When he pulls up his hood and leans back in the seat with his arms folded across his chest, I turn my eyes away. It’s rude to watch a stranger sleeping, but his brown hair curls under his hood, and his eyes really were very green. Dark-moss green. Like the green in the school tartan, in the uniform I’m going to wear starting tomorrow. Dark-blue blazer with a blue-and-green-checked lining and the school crest embroidered on the breast pocket. White shirt and a matching tartan tie.
I can’t stop imagining Henry in that uniform, which I bet suits him very well, as his head sinks further and further toward his chest every minute. If he were sitting beside me, he could rest it on my—
God, Wiley. I shut my eyes again and Lana sings “Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman like Me to Have.” She doesn’t know how right she is. Or maybe she does. If you write songs like that, you know how it goes. Noah, at school the next day. Saying there was no point to it anymore. Me nodding, very calm, no emotions, no tears. Anything not to be the hysterical ex, begging him to stay. Because I should have known. Because everything always repeats itself, always, always, always, and you neverfigure that out, no matter how much you want to believe in the good in people. When it gets tough, they just leave and no one can stop them.
We don’t need any more men in our lives, Emmi-Mouse.Mum’s voice, and part of me wants to believe her. Because she truly doesn’t need men, just her job and to keep busy so that she forgets how much it hurts. I can’t forget. Because I’d been unable to breathe as I changed into running clothes—even though it had been a rest day. But a Noah’s-dumped-you day can never be a rest day. It was a day when I had to run to stop myself from losing my mind. Because the only way my thoughts stand still is if I do the running for them. But I can’t run now. I can only force myself not to look at Henry. Just as well he’s not sitting next to me. That would be fatal. No way can he sit next to me, fall asleep and lay his head on my shoulder. I’ve got no time for that stuff. Noah ended it, and I’m on a mission. It’s perfectly simple. One year, one goal. For me, everything in Scotland has an expiration date. I have to keep reminding myself of that, can’t let myself forget.
I blink.
And no, he hasn’t turned around.
3
Emma
It’s a two-hour flight from Frankfurt to Edinburgh, and half an hour before we land, I stand up to go to the toilet. Maybe I’m obsessed, but just wiggling my toes up and down in my sneakers and jiggling my feet nervously isn’t enough. I don’t normally have a problem with sitting still for hours at a time, but I don’t normally fly to Scotland to be the new girl at a posh boarding school. I wonder if it’ll really be like the school’s incredibly fancy website. Smiling girls and boys sitting on the lawn with their books or strolling across the grounds in uniform. Super-high-tech equipment in the classrooms within ancient walls. Community, not competition—no pressure to achieve. Not that my old school was like that either. Not many people cared enough about their lessons for that, but if Mum’s memories are anything to go by, Dunbridge is different. “Dunbridge Obliges.” A weird motto, but somehow it fits my image of the school. And Henry. He definitely seems very conscientious, but not in a teacher’s-pet kind of way. Either way, as I walk down the plane’s central aisle, I’m planning to try to make the most of my time in Scotland.
The plane’s only aisle, in fact. On bigger planes and longer flights, you can sneak through the little galley kitchen to the other side of the seats and do a few laps. Here, there’s only the route to the toilet and back, but that’s better than nothing.
I close the door on the tiny cabin and stare at myself in the mirror while my head buzzes. In the harsh light, my blond bobbed hair looks almost white. I tuck a strand behind my ear and flush, even though I didn’t go. Then I wash my hands, dry them on the stiff paper towels that reject the water rather than absorbing it, and rattle at the door. It opens inwards with a complicated folding mechanism. It fascinates me so much that I don’t spot Henry standing out there until it’s too late.
“Oh, hi,” he says, and his voice sounds kind of different over the noise of the plane. He’s smiling, but he looks tired, like he’s only just woken up, with slightly puffy eyes and messed-up hair peeking out under his hood.
“Sleep well?” I ask, instantly regretting it, because now he knows I was watching him.
Henry hesitates, then his smile changes. He shrugs and steps to the side as another woman pushes past him. I don’t understand what she says: Her English is unclear, and she’s speaking fast. When Henry answers, his English is even faster and less clear. Suddenly, I remember again that I’m going to be living in a foreign country for the next ten months. A foreign country that’s also kind of my home, but let’s be honest, I’ve never even been there.
You’re bilingual—your English is perfect.Isi’s voice in my head makes my stomach lurch. I have a British surname and a Germanaccent because I haven’t spoken English regularly since I was a child. When he left. I might always be top of the class in English in a German school, but any time anyone asks me why I’m so good, it’s like a punch in the guts.
“Didn’t you want to...?” I ask to take my mind off my thoughts. I point to the toilet door, which the other passenger has just pulled shut.
Henry’s eyes come back to me. “No, I... I just want to stretch my legs a bit.”
“Oh, right.” I gulp.
“Are you nervous?”
He wants to chat, in this little kitchen at the back of a plane, and that’s fine by me. I’ve read that you have the best chance of surviving a plane crash if you’re sitting right at the back. Sitting... hmm. We’re standing. We’re not even strapped in. I have to stop thinking.
“No,” I say, meaning yes.
Henry nods like he knew that. “It’ll be fine,” he says. It’s unfair of him to smile like that. “Everyone’s really nice.” He turns aside slightly, hand over his mouth to cover a yawn. “Sorry...”
“Jetlag?” I ask, and Henry nods. Then he shakes his head.
“No, not really. There’s no major time difference.”
“Where have you been then?”
“Nairobi,” he replies. “It’s only three hours ahead. But it was a night flight.”
“Couldn’t you sleep?”
“The woman next to me had a baby in her arms, and well, it was a bit stressful.”
“What were you doing in Nairobi?” I ask, running my fingertips over the metal drawers beside me. They’re seriously cold. Henry’s eyes follow my hand, and I’m not sure if he heard my question or not. Then he tears his eyes away and looks at me again.
“Visiting my parents. They work for Médecins sans frontières.” He says it the way you say stuff you’ve said a hundred times before. Like the way I say I barely know my dad because he left when I was eleven.
