He can still barely believe it. His mum is back, and he can finally go home; the world feels normal again.

Except it doesn't. Not really. He stares out the window, watching as Derry slowly disappears. This is what James has wanted for so long. He doesn't belong there, no matter what Michele says. Besides, isn't Michele the very one who goes out of her way to tell him that he isn't wanted or needed? How many times a day does she call him a dick for nothing more than existing.

He should be glad.

He isn't.

"Stop the car," he says.

"Jamie? What is it?"

He doesn't want Derry to disappear. He is so desperate to cling to it, to call it home for a little longer.

That's what it is. Maybe he hasn't realized it until now, but that doesn't make it any less true.

"Stop the car," he says again.

His mother frowns, worry clear in her eyes as she reaches out for him. James pulls away.

"Just stop the fucking car, okay?"

"What has gotten into you?" she demands.

A smile tugs at his lips. "I'm a Derry girl."

"It was one quiz, Clare," he insists. "It isn't the end of the world."

His words don't seem to have an effect on her. At least not the effect he had hoped for. She rounds on him, brows knitting together in frustration. She prods a finger against his chest. "Oh, well that's easy for you to say, isn't it?" she asks, her voice shrill as panic sets in. "Did you know the English have a better chance of getting into good universities, James?"

"I… Well, I'm pretty sure you just made that up, actually."

Once again, it's the wrong thing to say. Really, he should have learned how to approach Clare by now. She is the biggest perfectionist he has ever met. Even the smallest failures are an unforgivable sin in her eyes.

"Did I, James? Does that sound like something I would just make up? Are you saying I'm irrational?"

Yes, he thinks, but this time he is smart enough not to say it aloud. Instead, he rests a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Look, I'll get us some coffee, yeah? Then you and I can study together."

She still looks like she's about to have a meltdown, but Clare relaxes ever so slightly. "Together," she agrees with a quick nod, a small smile on her lips. "Right. Perfect. Not the vanilla one, right?"

James grins. "Of course not."

"A Derry girl? See, I knew leaving you there was a bad idea. It was that cousin of yours, wasn't it? I never should have left you with her."

James rolls his eyes. Michele may be rough around the edges, but, despite it all, she is still so good.

"What's up, motherfucka?" Michele sits beside him, deliberately shoving into him with her hip and nearly knocking him to the floor. "Seriously, what's your problem? You look like Jenny just declared her love for you." She adds a dramatic shudder for emphasis, her face crinkling to show her disgust at the thought of it.

"Funny," he says.

"And yet you aren't laughing. So, I'll ask you again. What the hell is your problem?"

James scoffs. "And why do you care?"

They aren't exactly close. Well, in a way, he supposes they are. At the very least, he is still in her circle, and they are still family. That's it, though. It isn't like they are the type to sit down and have heart to heart chats. Michele is probably the last person he would even consider confiding in.

"Wait. You really think I don't care?" She smacks him, her palm slapping painfully against his temple.

"Ow! Yes, I think that. Jesus Christ, Michele! You don't just go around slapping people you care about."

She shrugs, a smirk on her lips. "Well. If they're into that, you do."

He groans. Maybe it would be best to let her go off on some tangent about various boys who have asked her to slap them. It would be better than having her carry on with this charade.

"I do care about you, you dick."

"See! Right there. You always call me a bloody dick, even if I don't deserve it!" he snaps.

She laughs. "Because you are a dick. Jesus, James. It's become more of a term of endearment for you, or are you too thick to realize that?"

He clears his throat, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. Maybe she's right. The girls have made the word seem less of an insult.

"Good. Now, what's bothering you, you idiot?"

"Michele is great," he says. "Maybe you would know that if you actually bothered to be in my life!"

His mother recoils as though he's physically struck her. Guilt stabs his insides, but it's short-lived. Her perfectly painted smile returns, and she her sweet tone is a little too forced. He can feel the ice that saturates each syllable when she speaks.

"Now, that isn't fair. Everything I did was for you, Jamie. You have to see it."

Does he? He thought he did, but maybe he just wanted to see it. He wanted so badly to believe that she actually gives a damn about him, but it's time to grow up.

She doesn't care about him.

Not the way his girls do.

"Do I actually want to know what you're doing?" he asks.

Orla looks up from a melted pile of some unidenitified plastic cap, grinning when she notices him. "Oh, you're just in time. Have you got a watch I can borrow?"

"If I lend you mine, will I actually get it back?" When her eyes brighten, he gets a bad feeling and quickly adds, "Unmelted."

Her lips twist into a pout, and she huffs. "You spoil everything," she says before removing an elastic from her hair. "Good enough."

He doesn't bother to ask how it's good enough. It isn't even remotely similar to a watch. Still, if Orla says it's good enough, he isn't going to argue with her. She has a strange mind, but she is brilliant in her own way.

"It doesn't bother you?" she asks.

"What?"

"Most people come in and see me melting things, they have questions. Aye, some even reckon I'm a bit daft and say me mam should have me locked away."

"I just figure there's a little bit of method to your madness," he says, his nose wrinkling as some of her hair still attached to the elastic catches fire.

She looks up at that, studying him curiously. "And what if I'm not? What if there's only madness to my madness?"

James considers for a moment. When he first met Orla, she terrified him a bit. In all his years, he's never met someone so utterly unique, so unafraid of what anyone said or thought. Now, he admires her more than he can ever say.

"Wouldnt matter. We're all in this madhouse together, aren't we?"

Orla laughs, nodding before gesturing to the corner of the room. "Bring me the anatomy skeleton," she says. "I want to see how quickly it melts."

His feet hit the ground, and it feels like freedom. He takes a deep breath, grinning. This is what it's all about. It doesn't matter that he was born in England, that he spent more time in London than here. This is his home. This is where his heart is.

"James, get back in the car. We don't have time for this."

He just laughs and takes a step. Something draws him back, like a siren's song from the heart of Derry.

"Thank you for coming with me to prom," Erin says as they linger outside the school, watching the stars. "You didn't have to, you know."

Of course he knows. He could have had a perfectly nice evening discussing Doctor Who with like-minded fans. That would have been more his style, really. He's never cared for dancing and suits, and the idea of prom makes him feel like he's going to break out in a rash.

"Sorry your dress was ruined," he says, running his finger across the colored corn syrup on her shoulder.

Erin turns, placing her hand in his. It makes his heart race.

Of course he's noticed how beautiful Erin is. Maybe there's even a part of him that fancies her. But she is his friend. He can't let his feelings jeopardize that. God, he wants to though.

"You can kiss me," she tells him, smiling a smile that makes his heart melt. "I think I would really like that."

"Me too."

It kills him to have to raise his hands and push her away when she leans in. "No offense, but Orla did bring your grandad to prom," he says with a nervous laugh. "He actually sort of terrifies me, and I rather like not having my knees broken."

"Point taken." Erin leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Maybe another time."

"God, I hope so."

This is his home. These are his people.

James leans over the railing, grinning as his friends notice him. "I'm a Derry girl!" he screams, laughing. "I'm a Derry girl!"