"Well done boys!" Ms Lipson says, clasping her hands together. "How did you put so much into your presentation?" Our presentation went for five minutes when most pairs only went for three.
"We finished early," I say, "so we kept adding to it."
"Wow. And here, I thought you were a chronic procrastinator, Liam," Ms Lipson says with a smile.
"I'm not," I protest, smiling, even though all I want to do is go back to my seat.
"It must be your influence, Curtis," she continues.
Curtis shakes his head. "It was all Liam."
"Well, you worked well together."
Curtis and I glance at each other. Is that our cue to leave the front of the classroom? But Ms Lipson smiles at us expectantly.
"We studied together over the holidays," Curtis adds.
I glance at Kennedy, who's looking down at her notebook, scribbling something with her pen. Even without seeing her face, I know she's mad.
Ms Lipson turns to the class. "Curtis and Liam have shared many thoughtful points, so I hope you were all paying attention."
Curtis and I leave, and we slump into our seats with a sigh of relief.
"Good job," he murmurs, and he flashes his first real smile at me in days.
"You too," I whisper, grinning.
My eyes catch on something over his shoulder, and it's Kennedy, watching us with a frown.
*
"Kennedy," I call, following the short bob of brown hair. She's quick, but I have longer legs and I don't take long to catch up to her.
"Kennedy," I repeat, now close enough that she has no choice but to turn around and meet my eyes. Kennedy might be angry, but she's never petty or immature. She's never pretended I'm not there when I try to talk to her. It's all polite avoidance.
Which makes me embarrassed about how petty I was when she was dating Curtis. So that's another reason I'm a dick.
"Hi, Liam. I should get to my bus…" she gestures at the line of busses on the road that splits through Easton Grammar. Hers is close to the front of the line and the door is open, but only a few students have entered. Most kids wait in groups, only getting on their bus at the last second to extend their socialising.
"I know, I'll be quick. It's just…" I pause. How do I phrase this?
"What?" Kennedy's tone isn't rude, but not friendly either.
"You're my best friend," I begin, and she looks away. "You are," I repeat. "And I'm sorry about English."
She returns my gaze, and it's impossible to read her expression. "It was a random generator. It's not your fault."
"Still. I want you to know that we don't talk. Because, well, I don't want to hurt you. He doesn't either. I hope you know that."
After a moment, she dips her chin. "I thought you hated him."
"I… well."
Now she cocks her head. "But you don't anymore?"
"No."
"So you like him."
