“You’ll be careful, though, won’t you?”
“I’m always careful, Henny.”
“Just saying,” I mumble.
“And when I get back, you can come and visit me again. Uni’s not so stressful at the start of term.”
“That would be nice,” I say.
“After all, you need a look around if you’re going to study there. And I’ve signed up as a volunteer for your open day after half-term. We’ll see each other then.” Maeve smiles. “And bring Emma. I’m just saying...”
I’ve just opened my mouth when I hear a voice.
“Maeve Bennington?” Ms.Barnett is walking toward us, and she smiles as we turn around. “I thought as much. How nice to see you! You look so grown-up.”
18
Henry
It’s horrible. I’ve screwed up with Emma, there’s no denying it. Why else would she be avoiding me like this? Because she is, I can feel it. Now whenever we run together, all our conversation is really superficial, and the rest of the time, it’s basically never just the two of us.
Emma’s avoiding me, and I’m avoiding Grace. For the first time in two years, I bail on our Wednesday lunch with Grace’s family. I can’t just go and sit there like nothing’s happened. I’m a pathetic coward, but I can’t do it. Not while I’m feeling like a lousy cheat.
The last time I didn’t go, it was because I was in the sick bay with a fever, and Grace brought me homemade soup that Diane had sent. I don’t really remember much about it because I pretty much slept for a week, but Grace came as often as she could. This time, my excuse for canceling is an essay. A lousy essay. Which I could write absolutely any other time, but I’ve come up with assorted reasons why I totally have to do it over Wednesday lunchtime. I’d forgotten it was due; there’s rugby training thisevening. Really lame excuses, but Grace saves me the humiliation. She doesn’t even question it when I send her a WhatsApp. She just messagesThat’s a shameandEverything OK?And I answerYeahandI’m really sorry.
I hate myself.
To match my mood, the friendly late-summer days have given way to a gray wall of cloud and rain. The morning run is canceled three days in a row, and I toy with the idea of running on the treadmill in the gym instead. The only reason I don’t is that I’m afraid of bumping into Emma.
Rugby training is a suitable punishment for me too. Mr.Cormack is hardcore, even when it’s pissing down and the pitch has turned into a mud pit. This evening, I fall flat on my face more often than ever before—much to Valentine Ward’s amusement. But at least I succeed in turning my frustration into energy so that when we finish the drills and play a game, I manage to break some tackles and to score the odd try. It’s the first time Mr.Cormack’s praised me. My first thought is that I have to tell Emma, but then I remember I shouldn’t. Fine, so we’re friends, but apparently, we’re friends who don’t speak to each other and can no longer look each other in the eye.
This evening, I use the team showers in the new sports complex instead of going straight back to my room. Here, the whole floor is tiled, so it doesn’t matter that huge lumps of mud dissolve off my kit, turning the water brown.
I want to get some sleep and not have to talk to anyone, but at the same time, I want to go to Emma and force her to speak to me again. I want to go on nighttime walks with her, duringwhich I can forget that there can never be anything between us. I want to be the person she can tell anything—I want that so much. And I don’t even understand why. If I had any idea, maybe things wouldn’t be such a mess.
It’s dark, I’m running late—by the time I get back to the east wing, it’s already fifteen minutes into quiet time. I’m on the stairs when my phone buzzes in the pocket of my joggers. That means someone’s calling me. And nobody ever calls me. Unless something’s happened.
I stop, pull it out, and frown as I read the name on my screen.
“Maeve?” I say, instead of hello. “Is everything OK?”
“Yes, sure, everything’s fine, Henny.” She sounds kind of excited. “Is this a bad time? Or have you got a moment?” she asks. “I think I’ve found out something interesting.”
Emma
It’s not easy to avoid Henry, but I manage. When we’re with the others, nobody notices that we hardly talk to each other. Luckily we don’t sit next to each other in anything except chemistry, and Ms.Ventura hardly ever sets work to be done in pairs. There are plenty of other people around in the dining room too, so we don’t have to interact with each other there. As a result, our training sessions are the only tricky part of the day. But we’re just friends, aren’t we? We can deal with that, even if it’s just the two of us.
I’ve increased our pace so much that it’s almost impossible to chat as we run. I guess that’s OK by Henry, as he hasn’tcomplained. He complains less in general than he did at the beginning. He does what I say, makes an effort, and he’s improving all the time. What more do I want?
I’ve been asking myself that question for a few days now, but I can’t answer it. Not even when, just after wing time, I’m lying on my bed, curled up in a tight ball. All I know is that I’m in a chronically bad mood and that Henry doesn’t seem to have mentioned our little sleepover to Grace. If he had, there’s no way she’d still be as friendly to me. Or else she knows she doesn’t need to worry. After all, they’re perfect together. Everybody knows that. God, I hate it all so much.
Although I have to say that this afternoon, at athletics club, things were a bit tense between us. Grace didn’t look at me. Most of the time, she and Olive had their heads together. I felt awful, and at first, I kind of hated Henry, and then I hated myself.
Meanwhile, Isi seems to have blocked me from seeing her stories, because I don’t get shown them anymore. Of course, it’s possible that she’s too busy to post anything, but I know my best friend. Barely a day goes by without her sharing something.
I suppose it ought to be doing my head in, making me sad, but surprisingly I really don’t care. I’m busy enough loathing myself over Henry, for God’s sake.
Our corridor’s gone quiet now, the tower clock has struck ten, and I’m mentally bargaining with myself over how long I get to lie here before I will finally drag myself to the bathroom to brush my teeth when there’s a knock at the door.
