Kisses for Lula by Samantha Mackintosh

handset in its charger on the hall table and returned red-faced to hunt for my hairbrush. Arns was gazing around, taking everything in. I followed his eyes uneasily. Had I left any underwear lying about . . .?
    I spotted my brush. Fantastic! Snatching it up while pulling out my hairband, I brushed vigorously, feeling my scalp tingle, and threw Dad’s shirt at him at the same time.
    ‘Put that on.’
    He only hesitated a second before shrugging out of a top I must have missed last night and putting on the Stones T-shirt.
    ‘Good.’ I nodded, my face flaring at his naked torso, and added hurriedly, ‘The shirt’s good.’
    ‘So’s your room.’
    ‘Thank you. You want some breakfast?’
    ‘No, thanks. You go ahead.’
    ‘Okay, I’ll just be a minute.’ I turned to the door.
    He started to follow me. ‘I’ll come and get some water.’
    ‘No!’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘You – you can stay here. Relax.’ I coughed and felt a prickle of sweat on my eyelids. ‘It’s safe here. Boodle the Poodle might eat you.’
    ‘Boodle the Poodle likes me.’
    I stopped and looked him in the eye. ‘This house . . .’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘It takes some getting used to. It’s a renovation project. With some way to go. You could be startled. Better you stay here.’
    Arns rolled his eyes and followed me regardless.
    ‘I see what you mean,’ he said by the time we got to the kitchen and when he said it for some reason it didn’t bother me. I nodded and made for the fridge, but paused when I saw that Boodle had managed to lever Pen’s special Vogel’s bread off the counter and was licking the last of the sunflower seeds off the floor, the wrapper pushed expertly to one side. I stuffed it in the bin to be safe and rubbed at the soft fur behind her ears.
    ‘Good girl,’ I crooned.
    ‘Take it you’re not a Vogel’s fan,’ remarked Arns, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl and twisting its stalk off. ‘It’s very good for you, you know. No flour enhancers, loads of seeds.’
    ‘I’d love some of that bread – that apple’s not beenwashed – but Pen buys her own and won’t let anyone else have any.’
    Arns looked around for the kitchen sink and couldn’t find it. ‘There’s a lot of stuff in this kitchen,’ he said, his eyes fixed on the chicken claw hanging from a rafter quite close to his upturned face.
    ‘Uh, yes,’ I said. ‘My grandmother used to live here with us. She was a . . . er . . . white witch – I’m not sure what she was up to with chicken claws. Mum’s too afraid to throw it away, worried about curses and jinxes or something, I guess.’
    ‘As is most of Hambledon Boys’ High School,’ murmured Arns.
    I gave him an evil look before pouring milk into my cereal bowl.
    Arns tossed his apple from hand to hand and moved away from the claw. ‘So, do you have second sight?’
    ‘Don’t you think I’d have bagged my man by now if I had an ounce of witchiness at my fingertips?’ I spooned away at my cereal, eating too fast.
    ‘Well, you’ve got some kind of sight to get me from what I was yesterday to how I am today.’ He sat down in a chair opposite me.
    I shook my head. ‘That doesn’t count. Hardly an amazing feat, Arns. If you’d let your sister help, you’d have been trendy from the age of three.’
    Arns leaned forward. His hazel eyes were clear and I noticed a ring of dark brown round each iris that made them the first thing you noticed about him now that the huge hair and glasses were gone. ‘Any idea how long it took me to put the contacts in this morning?’
    ‘You still got here on time. Remember – no pain, no gain.’
    ‘I –’ Arnold began, and I tuned out as I flipped open the dishwasher and began putting stuff away. I tried to be really quick in the cupboards so Arns didn’t get to stare too long at the hippo-shaped teapot or the gnome-bum egg cups. I passed by the sink once or twice and surreptitiously hooked out old teabags and stir-fry noodles from the drain,