I laugh. “You don’t have to come on the full lap with me.”
“Yeah, I do,” he pants. “I need to get fitter.”
“So you’re on the rugby team?” I ask.
“Not yet, but I want to be.”
That’s kind of surprising. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’d assumedrugby players were big, tough, muscly guys, who’d fight for the ball without considering the consequences. And not like Henry.
“There’s an open training session on Friday,” he says. “I might have a chance as a winger. They’re the little fast ones who run and score points. So I have to improve.”
“We could run together often, if you like. Just let me know.” I say it without really thinking it through. “If you want to, that is. I love running. I was in an athletics club at home.”
“Really?” Henry looks sidelong at me. It’s a glance, but enough to send another shiver down the back of my neck. “Grace is on the track team. I’m sure she’d take you along to training if you like. Shall I ask her?”
“Sure.” I tense. “That would be cool.”
Grace is on the track team. So Henry can run with her. Which would be way more natural. And doesn’t bother me. Why should it?
I don’t know what else we chatted about. Henry’s pretty exhausted by the time we get back to the courtyard a good fifteen minutes later, after a lap of the whole grounds. I wouldn’t mind doing a couple of sprints now, to calm my circling thoughts, but there isn’t time. Once I get back to my room, I shower and get dressed quickly. Sand-colored trousers, white polo shirt, and dark-blue jumper.
At breakfast, I meet up with Tori and the others. Not much later, we head off to lessons. My day begins with tutor time, with Ms.Barnett, followed by PE, with Ms.Ventura. I don’t see Henry again until later on, in maths. Part of me has spent the whole morning looking forward to it, while the rest of mewould rather run away when Mr.Ward enters the classroom. I only start to relax a little once I realize I’m ahead of the others on this course. Mr.Ward calls me and a couple of others up to the board to solve some equations. Every classroom here seems to have these high-tech interactive whiteboards—not like my old school. At any rate, I haven’t seen an ordinary chalkboard anywhere.
Mr.Ward just gives a curt nod once I’ve solved the problem without difficulty, and he makes a note of something on his iPad as I sit down.
He leaves me in peace for the rest of the lesson. When the bell goes for lunch and the others leave the room, I pack up my things extra slowly.
“Are you coming?” Henry asks in passing.
“Yes, in a minute. I just wanted to...”
He understands my hesitation. “We’ll be in the dining room. Just text me. Hold on.” I can’t react in time as he reaches for my hand. He holds it firmly in one of his own, while the other grabs the felt-tip that’s still lying on my desk. My heart skips a beat as he takes it into his mouth to pull off the lid. His hair falls into his eyes as he presses the cool tip of the pen against the sensitive skin of my palm. It tickles a bit as he writes, and it’s only then that I see he’s giving me his number. As if we could miss each other in the dining room—I mean, it’s not like the canteen at my school in Germany where anyone can sit wherever they choose. Here, we have set tables, and there aren’t that many people, but apparently it matters to Henry that he immortalizes himself on my skin. And I... Well, I don’t have a problem with that, let’sput it that way. Who knows? I might need to ask him something about schoolwork sometime. Or check out his profile picture...
“That last number’s meant to be a nine,” Henry mumbles, raising his head. His eyes are dark green as he puts the lid back on the pen and slips it into my pencil case. Have I mentioned that he has a very nice mouth? “See you soon.”
“Yes.” I clear my throat a little as he turns away.
Help. Why was that so hot?
I run the thumb of my other hand over the black numbers. Once I’m sure the ink’s dry, I clench my fingers into a fist and slip my bag onto my shoulder.
Mr.Ward is just reaching for his stick and turning to the door as I approach him.
“Excuse me, sir,” I begin.
He gives an irritable sigh. “I haven’t got much time.”
“I just have a quick question,” I say hastily.Oh, yeah, what is it then?What’s happened to all my prepared sentences?
Mr.Ward looks impatiently at me. His eyes flit to the clock above the door. “I’m busy,” he says, “so if you could get to the point?”
My tongue has difficulty forming the words. Then I just say it. “You mentioned my father yesterday morning.”
“Yes.” His hand tightens on the handle of his stick. “I did.”
“Where did you know him from?” Mr.Ward narrows his eyes. Suddenly I feel incredibly naive. “I just wanted to...” He still doesn’t reply. “I’m not in contact with him and I was hoping you could—”
“I said you look like him,” he interrupts me harshly. “That doesn’t mean I feel the need to speak about him.”
