Katie was the daughter of the downstairs neighbor and a proper nuisance to fifteen-year-old Oliver. That scrawny, dark-eyed girl was always being dumped on them in the evenings.
Auntie Helen was raising her alonejust barely scraping by, working shifts as a care assistant, dashing off to give pensioners their injections, grabbing any chance to make a few extra quid. She even tried sorting her love life, but no luck. There was one decent bloketurned out he was married.
The neighbor always showed up out of nowhere, avoiding eye contact, whispering urgently, «Vicky, just for a couple hours, I owe you one, its so late, how can she stay alone?» Katie would stand there sulking, head bowed like a sad little sparrow.
Mum would sigh but always gave in, not wanting the girl sitting in the dark, empty flat. Dad would moan about it later, obviously.
Oliver was the one who paid for Mums kindness, because guess who got stuck entertaining the uninvited guest with «some cartoons»? Katie would perch on the edge of the sofa, silently watching whatever action film was onnot exactly kid-friendlyhands on her knees, which only wound him up more.
Once a week, Auntie Helen would shove a crumpled tenner at him and beg him to at least walk the little year-one kid to the cornerthey were headed to the same school anyway.
That day, Katie was shining like a polished teapot, even managed a few words on the way: said it was a special day, and shed be reciting a poem called «Snowflakes.» Oliver smirkedin that dorky knitted hat, the daft thing looked more like a space germ than anything.
After first period, kids swarmed the canteen for breakfast. Ollie was about to grab his usual cheese sandwich when, for some stupid reason, he glanced back.
The little ones were buzzing extra loud in their corner. A crowd had gathered around Katie in her fancy dress. Some were laughing, pointing, others offering tissues. He moved closer. Worst possible sceneher whole outfit was drenched in strawberry smoothie.
She stood frozen, crying silently, completely shell-shocked.
Out of nowhere, hyperactive Jake appeared: «Ollie, come on! Lauras sorting out the party stuff» His voice sounded miles away»She ASKED for you, mate! You miss this, youre done for!»
Laura. Just chatting with her was every lads dream. And now she wanted him there? He took a step toward the door. Not his problem, right? Let them call Auntie Helen, sort the dress, whatever.
Deep down, Oliver knew nobody would bother with Katie. Theyd shove her in a corner and forget her. And shed just shrivel upquiet, invisible, like always.
He sighed, just like Mum, and turned back.
«Miss Thompson, whens the assembly?»
«Oh, Oliver, not for an hour and a half. Look at hertrusted her with a poem, and now this Hows she meant to go on like that?»
Katie was trembling, covered in splotches, pale as if shed been sick. Oliver pried the empty cup from her death grip.
«Ill take her home, maybe shes got something else to wear.»
«Oliver, youre a lifesavergo on, Ill sort it with Mrs. Carter.»
Turns out, no spare party dress. Oliver muttered every swear word he knewscrubbed out the stains, blasted it dry with the hairdryer, ironed the pink frills straight. Skinny little Katie fussed in her vest and tights. They sprinted back, his hand clamped around her tiny mittened one.
Never did talk to Laura that day. Skipped lessons toowent to the year-one recital instead.
Katie rattled off her poem like a pro. When her class filed past, she suddenly broke ranks, flung herself at him, and blurted:
«Ollie, if it wasnt for you, Id have died today. Proper died.»
Daft kid.
