Chasing Butterflies by Beckie Stevenson Page A

something and pay them back in a few months when I leave school and get a job. I’m sure I’ve heard people saying that’s what they do when they need a helping hand. Why should I be any different?
    “Next,” calls the cashier.
    I walk up to her and smile. “Hi,” I say, “I’d like some money, please.”
    “Do you have your account details or your card?” She looks miserable, like she hates the fact that she has to speak to customers.
    “No, sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t have any details.”
    She huffs loudly, sending a waft of her onion breath right under my nose. “Name?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Your name,” she repeats. “I’m assuming you have one.”
    I scowl at her. What is it with people being rude all the bloody time? “Yara Hendricks.”
    She taps on her keyboard a couple of times, and then I see her eyes narrow as she concentrates on the screen. I try to lean over the mahogany counter to see what she’s looking at, but she tilts the screen away from me. “I need some ID, your date of birth, your address, your mother’s maiden name, and you’ll need to sign this.”
    I push my provisional licence over to her and rattle off the information she requested as I pull the piece of paper towards me. It’s blank, except for a single black line, so I scribble my full name across it.
    “Thanks,” she says with a sigh. “How much do you want?”
    Wow, this was easier than I thought . “Erm, I’m not sure,” I say. “I just wanted to get some clothes and have my hair done and stuff.”
    She raises her eyebrows at me, and I notice how thin and squiggly they are. Her eyes scan up and down my body and then over my face. “Five hundred?”
    I feel my mouth drop open. “I can have that much?”
    “Miss, you can have whatever is in your account.” She frowns and then adds, “Within reason, of course.”
    “I have an account?” I ask.
    “Y-es,” she says slowly, sounding as confused as I now feel.
    Oh. “How much is in my account?” Who opened it for me? Where has the money come from?
    She sighs and taps some more buttons, and then it’s her turn to look shocked. “Just over two hundred thousand, Miss.”
    What? I suddenly realise that I must look like an absolute idiot. I didn’t even know I had an account, and now she’s telling me I have thousands? Hundreds of thousands? “I’ll take three thousand,” I say, trying to sound confident. “Please.”
    She nods. “You want me to put it in an envelope?”
    I shrug. “Sure, thanks.”
    She hands a bulky brown envelope over to me and I take it from her, feeling excitement slither through my veins. “Thank you,” I whisper. I quickly stuff the money into my bag and scurry out of there before they realise they’ve made a huge mistake.
    As soon as I burst back outside, I squeal with joy and then run towards the shops and salons, completely ignoring the strange looks I’m getting.
    Today is the best day of my life.
     
     
     
    Gabriel
     
    Today is the worst day of my life. Jonny pats my back as we walk towards his bar. “The first three drinks are on me,” he says. “And they’re going to be straight whiskey’s.”
    I nod. I can’t think of anything else I want more right now. Except Alex. I’d give everything to have Alex in my arms again, to hear her voice whispering my name.
    “Here you go,” Jonny says, sliding two shots across the bar to me. He takes one in his hand and waits for me to pick up mine. “To Alexandra,” he says, “may she rest in peace now.”
    I swallow the lump that’s been stuck in my throat for the last five days and clink my shot glass against his. “To Alex,” I whisper.
    I feel tears prickling at my eyes, but I blink them away. Crying won’t help. Not now.
    “You ready to talk about her now?” asks Jonny.
    I shake my head.
    “Maybe you will after this.” He hands me the bottle of Jack and stands back to watch while I take seven huge sips. When I’m done, he shakes his head,