He frowns at me. “What?”
“The party. On the weekend? That Ethan Rutherford threw?”
“Oh. Yeah, what about it?”
Why does he look so uncomfortable? “Did you have fun?”
“Sure.”
Well, that’s the end of that. I’ll be sure never to try to make conversation with him again.
Finally, Mrs Johns starts the class, and strangely enough, Aaron seems tense the entire time. He only draws half of a person — a man, in anime style — before suddenly crossing it out. Then he jiggles his leg for the rest of the class.
It’s distracting, but I decide not to mention it because I don’t want to be rude. In fact, I feel a little sorry for him. It’s the first day of term, and Mrs Johns has already announced we have a test coming up in a few weeks, and I’m sure he’s nervous about that.
I’m a bit nervous myself. I have to score above ninety-five if I want to maintain a high grade average and ultimately win a scholarship.
Imustwin a scholarship. Everything depends on it.
When class finishes, roughly an hour and a half later, everyone stands up and packs their things as quickly as possible. I remain in my seat, sliding my textbook into my maths folder.
“Did you enjoy the party?” Aaron asks. The question comes from nowhere, and my expression must reflect that because he adds, “I forgot to ask earlier.”
“Oh. Yeah, it was…okay.”
He nods, lips pressed together, and I wonder if he’s offended on his friend’s behalf.
“I’m sorry if I was a little curt earlier,” he says as he zips his pencil case. “I’m a little…stressed. Year 12, you know?”
I blink. “If that’s your standard of curt, I must be a total lout.”
Aaron laughs a little hesitantly. “Okay, well…see you later.” Then he’s off, weaving through the row of desks. I watch him go. I know the guy doesn’t like me very much, and yet he’s still way more polite than he needs to be. Apologising for being slightly unsociable? I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.
It’s silly and unnecessary, and yet I’m also a little impressed.
Every day after school, I study in the library until five-thirty. That’s when Mum finishes up work, and we drive home together. I don’t have a driver’s license — I didn’t need one in the city, and I won’t need one when I move there next year — so even though I have to endure a daily conversation in the car in which Mum grills me about what I learned, it’s not too bad.
Today, I find a free table in the back of the library. It’s usually not too busy after school, just a handful of kids studying or waiting for their parents to pick them up. I spread out my laptop, subject folders and my pencil case on the table, then head to the bathroom. The closest one to the library is also closest to the Year 12 lockers, so it’s informally known as the Year 12 bathrooms.
I’m washing my hands by the sink when I see the notice. Someone’s written on a sticky note and attached it to the bottom corner of the mirror.
Guy hiding from the party,
I know this is dumb, and I don’t know if you’ll see this. But if you do — write me back?
I want to talk to you again.
I dry my hands, then pull off the note and read it once more while holding it close to my eyes.
I can’t believe this — he really wrote a message and stuck it onto the bathroom mirror of the boys’ bathroom where anyone could see it? Surely, one of the guys in our year level would yank it off and throw it in the bin. It’s lucky that I found it in time.
But, despite my shock and perhaps a tinge of disapproval, I feel…pleased. More than that. Excited. Carefully, I fold the sticky note and slip it into the breast pocket of my blazer, then hurry to the library.
At my table, I rip a page out of an exercise book, then tear it into smaller and smaller pieces of paper, the edges as neat as I can manage them. I poise my pen on the lined paper. Ishouldn’t. One wrong move, and I could ruin the anonymity of the closet encounter. What if I find out who the stranger is and am disappointed? Even worse, what if he finds out who I am and is disappointed in me?
One thing I know for sure: the stranger goes to Easton Grammar. He’s a boy in my year level. And I doubt I’ve made a good impression on anyone in my year level. It’s almost certain he’ll be disappointed to find out the guy he kissed wasme.
I shouldn’t risk it.
