“We’ve got almost two hours until then,” murmurs Olive as he walks away. The bell jingles as the shop door closes behind him. Olive and Tori pay, and as I stand beside them, I can still feel Mr.Ward’s eyes on me. This morning in English, just now... Every time I see him, I remember the evasive way Mum answered me on the phone. Maybe I should have another go at asking her when she comes for the weekend.
Mr.Ward is out of sight by the time we get back onto the street. Tori wants to drag me off to the café, and Olive heads back toward the school. I can’t say I’m upset about that. I feel much better when it’s just me and Tori. And there’s something I’ve had on my mind for ages that I’d really like to talk to her about. So once I’m sitting opposite her in the tearoom a little later on, sipping my tea, I pluck up all my courage.
“Er, Tori...” she looks expectantly at me, “...I don’t know how to say this, without sounding totally dumb, but—”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it won’t sound dumb,” she interrupts, smiling at me.
“It’s just... Do you know if I’ve done something wrong to make Olive kind of... pissed off with me?”
Tori’s silence lasts a moment too long. “Don’t let it bother you if she’s a bit off sometimes. Olive doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s the Scorpio in her that comes out now and then.” She pauses before she continues. “Things have been kind of complicated between her and me for a while,” she says. “We were this really close group for ages, and Olive... well, she doesn’t deal so well with change.”
Change... So with me crashing in between them.
“Oh, right,” I mumble, stirring my tea.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Emma,” says Tori impetuously, smiling at me. “And God, I don’t think I’m the only one who is.”
12
Henry
It’s the way things always are at the start of a new school year. Everything happens at once and at megahigh speed. The days fly by, and I love it. The feeling of having so much to do and being absolutely where I’m meant to be. Mind you, it doesn’t feel quite the same on evenings like this, when I’ve got rugby training and two hours of death stares from Valentine Ward, but that’s what I wanted, so hey.
I don’t know if my training with Emma has had any effect yet, but at least it means I’m completely knackered by the time I drop into bed every night. Even now, I’m shutting my laptop on my Netflix series right at the start of wing time because I can’t even keep up with the plot. Although, for once, that’s not because I’m too tired. My thoughts keep wandering. To Emma and her fingers between my shoulder blades when she says,Stand up straight, Henry.To her slender neck and the sweat on her smooth skin. I didn’t know that could be a turn-on, but what can I say? When I shower after a run and taste my own salty sweat on my tongue, I find myself imagining it’s hers. I have to. There’s no other option.
I push the laptop aside, turn off the light, and roll onto my back. My head is heavy, but I don’t shut my eyes. I stare into the darkness and think about her body. I imagine putting my hands on her waist and feeling that line of supersoft skin. Because her top’s ridden up and she hasn’t done anything about it. Like she’s OK with it. I think about her pink lips and her cheeks, which flush the same color once we’ve run for long enough. I wonder if that would also happen if she were lying underneath me, my mouth exploring her body. If her lips formed my name, which sounds so sweet the way she says it. If she put her head back and arched up toward me.
It’s enough to make my breath come harder and my boxers tighten. I shut my eyes as an imaginary Emma’s fingers push downward over my belly—then open them with a start.
“Hi,” whispers Grace, shutting my door behind her. “I know it’s wing time already but...” She stops as I sit up and fumble for the light switch. I blink and pull the duvet over my crotch. “Oh, did I wake you?”
“No, I...” I cough, but my voice is still hoarse. “I was just so tired after training.” There’s a throbbing between my legs. Liar, liar, liar. “Is everything all right? What are you doing here?”
Grace is still standing by the door. I’d get up and go over to her, but I’ve got this boner, and it’s nothing to do with her. “I was round with Olive, and I thought...”
She doesn’t say it out loud, but she doesn’t have to. I know what she wants to tell me. That nothing’s happened between us since I got back, and things used to be the exact opposite of that when we hadn’t seen each other for ages. Back when I spent thewhole return flight thinking about how I’d kiss her and press her into the mattress. But that was then. Secret nights together, forbidden touches. Our first times, in beds that were way too narrow, and I don’t know exactly when all that stopped. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more of a gradual process.
I should say something. Ask her if she wants to stay over, for example. I should do it, but it wouldn’t be right. I don’t want to admit it, but it’s true.
“Anyway, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” says Grace.
“You didn’t,” I answer, and that part’s even true. I was still awake because I’m an arsehole who was thinking about another woman.
“I think I’d better get going, then.” She reaches for the door handle. And I say nothing. I just wait as she turns around. Slowly, as if she wants to give me a chance, an opportunity to use. But I don’t take it. Her eyes come back to me again.
“Text me when you’re home,” I say, and I hate myself for it. “Will you?”
“Yes.” Grace forces herself to smile. “Sleep well, Henry.”
“You too,” I whisper.
Grace walks away. My girlfriend, I sent her away. I wait till she’s closed the door behind her. I listen out in the silence. I let myself fall back; I press the pillow into my face so that nobody can hear the sound of frustration that escapes me.
Emma
What am I doing here? I haven’t the faintest idea. All I know is that it was somehow way nicer walking down these empty corridors in the middle of the night when Henry was by my side. I didn’t notice then how dark and creepy it was. But maybe that’s down to the rain that’s now beating against the windowpanes and the wind whistling around the walls. Every time I hear some other weird noise, I jump and whirl around, praying that nobody will catch me. It isn’t quite as late as last time, when I was out with Henry, but I doubt I’d get into any less trouble for that. It’s long past wing time, and I’m meant to be in my room, but my mind kept racing, always coming back to that shelf of yearbooks.
When I was in the school library this afternoon, I soon realized that flicking through those books in the daytime is not an option. Not while Mr.Elling, the librarian, is wheeling his little trolley up and down the aisles and my fellow pupils are sitting at the tables, reading. You can’t borrow the yearbooks, so I took out the three novels we’re going to be reading in English over the next few weeks. And wondered when would be the best time to come back here, undisturbed.
