Val smiles the smile in which only one corner of his mouth twitches. It’s so attractive.
‘I knew you’d make the right decision,’ he says. We turn the corner and he presses me up against a wall, in his jacket, in the dark. My heart explodes. ‘Victoria Belhaven-Wynford, you’re way too cool for your lower-sixth pals. Anyone ever tell you that?’
‘You’re the first.’
Val grins. ‘Am I indeed?’
And then he kisses me.
It’s just one single, fluid movement, and I didn’t see it coming. I feel the cold wall through his jacket and my heart beating up against Val’s lips.
Breathe through your nose. Close your eyes.That’s what all the novels say. God, even the women in books who’re doing this for the first time can manage it. It’s in their blood. And this isn’t my first kiss. OK, it is the first proper one, but when I close my eyes, Sinclair’s sitting on that windowsill, his blond hair falling into his eyes as we both move back.
Val puts his hands into my hair and pulls me closer. He doesn’t ask if this is all right. He just takes ownership of meas if the only way a woman can survive is to be owned. Books have taught me that this is romantic, but just now it feels more threatening. Like an invitation to something I might not be ready for.
I don’t flinch because I don’t get the chance. And because part of me is enjoying what’s going on. My stomach is tingling and my knees are weak.
I jump as people come closer. Val pays them no attention. He pushes his leg between my knees and my body responds. Nervous throbbing. I kiss him.
And my best friend watches.
There’s a blank look in Sinclair’s eyes and it shoots directly into my belly, like a jet of ice-cold water. A split second passes. Then he turns away. Val stops as a suppressed sound escapes me.
His lips glisten, his pupils are wide as he pulls back. It scares me in a thrilling kind of way.
‘Am I the first?’ he repeats.
I don’t know what he wants to hear. Would he like it to be true? The kiss with Sinclair in the second form doesn’t really count. It was only messing around. I nod. My mouth is dry.
2
SINCLAIR
She’s kissing him.
And, yeah, what can I say? It feels shit.
Tori’s kissing Valentine Ward. Orhe’s kissingher. I can’t keep thinking about it – it’s driving me nuts. There’s nothing but hot, paralysing despair in my belly, which floats up, no matter how often I swig this fucking gin.
Tori can do whatever she likes, but do I really have to stand here and watch with my own eyes? I shouldn’t have come to this shitey New Year Ball. It’s ridiculous. Ellie Inglewood pissed off hours ago, to film nasty TikToks with her pals. I bet they’re bitching about how boring I am. I didn’t even try to kiss her, which I bet she was hoping for. It’s the image everyone has of me. Sinclair knows what he wants, goes out and gets it. He’s got condoms in his locker, but he’s never actually been within a mile of using them. It’s easier to hide behind cheek and double entendres than to admit to who you really are. Never been kissed. Well, almost never, but unfortunately I’ve never made it beyond that one kiss with Tori way back when. No wonder she’d rather winch Valentine Ward – unlike me, he seems to know what he’s doing.
‘Think you should switch to water for a bit?’ asks Gideon.
He can shut it. He’s steaming, if not as much as me. So what? It’s the New Year Ball. Everyone knows we drink; nobody cares. Well, there are some folks like Henry who are stone-cold sober. And he’s glued to Emma’s lips like she’s the only person in the world. I’m happy for my best pal, it’s not like that, but lately, I’ve just been raging.
So I say ‘No,’ and ignore Gideon when he shakes his head. ‘Want to go back in?’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, pal. If the teachers see us like this . . .’
‘They’re all hammered too.’
‘Your mum won’t be.’
I grunt reluctantly. OK, true, my mother – who also happens to be the head teacher here at Dunbridge Academy – definitely shouldn’t see me like this. I may be her son, but that doesn’t mean the school rules don’t apply to me. In fact, sometimes I reckon Mum’s extra strict with me so that no one thinks of accusing her of favouritism. The zero-tolerance policy on alcohol anywhere in the school grounds goes for me too. If we get caught, we’re in trouble. Henry’s the expert on this – he landed us all with a warning last autumn when he went on an entirely understandable bender after his sister died, but luckily that slate got wiped clean at Christmas. Even so, we don’t want a repeat of that right away.
Maybe I’ve had a skinful already, though – we’re suddenly in one of the old greenhouses and I don’t remember how we got here. But I can’t forget the way Valentine Ward was pressing Tori up against that wall. I want to boak just thinking about how he was touching her. Why did she let him? That guy’s a weapon and she’s way too smart for him.
I keep drinking. It’s not burning my throat any more. Mind you, the world spins slightly when I shut my eyes, but that’s not so bad. I’d like a lie-down. Yeah, good idea.
