“Not as good as the ones here, of course.”
“We’ll have to find out.”
“We could live together,” I say, without thinking. “Without wing time and the fear of getting caught.”
“And you don’t think it would take the fun out of things?”
“I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t.”
Henry leans over me. “But until then, we can make the most of the thrill of secrecy.”
I can’t answer because his mouth is on mine. My lips open for his tongue as his warm, heavy body presses me deeper into the mattress. I slide my hands over his shoulders, into the sleeves of his T-shirt until there’s no more room for me there with his firm upper arms.
Shall we do it again, Henry? I’d be so up for that, but what if someone hears us?There’s no way it’s a good thing for me to be so blasé about it. I’m too deep in love. I want Henry, and I get him, his mouth, his weight, and his scent.
It’s a little less greedy than in the showers earlier, but I don’t feel any less tingly or full of anticipation when Henry stands up to fetch a condom. He has to move faster.Please.
I slip off the joggers he lent me and then his hoodie, under which I’m not wearing anything.
Henry’s hands are trembling slightly as he raises my arms above my head and crosses my wrists on the pillow, before pushing another one under my hips. It’s quiet. All I can hear is the rustle of the duvet and our heavy breathing. Henry’s careful ashe enters me. He’s careful as he starts to move—until I stretch my pelvis to meet him, and then he’s not careful anymore.
He leans down to me, his hair falls into his face. He kisses me again. He thrusts gently, he thrusts harder, and my head falls back. His hips find a new angle, one at which everything’s a bit different somehow from what I knew before. Henry does it again, thrusts again, gasps as I gasp. All I can do is to move with him, deeper, faster, trembling hands, empty head. He’s making a big effort to keep quiet, but I can still hear them, his non-noises. They push me a little way over the edge, and when he has to shut his eyes and press his lips together, it’s over. It’s simply over.
I fall into Henry’s arms, and I love it. When he runs his lips over my collarbone, it’s perfect. I just lie there like I’m on a tiny cloud—a ninety-centimeter mattress—smooth, hot skin, and his scent. I can’t leave here. I’ll never again be able to go anywhere that Henry isn’t. Every day has to be like today. Every kiss like the one where he just strokes my lips very gently with his and pauses directly over my mouth. Until I, with a huge effort, raise my head and kiss him. It’s the height of happiness. I understand that now.
Later, I’ll sometimes ask myself if I shouldn’t have guessed at this point that it couldn’t stay this way, because it was too perfect. Too pink, too light, too beautiful. Because the cloud was a patch of turbulence, and we’re falling. Hand in hand, but very fast. There’s nothing to be done.
25
Henry
“So which phase of cell division can we see here?” Mr.Ringling’s gaze roams around the classroom. “Inés?”
The helpless expression in her eyes is enough to tell me she doesn’t have the faintest idea.
“Which image shows mitotic figures? Come on, people, it’s nearly lunchtime for me too.” Mr.Ringling looks at me. “Henry, please, haveyouat least understood this, or is it just me who’s incapable of explaining it properly?”
I look at the images on the screen. “Top left?”
Mr.Ringling sighs. “Great, it really is my fault apparently. Fine. Shall we listen to the mitosis song again? Would that help?”
“Oh, please, no,” mumbles Omar.
I suppress a laugh but can’t prevent the irritating little jingle from starting to play in my head. Mr.Ringling is looking positively baffled, when there’s a sudden knock at the door.
I frown as Mr.Harper pops his head in.
“Excuse the disturbance, but it’s urgent,” he murmurs. “Could you just...?”
“Er, yes, of course.” Mr.Ringling turns to us. “Have another look at the last chapter, please. I’ll be right back.”
I reach for my book, but it’s kind of hard to concentrate—Mr.Harper looked at me in such a weird way. Why is he here? Normally the school secretary just summons people over the loudspeaker system if there’s anything important. It’s not unheard of for Mrs.Sinclair to call me into her office to discuss something relating to the school council. Sometimes even during lessons. So there’s no reason for me to be particularly worried when Mr.Ringling reappears in the classroom after a brief while.
“Henry? Would you go with Mr.Harper, please?” He seems weirdly anxious.
“Oh.” I stand up. “All right.”
Mr.Ringling glances at my desk. “I think you should take your things.”
