city, remember? I'm cashing it in now."

Oliver sighed. "Fine. Let's go."

Reed grinned and Marcie flung herself at him in a hug, her default reaction to pretty much anything. Oliver couldn't help laughing at her excitement. Oliver had missed Marcie, with her infectious enthusiasm and friendly warmth, a friendship he never had to worry about fading away because Marcie would always make sure to put the effort in. Oliver would too, obviously, but he knew keeping in touch was something he wasn't the best at. He didn't feel the need to talk to or call someone often to stay friends, comfortable with month long stretches with only the odd text and then meeting up as usual without anything having changed, but he knew not everyone was like that. Some people got offended or took it personally if Oliver didn't text first. Marcie was one of those who didn't.

That was how they ended up back in their shared hotel room, Oliver sprawled out on his bed and watching the first channel he could find – some news one – on TV as he waited for Reed to finish his shower. It was seven and Oliver had arranged with Marcie to meet at their usual Wetherspoons, the one just around the corner from where Hampstead held their swim practices and a short tube ride away from the hotel they were staying at. He'd been debating whether or not to text Finley for the past half an hour, turning his phone over between his fingers as he considered it. It was probably a bad idea, but then again, going out with Fin was a bad idea anyway. It was the if I'm going to hell, might as well make the most of itmindset he was adopting.

A terrible mindset, Oliver knew from experience.

Reed emerged from the steamy bathroom and Oliver kept his gaze fixed on the TV, not really seeing anything happening on the screen when he was so aware of Reed from the corner of his eye, damp from his shower and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. How Oliver thought the two of them sharing a room was a good idea was beyond him. It was taking all his self-control just to be that close to Reed without doing anything and even then, he couldn't help sneaking the odd glance or two. Maybe he couldn't have Reed, maybe he was off-limits, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate every so often. Look, don't touch.

"What's his name? Reed asked, shrugging into a long-sleeved button up. "The guy whose ID I'm using?"

"Thomas Shapiro," Oliver answered. "He's nineteen but that should be fine. The ID I'm using says I'm eighteen, so we're all similar ages."

Alistair was using his ID tonight when Oliver asked but luckily, Micky had been happy enough to lend his out for the night. He was in the year above at Oliver's old high school in London and when Oliver's grades had started slipping in GCSE physics, Micky had been assigned as his peer mentor. He was a pretty chill guy and seeing as he was still in London on a gap year, he was around to let Oliver use his ID. He'd just leave it with Marcie to return it to Micky before he left the city. They were both dark-haired and had somewhat similar facial features, which was usually good enough to pass.

"How scandalous," Reed said, amused. "Who would have thought you'd have so many connections?"

"Marciehas connections," Oliver corrected. "I reckon she could find an ID for anyone, regardless of what they look like. She has an endless roster of friends. What about Bailey?"

Reed tensed. "What about her?"

"Does she want to come out? Marcie could probably get an ID for her," Oliver said, more to see how Reed would respond than anything else. He hadn't seen the two of them exchange a single word since this morning and had been noticeable absent from their table when they'd met up with the others for dinner at the hotel restaurant, sitting with other swimmers on the team. Oliver was beginning to wonder if she was annoyed at him. "I mean, only if you want – "

"Bailey and I broke up."

Oliver blinked, wondering if he'd misheard. "What?"

"We broke up," Reed repeated, with a tone of finality. "So, no. I don't think she'll want to come out."

The buzz of Oliver's phone was loud in the silence that followed Reed's words and they both glanced down at it, although Oliver was the only one who could see the name flash across the screen: FINLEY. Absently, Oliver realised his dilemma of whether to text had been solved for him, but he flipped the phone screen down on the bed without bothering to read what it said. He'd deal with that later. Reed, however, hadn't missed the gesture and narrowed his eyes at whatever he saw on Oliver's face.

"Who was that?"

"No one. When did you guys break up?" Oliver asked, before he could press the issue.

Reed paused before he said, "Two days ago."

"Two days– " Oliver broke off in disbelief. "Why didn't you say something? Does anyone else on the team know?"

"If Bailey hasn't said anything, then no. There's no way Charlie would have been able to keep his mouth shut about it if he did know," Reed said, looking nowhere as bothered by this news as Oliver thought he should be. "I didn't say anything because it was no one else's business. And Charlie would have been insufferable about it."

"Who broke up with who?" Oliver asked, knowing he wasn't doing this right. He was supposed to be sympathetic and comforting like a best friend, not bombarding Reed with a million and one questions, but his curiosity won for once and Reed hadn't told him to fuck off yet.

"She broke up with me."

"Why?"

The word spilled past Oliver's lips before he could stop it and Reed glanced away, but not before he saw the shadow pass across his face. Oliver had his own suspicions, but he didn't want to make any assumptions and he certainly wasn't about to voice them aloud, risking ultimate embarrassment if he was wrong. They were toeing the line of conversation they'd agreed to steer clear of.

"Does it matter?" Reed muttered.

"No," Oliver said slowly. "You're right, it doesn't. It just means a night out in London came with the perfect timing. What better excuse to get drunk than a recent break up?"

Reed looked relieved that Oliver dropped the topic. "What's your excuse to get drunk, then?"

To forget about feelings I shouldn't have, Oliver thought.

"Because I'm a good friend," he said, "who won't let you drink alone."

It was another ten minutes before Oliver checked his phone to see what the text from Finley said.

:

glad you decided to come tonight

:

;)

Oliver was inexplicably irritated by the fact that Fin, first of all, felt the need to use a winky face at all and that he had to send it in a separate text.

:

i'm not coming for you. marcie is the one who invited me and i'm coming for her

:

ouch, so cold

:

if i didn't know better i'd think you don't like me

Oliver wondered how to respond to that. He didn't dislike Finley, quite the opposite, but he didn't trust him. He wasn't sure if he had ever trusted him. Maybe that wasn't fair but at the end of the day, Finley had never really cared about Oliver. It was all a game to him, a game where Oliver could never tell whether he was being genuine or not. He was saved from having to think of a reply when Finley sent another text.

:

besides, you're not just coming for marc, are you?

:

?

:

marcie tells me that hot blondie on your swim team will be joining us tonight

Oliver looked up at where Reed was on the phone with Elsie, smiling at whatever she was saying. Considering he was the only blonde one out of the group who had been there when Oliver had spoken to Finley, and the only one coming out with them tonight, it had to be Reed he was talking about. Reed was hot, as far as Oliver was concerned, but he didn't like Finley making the same observations. As if sensing Oliver's gaze on him, Reed glanced over at him in silent question when Oliver's phone buzzed again. Fin was certainly feeling impatient today.

:

does that mean you finally found a boyfriend?

:

he's not my boyfriend

:

that's funny

:

in what way is that even slightly funny

:

you sure look at him like he is

:

your boyfriend, i mean

Oliver gritted his teeth and tossed his phone on the bed with a little too much force, where it skidded across the bedsheets to bounce off the floor. He didn't bother checking if it was okay. Oliver dropped his phone more times that he cared to admit, and the screen was already spiderwebbing with cracks at the corners, so he didn't see how it could get any worse. This night just got a hell of a lot more complicated. It was one thing for Oliver to have to avoid Finley's sniping comments, but now they would inevitably include Reed because Oliver was too transparent to hide his feelings from Finley.

"What did your phone do to deserve that abuse?" Reed wondered, as he hung up his call.

"Not the phone. The person on the other end." He stood up and glanced at the clock. 7:48PM. They were running late as it was but Oliver felt particularly reluctant to see Finley again, so soon. "Well, I guess we should go. I need a drink."