‘Does Mr Acevedo still check if you’re in your rooms?’ she asks, with a hopeful undertone.
‘Not usually. Does Ms Barnett?’
I can’t help smiling as she shakes her head.
‘So I could come to yours.’
‘You could.’
‘You have to test me on my French.’
I just nod, rather than arguing. Even if she wasn’t dead on her feet, there would be so many other things I’d rather spend this hour on than French vocab. My sneaky brain keeps reminding me, way too often, of how it felt to lie beneath her on that hard stage. Almost as often as it does of the fact that I’m eighteen and still a virgin. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to tell Tori. Or should I just act like I know what I’m doing and hope she doesn’t notice?
Today isn’t the day to have that conversation, though; I can see that even before Tori drops onto the bed in my room.
‘Tea?’ I ask, putting our bags down on the desk and turning back to her. She nods, eyes shut, and wraps both arms around my pillow. The boiling kettle and her breathing are the only sounds as I return to my room after rinsing out the two mugs. A quick glance in her direction confirms that Tori’s fallen asleep. She jumps as I set the tea down on the shelf next to the bed a few minutes later, and sit beside her.
‘Hi.’
‘I wasn’t asleep,’ she mumbles.
‘I know.’ I lean down and kiss her nose.
‘Again,’ she whispers, blinking. ‘Please.’
I have to smile. ‘You’re such a sleepy chicken.’
‘Don’t do that.’
‘What? Call you that?’
‘Yeah, that’s your nickname.’
‘You were scared of the hens too.’
‘No, I wasn’t.’ She opens her eyes to twinkle at me. ‘So kiss me, you chicken.’
‘I thought you wanted me to test you on your French?’
‘S’il vous plaît,’ she sighs.
‘S’il te plaît,’ I correct her. I can’t help it. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with Henry.
‘D’you know how hot that is?’ she murmurs.
‘What, me correcting you?’
‘No. You speaking French.’
‘You’re so easy to impress.’
‘Say your favourite sentence,’ she asks. ‘Please.’
I have to laugh, then I clear my throat. ‘Je suis allé au cinéma avec ma famille et mes copains,’ I say. It’s got me through a surprising number of French lessons with Ms Barnett. I always get a good mark from her for speaking, even though I’ve answered the question of what we did at the weekend with the same story for years.
Tori gives a contented sigh and shuts her eyes again.
‘I’d go on, but it’s the only thing I know how to say.’
