We reach the train station and Oliver gets out. We end up watching each other through my open window. 

"Goodbye Calvin Wood," he says with a salute. 

I roll my eyes pretending to be annoyed but I can't help but smile while I do so. "Goodbye Oliver Night," I hesitate, "I'm going to hate myself later if I don't ask this but... do you want to go on a date tomorrow?" 

He smiles and the air is filled with a very familiar electric feeling. "I want you to guess my answer." 

It's completely obvious how unimpressed I am with that response, but I turn it on him. "Your answer is now yes, no take backs," I say for him and he giggles, "how does 1:00 PM sound? I have something to do in the morning." 

He smiles his contagious smile at me, "Sounds perfect. Where do you want to meet?" 

"I'll just pick you up from here." 

Oliver nods. "Do you need me to organise anything?" 

"Just leave it to me." 

"Well. I guess I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Yeah." I wait for a bit, just admiring him. Then I pull out of the waiting bay and drive off. 

I'm not sure I've been happier. 

- - - 

I struggle with getting the door to my house to open, but I eventually get in. And when I do, boy do I regret it. Sitting at the dining room table are both of my parents. Both of them staring directly at me with their trademark unreadable expressions painted on their faces. 

Goddammit. There goes my good mood. 

Even though I've been staring at them for the past few seconds, I pretend I haven't seen them and attempt to make it to my room. And about three steps into my escape, my father clears his throat, so I turn around and face them. 

"Calvin Alexander Wood," my mother says. 

Uh-oh, full name. This can't be good. 

"We need to talk to you." she says. My father just nods along. 

"About what?" I say dumbly. 

My father scoffs and jumps into the conversation headfirst, "'About what', huh? Well maybe this is about you disappearing to the Middle several times these past few weeks, without saying a word to us, and not coming back until it's dark out! That's what this is about!" He's on the verge of shouting. 

"Derek, please," my mother rests a steady hand on his shoulder, "What your father means to say is we are worried about you." 

I stare at them blankly. I just spent five days right under their noses and they're still going to pull me up on this. 

"We just want to know where you go and what you do. And I get you're a teenager-" 

I butt in then, "Yeah, ok, I'm one of those distant teenagers. Is that where this is going? Look, I'm nineteen, I'm capable of doing my own things. And thank you for being good parents and being worried, but there's no need. I'm fine." 

Silence falls over our living room. 

I jab my thumb over my shoulder, "I'll be in my room." 

I watch their sad and worried faces a little longer, feeling slightly guilty for shutting them off. But I don't need them messing things up, not now. So, I continue to my room. 

I have a date to plan.