Ben goes to his room to get changed and put his stuff down. In the kitchen, he grabs a beer and waves a bottle for me, offering one.
I shake my head.
“Too much alcohol last night?” His smile changes once he’s close enough to read my face. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I force a smile.
“That’s not nothing,” he says, sitting beside me. “Did something happen?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Just tired.” I keep my eyes on my phone to avoid eye contact. “Oh, I got my English grade back.”
Ben leans over. “For the essay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Don’t get your hopes up, though. The grade will be shit.” The screen loads to show me my grade and my jaw drops. “That’s impossible.”
“Is that an80?” Ben asks. I’m just as shocked as he has — I haven’t received a grade above 70 in years.
“This must be a mistake,” I say, scanning the screen, but the percentage remains. At Easton Grammar, 80% equals a B.
I shake my head. “That’s crazy. That’s ridiculous—”
“Listen,” Ben says, and reads out the teacher's feedback. “Noah has improved tremendously with this essay. He demonstrates a strong understanding of the themes and ideas inMacbethand presents his argument well. While he could stand to widen his vocabulary and improve his sentence fluency, his extensive use of quotes and textual evidence is impressive— Jesus, Noah, you did amazing.”
“I can’t believe it,” I say. “I mean, I thought I did better than usual, but I suppose Eve was right.”
“Eve?”
“Yeah,” I say, looking over at Ben. “She said something about me doing well if I tried. That I’m not as stupid as I think.”
Ben snakes an arm around me and ruffles my hair like I’m five years old. “You’re not stupid, Noah. Mum and Dad will be so impressed.”
I laugh. “I mean, a B isn’t an A+, but still …”
“It’s great!” Ben ruffles my hair again before letting go. “Eve’s was helping you study for this essay, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, the night you took us to the supermarket. I should let her know … she’ll be so happy.”
“She’s a good influence on you.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time together.”
“Yeah, we’re friends.” I close my laptop and put it on the coffee table.
Ben raises a brow. “Just friends?”
“Yeah.” I can’t help thinking of last night when Henry and I discussed the same thing. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Of course not. But with people your age … you never know.”
“Trust me. She’s not my type.” If only he knew.
“Okay. I’m saying this because when I was in high school, I had a crush on every girl in my vicinity. Hormones and all.”
I groan. “I’m not talking about this.”
“Okay.” Ben leans back against the couch and stretches out his legs. That’s what I love about Ben. He doesn’t bug you, even when it’s obvious you’re holding something back.
