I’ve gone too far, I’m sure of it.
God, what was I thinking?
“We’re doingWuthering Heights,” someone says.
Henry’s looking from me to Mr.Ward, his head slightly aslant. “And Jane Austen’sEmma. Funny coincidence, huh?”
He keeps a totally straight face.
I love him for that.
“You can leave the syllabus to me, Mr.Bennington,” the teacher snaps, but Henry doesn’t bat an eyelid. When Mr.Ward turns to the board, Henry looks at me. Smiles very fleetingly. It’s both appreciative and soothing.
“Don’t let him faze you,” Tori whispers, patting my arm. “He’s like that to everyone.”
I just nod, because that’s not much consolation.
“He knows your parents, then?” she asks.
“Quiet, please.” Mr.Ward glares in our direction, but this time, I’m almost grateful to him.
I wait until he’s not looking, then shrug my shoulders.
Apparently, he does know my parents. Both of them. And heseems to know that they’re divorced. Which might mean he’s still in touch with my dad. Or has seen his Wikipedia page... Either way, he might have answers to my questions, however horrible he is. I don’t take in much of the rest of the lesson. I sit on that chair, wondering how to get those answers.
8
Emma
The honeymoon’s over. That’s crystal clear as I head downstairs with Tori and Olive on Wednesday morning. Get up at six thirty, just time to brush your teeth and pull on your PE kit, and be down for the morning run at a quarter to seven on the dot. Sounds brutal, which it is, but I’m glad the run’s on this morning after it was rained off yesterday.
“I hate my life,” grumbles Tori, wrapping her arms around herself. Her hoodie is pulled right down over her face as she blinks at me with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you won’t freeze like that?”
And yeah, I’m shivering in a thin long-sleeved T-shirt. August in Scotland isn’t like August at home, as I might have guessed. But on the other hand, if you’re cold before a run, you know you’re dressed about right—you’ll soon warm up. I’m about to say so when someone calls to us.
“Hey, guys!” Sinclair trots over, dodging a couple of other girls who’ve stopped in the courtyard outside our wing. He keeps jogging on the spot when he reaches us. “Sleep well?”
I nod, but Tori huffs irritably. “How can you have so much energy this early in the morning? It’s boggling.”
Sinclair frowns. “It’s motivational?” he suggests. “The sun’s up, the sky’s blue. It’s going to be a beautiful day.”
“Not if it starts with a run,” grumbles Tori.
I can’t help grinning. Sinclair shrugs his shoulders. Then he takes Tori’s hand. “C’mon.”
“Jeez, Sinclair, I’m taking the shortcut anyway,” she moans, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “No bother, I’ll show you. But don’t tell anyone else.”
“Oh, I think I’ll go the normal route,” I say.
Tori stares at me like I’m out of my mind. “The normal route is at least ten minutes longer.”
“Yeah, but I like running.” I smile. “Honestly.”
“Hi.”
I freeze. Great. I just have to hear his voice, and my body betrays me. Or can I kid myself that these goose bumps are entirely down to the temperature?
Henry’s hands are buried in his hoodie pocket, and he looks kind of sleepy. He’s wearing a long base layer under his running shorts, and there’s a little hairband holding back his curls to keep them out of his eyes. He looks different like that. Kind of older and... Was his jawline that sharp yesterday? You could cut yourself just looking at it.
