My Brother's Best Friend

Note : This is NOT a Fan Fiction. This is a romance between a normal boy and normal girl - it's called a book.
My name is London Green. My brother is Collin Green. His best friend was Jacob Scarf. We used to play together in the street when we were kids, but of course like all older brothers, Collin and Jacob used to pick on me. Jacob bullied me more and more as we grew up, until he moved to Edinburgh. It was a fresh start for me, away from that little porky kid that used to ruin my every day. But now, he's coming back. Now that we're older, will everything be better or much, much worse?

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2. C h a p t e r O n e

My brother storms into my room, his eyes ablaze. I bury my head into the pillow and let a groan tumble out of my mouth, vibrating at the back of my throat.

"London!" He yells, yanking the duvet from my clutches. I wail helplessly and attempt to merge myself into the mattress. He gives an exasperated sigh and opens the wardrobe, flinging some random clothes at me. I daren't move just in case my plan to sink into the mattress has worked. "Get up you idiot," he demands, stomping his way out of the room.

I pull my head up, though it is heavy due to tiredness. Rubbing the material of my outfit between my fingers, I scowl. Since when did he become my fashion adviser? I drag myself out of bed and begin to undress, quickly locking the door before I wriggle out of my pajama top.

'Why do I have to come with you anyways?' I call. I hear the door handle jiggle and grin when Collin huffs, beaten.

"Because, Mum said," He replies. There is a moment of silence before he asks, suspicion creeping into his voice, "Are you up?"

"Yes! You think I could get back to sleep after that?"

"That was the point," He mutters and I stick my tongue out childishly from behind the safety of the door.

He trudges back off to his own room and I roll my eyes, tugging the white and beige striped top over my head. I sneer at my reflection in the mirror and run the brush through my hair, flicking a strand over my shoulder so that it conceals the little pink stitched heart that sits on the breast-pocket of the shirt. I'm pretty sure that it's from the 7 - 14 range in M & Co, but I can't be sure. Mum cut out the tag so that it wouldn't irritate my neck, or at least that's what she told me...

I scuttle through to the bathroom to have a wash. Make-up is pointless. I'm not trying to impress anyone. I spot Mum gathering up the spare blankets from the cupboard by the stairs. She hauls them downstairs and sighs, kicking them into the corner of the room for later use. 

I feel so sorry for her. Ever since my father died four of years back, when I'd just turned twelve, she has grown weak and exhausted. Illnesses regularly attack her but she hates to take time of work, now that it's the only money coming into the house. She looks a few years older than she is and having two squabbling teenagers for kids always put men off. I have to say that though I want her to love again, none of her previous boyfriends have made the cut. 

Collin stalks around the house, ranting on about how we are always late for everything, whilst I casually ignore him. I lounge on the couch, my eyes set on the TV screen as I wonder about what the next few weeks have in store for me. I don't really have to wonder, I know. Endless bickering and hurt. Jeering and name calling. Criticism over my looks and jokes about my style. Rumors about my love-life and facts about my bra size spread around the town. This is gonna be worst summer break ever.

My brother orders me to get up and put my jacket on. I ponder for a moment, infuriating him further, before I shrug my shoulders and hop up to do as he says. I find it rather generous on my part, but of course Collin can't be pleased so easily. He tattles to Mum about how I'm deliberately 'shuffling' my way through the house just to annoy him. She mutters something in return and then he copies. I perk up my ears to listen but it all sounds like radio static to me. 

 I'm guessing that she's telling him to be a little kinder to me, seeing as we're about to pick up the guy who I loath with every cell of my body. They both emerge from the kitchen, their faces plastered with corny smiles and I raise an eyebrow. I decide to support my Mothers point by saying,

"Are we going to pick up Porky Pig or what?" Collin narrows his eyes briefly but doesn't comment, giving me a boost of power.

We clamber into the car as the engine purrs to life, before it slinks off to collect my childhood bully.

The heavens have opened, allowing the rain to hurl itself to the ground, but more favorably, my head. The train stations shelter is crammed full, and everyone who has been forced to wait outside, grimace from beneath their umbrellas. I don't even have a hood, therefore forcing me to have the rain slick my hair to my cheeks so that I look like a seal pup. I shoot my brother a look as he dances mockingly from beneath the massive spotty umbrella that we are meant to share. He sniggers and I reach out to nip him when my Mum swats my hand away, causing a chortle to escape my brothers mouth in amusement. This is absolutely pointless. Why am I even here? Mum told me it would be 'polite' to have the whole family there to welcome him, but as far as I remember, none of our relatives have ever followed that lead. 

The train eventually rumbles into sight and skids to a halt on the slippery tracks. My brother tenses as it does so, and I can feel that he's nervous. If we were still kids, I would have grabbed his hand and squeezed it in comfort, but now he would just treat me like I was wiping a bogey on him. But I do long to. He may be anxious, but he's not scared. Not like me. My legs begin to knock as the doors swing open in order to let the travelers out. Collin wipes the cold sweat from his palms as the people swarm out and swim around the platform. We both hold our breath as the last crowd trickles away like water, leaving one face to stand and stare at us.

It isn't him. It can't be. This man has no pimples, no double-chin, no alien shaped head. No sickly pale skin that wobbles on his chin and arms. His hair isn't like a fluffy duckling. You can't see the rolls of fat on his stomach. He isn't small, in fact he's very tall. Taller than Collin. This man is stunning.

He smirks at our reactions and my jaw drops. That means he must be. He's proved all of our doubts wrong. This man... I-I can barely believe it. This man...is Jacob?

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