**DUFFER.**
Katie was the downstairs neighbours daughter and an absolute menace to fifteen-year-old Oliver. That scrawny, dark-eyed girl was often dumped on his family in the evenings.
Auntie Grace was raising her alonejust about scraping by, working shifts as a carer, dashing off to give pensioners their injections, and grabbing any odd job for a bit of extra cash. Shed also been trying to sort out her love lifeno luck. One decent bloke had turned out to be married.
The neighbour would appear unannounced on the doorstep, avoiding eye contact, whispering urgently, *»Maggie, just a couple of hours, Ill owe you, its late, how can she stay home alone?»* Katie would stand there, sulky, head drooping like a wilted flower.
Mum would sigh but always took the girl inbetter than leaving her sitting alone in a dark flat. Dad, of course, would grumble about it later.
The real punishment fell on Oliver, because *he* got stuck entertaining the uninvited guest with «something to watch.» Katie would perch on the edge of the sofa, silently enduring whatever action film was on, hands neatly foldedwhich only annoyed him more.
Once a week, Auntie Grace would shove a crumpled fiver into his hand and ask him to walk the newly-minted Year 1 pupil at least to the cornerthey were going the same way to school anyway.
That day, Katie was practically glowing, shiny as a polished teapot, and even managed a few words: today was her class performance, and she was reciting *Snowflakes*. Oliver smirkedin that ridiculous bobble hat, the little duffer looked more like a space-travelling germ.
After first period, kids swarmed towards the canteen for breakfast. Ollie was about to grab his usual cheese toastie whenfor some stupid reasonhe turned around.
The Year 1 corner was unusually rowdy. A gaggle of kids had circled Katie in her fancy dress. Some were laughing, pointing; one tried handing her a tissue. Oliver edged closer. It was a disasterher entire outfit was drenched in strawberry yogurt.
Frozen in horror, the girl didnt move. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.
Out of nowhere, an overexcited Charlie shoved into him: *»Ollie, come on! Lilys sorting out the party plans»* The voice sounded miles away. *»She ASKED for you! Youll miss it!»*
Lily. Just chatting with her was every lads dream. And now she *wanted* him there? He took a step towards the door. Not his problem. Let them call Auntie Grace, scrub the dress, whatever.
Deep down, Oliver knew: no one would bother with Katie. Theyd shove her into a corner, forget her, and shed shrink into herselfquiet, invisible, used to it.
He sighed, just like Mum always did, and walked over.
*»Mrs. Thompson, whens the performance?»*
*»Oh, Oliver, in an hour and a half. Look at hergave her a proper part and everything, and now *this* Hows she meant to go on?»*
Katie was trembling, splattered and pale, like she might be sick. Oliver pried the empty yogurt cup from her death grip.
*»Ill take her home, see if she can change.»*
*»Oliver, youre an angel. Go on, Ill sort it with Miss Harris.»*
Turns out, there *was* no spare dress. Oliver mentally ran through every swear word he knew as he scrubbed the stains, blasted it dry with the hairdryer, and ironed the frilly pink folds. Meanwhile, stick-thin Katie fidgeted in her vest and tights. They sprinted backhis hand clamped around her tiny mittened one.
He never did chat with Lily that day. He even skipped lessons to watch the Year 1 show.
Katie rattled off her poem like a pro. And as her class filed past, she suddenly broke rank, flung herself at him, and blurted:
*»Ollie, if it wasnt for you, Id have died today… Proper died.»*
What a duffer.
