Chapter 12

They transported the cupcakes in Sage's car, which certainly helped the disguise Carl was trying to pull off. On the two-minute ride, Carl side-eyed Grayson. "What was all that about? You and Poppy."

Grayson stared out the windscreen to the traffic light they'd stopped at. "He was competing against me. For your... approval."

It took Carl a few moments to process that. "All that was for me? Why? Did Sage tell him I'm one of your groupies? He got it all wrong. And you"—Carl banged a chastising fist against Grayson's upper arm—"You're mischievous, you know that?" Carl replayed the morning and laughed. "All those poor cupcakes. All to tease him."

"Teasing?" Grayson mumbled. "I was acting the part of jealous suitor."

Carl patted his shoulder with a nod. "You made him work for it. Good friend. I'll go see him once we're done here."

Grayson came to an abrupt halt inside the school gates. "You're going back to him?"

"To clarify it all." And turn him down gently. Even for a fling, Poppy didn't feel right.

Carl gazed at Grayson climbing out of the car. The grace. The gorgeousness—

He gave himself another sharp slap on the cheek.

"You all right?" Grayson asked.

"Bug." Love bug. That he must squash immediately!

Inside, bowed over three dozen cupcakes in the hall kitchen and only partially visible to the teachers and volunteer mums strolling in, they got the show on the road.

It was easier than he'd thought. Grayson, playing the role of Sage's helper, didn't even need to throw out the line about ‘Sage' making her way into the main hall soon. The witches beat him to it.

"Sage is here already!"

"Must be eager to impress."

"Let her have her moment."

In fact, hearing that, Carl nearly gave them away. His head shot up, fury blazing in his eyes, and only Grayson whirling him into a dance saved the show. They twirled to the beat of Mariah Carey's "Almost Home" crackling over Grayson's phone until Carl calmed himself and folded into the steps, like Sage would've done. He couldn't stop glaring over Grayson's shoulder, though. And he held Grayson's hand so hard the heat was starting to make them stick.

Once the witches passed the kitchen, Carl stopped dancing and said in Grayson's ear. "Can I put laxatives on their cupcakes?"

Rumbling laughter vibrated through Carl, making him realise how snug he was against Grayson. His pulse kicked up a gear and a shiver slunk through him.

Hurriedly, he peeled himself away and turned back towards the plated cupcakes.

He checked the time. Already quarter past. Sage should arrive in the next five to ten minutes, and to stall the meeting out there... He made sure no one could see him and quickly unwrapped the dress, pulled off his mask, and uncovered his hair. In an instant, he was Carl again. Correction: he was Jason Lyall.

"What are you doing?" Grayson said as Carl headed towards the main hall.

"Stalling. Sage wants to be properly involved. That means the meeting will start when she arrives. Bring the plates to the tables?"

"The piano—what if they pressure you to play?" Grayson cuffed Carl's bare wrist. "You're not wearing your bandage."

"This was a spontaneous thing. I didn't bring it."

The moment Grayson tugged Carl back into the kitchen, the scudding of chairs over the floor as staff and volunteer parents chatted in the main hall became a soft background hum.

Grayson opened drawers and cupboards, searching them swiftly, keeping a gentle grasp on him.

Carl stared at those careful fingers and wondered if Grayson felt the ticking of his pulse under them, like at the beach, under the towel. He waved his free hand in front of his face. Plenty more air in this kitchen, yet it felt similarly warm.

"You alright?" Grayson asked, spying his rapid face-fanning hand.

Carl dropped it to his side and mustered a nod.

Behind the cutlery tray was a clear bag of plasters, and Grayson snatched them up. "Stay right there."

Air funnelled around his fingers but the feel of Grayson's hand around Carl's stayed. He stared at it until suddenly Grayson was before him again, holding up a large plaster smothered in raspberry jam. Carefully, Grayson wrapped it around Carl's index finger, smoothing out a ruffled edge with the tip of his fingernail. The gentle scrape sparked a violent shiver, and Carl... liked it. He... didn't want to ignore it.

He slammed his eyes shut and shook his head. Heartbreaker.

"There," Grayson said. "Credibility."

A short sound had him reopening his eyes and spinning around to Leo, tucked behind the doorframe to the kitchen. He was frowning, perplexed. "What—"

"Leo!" Grayson said, aiming for cheerful and distracting. "Where did you come from?"

"I got bored at the bakery. Wanted to see if you needed help." Leo kept staring at Carl's plastered finger, and guilt sank Carl's stomach to his knees. This was it. He'd kept finding excuses not to come clean—there was always another feeling that trumped the truth—but now...

Leo flattened his lips, frown deepening.

The chatter from the hall had died down—the meeting was about to start. He really wanted to stall it on Sage's behalf, but faced with lying to help her or saving his friendship with Leo...

Carl turned to Grayson with a light, pleading touch to his arm. "I can't go in there."

Grayson's warm dark eyes held his with understanding. "Go on. I've got this."

With sluggish steps, Carl walked out into a fresh breeze with Leo. They didn't look at one another or say anything as they crossed the concrete quad, headed up a zigzag path and rounded a playground to a view of houses and hills. The grass was soft under them when they sat. Leo grabbed a stick and started stabbing it into the dirt.

Carl thought he probably deserved to be under that stick.

He sighed and unwrapped the plaster. "You saw Grayson smear jam on this, huh?"

A demanding look. "Why?"

"My gut tells me you already have an idea."

"You wore a bandage to assembly and couldn't perform. Now you're wearing jammed-up plasters. You don't want to play."

"Mm. I don't want to play."

"Because it's too much to ask? Or because we're not paying you? Or..." He stabbed the grass again.

"Finish that ‘or'."

"Or you don't know how."

Carl ran a hand through his hair and stared out towards the forested hills. "I mean, I might be able to sound out Three Blind Mice..."

Leo dropped his stick and stared at him. "You're not a professional? Why did Mum think... why did you pretend you were?"

"Fair questions. Your mum was right. Jason Lyall is a famous pianist."

"You're not Jason Lyall? Oh my God. You're an evil twin?"

"Would we call me evil?"

"You're a twin?"

"And cowardly imposter."

Leo opened his mouth to say something and slammed it shut again. Instead, he blinked, and blinked again. "You pretended to be your twin? Does he know? Are there two of you walking about confusing us?"

Carl explained the situation. Swapping places with his brother was only meant to be for a few weeks. Carl wasn't supposed to get into trouble here, and it might've been better if he hadn't chosen to act as his twin, but "I confess, I was curious what it would feel like. Being him. You were all so eager to meet me, get to know me. It felt nice."

"So you're a lonely old fool."

Carl winced. "Only a dozen years older than you—okay, I get your point. A fool."

Leo picked up his stick again and swatted at the grass tips. "It made me and Mum so happy to think we met someone famous who enjoyed being around us."

Carl bowed his head.

A stick prodded into his arm. "I mean... I think I get why you thought it wouldn't matter. If your brother came and took over my lessons, then you've thought you've helped us. And I think I get why you kept pretending. It's mostly for me. To make me look good in front of those bullies."

"I really was trying to be good, wasn't I?" Carl preened.

Leo wagged a finger.

Fine, fine. Carl sank his head to his chest. "I guess I'll have to come clean with everyone."

Leo nodded. "You should do it while everyone's gathered together. Save having to admit your faults over and over."

Dread made Carl feel like he was made of stone and sinking into the earth. He didn't want to get up, but Leo's imploring look...

"I don't want to face the music," Carl admitted, heaving himself to his feet.

"You said we need to have courage to live our dreams."

"This isn't exactly my dream."

"You get the point."

Carl grumbled. "Fine. As long as you remember those words when it's your time to get up on stage."

Leo grimaced and tapped the end of his stick against his chin. "Deal."

"Excellent, now if you'd pull-slash-drag me back to the hall..."

Leo laughed, threw away his stick, and tugged Carl all the way there. Sage—in her wraparound dress—was making her way towards the volunteers seated around tables covered with cupcakes. Judging by her relieved smile, she'd come before the meeting had officially started.

Carl shuffled inside—aided by Leo at his back—as Grayson finished answering some trivia question and jogged down the stairs from the stage. His gaze caught Carl's and swept across the hall to Sage, who was being praised by the teachers for her amazing cupcakes. "Uniform colours, that's a great idea. This'll add school spirit to the event."

The witches looked on with flattened lips, and one of them whispered loudly, "It's not like she gets much attention, she should store this in her memory."

Leo's hands stilled against his back.

Another witch murmured, "I can't believe her luck lately. What with Jason Lyall always hanging out with her."

"I'm sure it won't last."

Carl's chest sank as he took another step towards the stage—

Leo lunged and hugged him around the arm, dragging him backwards; Grayson shared a look with Leo and grabbed Carl's other arm, hauling him out of the main hall. The doors were shut behind them, and Leo and Grayson sagged, letting out a long breath towards Carl's sleeves.

Carl, his back pressed against the wall, eyed them both. "Wasn't I supposed to come clean?"

"Those mums are always embarrassing mine."

Grayson nodded grimly. "We'll think of a better way."

"Thank God," Carl said on a sigh. "Something's digging into my back."

Leo and Grayson let him go; he came off the wall and glanced at the framed photos he'd been resting against. They were pictures of teachers throughout the years, and school board volunteers. There were too many of those witches, and... that face looked familiar. From five years ago... Was that—

Before he could linger on the photo, a group of holiday program kids swarmed through the entrance and made for the kitchens, and he, Leo, and Grayson smuggled themselves smartly out of the stampede.

Outside, Grayson got a call, which he took begrudgingly and waved for Carl and Leo to head off to whatever they had planned next.

Leo was headed back to the bakery, and Carl needed to do the same. He fidgeted along the way, and once he was inside the quiet shop, met Poppy at the counter. The smile bestowed on Carl had him biting his lip. He could see it now Grayson wasn't around—those bright eyes following his every step, the hint of a leer in the quirk of his brow... all meant for him. No hidden history of a past fling that hadn't worked out and had never been forgotten. These looks were all for Carl. Well, for Jason. Fake Jason.

Still, it was empowering, and he could see why Grayson loved that sort of attention even if he never returned the feelings. Carl couldn't help but feel chuffed.

However, he wouldn't smile too much, lest Poppy get the wrong idea.

He cleared his throat and leaned against the counter. The lean angled too much towards intimate and he pushed himself back a step, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Can we talk a minute?"

Poppy's smile grew hopeful. He tossed his apron to Leo and told him to man the counter. Four steps later, Poppy grabbed Carl's wrist and was hauling him outside—

Carl's foot caught on the darn threshold and he tripped, sending poor Poppy shooting down the stairs. Flailing, Carl readied himself to hit the footpath and possibly a passerby, but he was caught swiftly in Poppy's arms. And even twirled around with the momentum, Poppy all joyous laughter. "Falling right into my arms."

Carl caught a breath and glanced over Poppy's shoulder—

Two dozen feet away stood Grayson, frozen to the footpath, gaze rooted on them. There was something in his stance, shoulders slightly slumped, and his watchful gaze seemed to hold less depth than usual. Could that be the twitch of his jaw, or a trick of the light? Why did the usual charismatic aura around Grayson feel dulled? Greyed.

Something sharp shifted in Carl's chest and he quickly tried to extract himself from the hold, but Poppy held him tight and Grayson was ducking away into the café by the time he was finally free.

It must look like Carl had decided for the fling; even though Grayson shouldn't care about it, Carl felt nauseous. His heart galloped. He had a massive urge to explain.

Two pedestrians passed Carl and Poppy, heading into the bakery, and Poppy patted Carl's arm. "Better help Leo out. Can we save the talk for later?"

Except, Carl couldn't save it for later. It cribbled in his belly, rose up his throat, and burst out. "I don't want there to be a later."

Poppy stalled, frowning, and Carl tried again more calmly. "You seem like an interesting person, Poppy, but I don't fancy you."

He blinked and rubbed his jaw, glancing sidewards as he sighed. "It's Grayson, isn't it?"

Carl jumped. "Ha! No."

Poppy's eyebrow rose in disbelief.

Shaking his head harder, ignoring very loud, urgent whispers, Carl said, "It just... isn't you."

After a few beats, Poppy laughed lightly and shrugged. "I see. Worth a shot, I guess."

Carl kept glancing over the road, and Poppy shooed him on. "Off you go, then. I've got to help Leo in the shop."

Poppy retreated inside, and Carl clipped his way into the café, past patrons eating and answering trivia, and—where was Grayson?

"Looking for someone?" Carl turned towards the familiar voice. Linda, in the corner booth, eyeing him closely over a cream-filled raspberry lamington.

He shuffled over, still searching the café interior. "Have you seen Grayson?"

"He came, chugged down a glass of water, and left through the back."

Had Grayson's haste been to avoid him? Or had he wanted to give them space, and just happened to be thirsty?

Why was Carl thinking so hard on this?

It was like he hoped Grayson had hurried away in disappointment.

Stop being ridiculous.

Carl gnawed on his lip and plunked down on the seat opposite Linda. "What should I do?"

A question for the universe, really, but in her typical cryptic way, Linda answered. And her answer followed Carl around the rest of the day. "Ask yourself what makes a home. And you'll get there. You'll see."