I swept a few elderberry sweets and several hairpins haphazardly into a pile and scooped them into my bag. My brain knew that Matthew was an idiot, but somehow my body still reacted with surprise that he would show it so obviously. I was used to distainful scowls and even insults from him, but this was new.
My fingers shook and I dropped a pen that rolled down the stairs. It only got two steps down before it was stopped by a shoe. Dark leather, gleaming buckle, the dusty hem of a pair of trousers.
‘Thanks,’ I said, then froze as I looked up.
Blake glanced briefly down at me, then crouched to pick up the pen. Instead of straightening back up, he stayed at my eye level, and set it in front of me before reaching for the folder next to him. ‘I saw what happened. Charming lad.’ He tucked a few loose sheets back in and held the folder out to me.
I took it with a snort, which I regretted the moment I heard the lingering tremor–in my movements as well as my voice. ‘If you enjoyed that you should see our supervisions.’
He frowned. ‘Does he always treat you like that?’
‘More or less.’ I got to my feet, slid the folder into my bag and took a deep breath. Only then did it hit me what was happening. This wasn’t just anybody: this was Blake. Blake Ames, if Davie’s research was to be believed. The person who had made it excruciatingly plain to me four days ago that he wasn’t interested in exchanging so much as a word with me, let alone being seen with me. And yet. Not only had he been the only one to help me–he’d showed no signs of leaving.
Part of me didn’t like that he’d seen what happened. I hated looking weak. Especially in front of somebody who already thought I was needy and pathetic. Another part of me knew there was an upside. It couldn’t hurt to speak to Blake if I wanted to find out more about him and his friends. And as long as he felt sorry for me, he wouldn’t take me seriously enough to be wary of spilling secrets.
‘You should report him,’ he said as we walked downstairs side by side.
I rolled my eyes. If I told Zoe about it she’d be filling in a misconduct form before I’d even finished the story. Davie, on the other hand, would probably tell me to talk to my college tutor and keep my distance from Matthew for the time being. I had no intention of doing either. All I wanted was to keep my head down, get through the next few years and come out on the other side with the best possible degree. I had neither the time nor the energy for someone like Matthew. And I wasn’t going to dim my own light so that he could feel better about himself. ‘The university doesn’t care about a little bit of rivalry. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s just threatened: I work harder, I get better marks, I beat him every time we have a debate. If he needs to act like a neanderthal every now and then to make up for it, fine by me.’ I shoved the double doors open and turned to let Blake through.
He paused in the doorway and scowled at me, exasperated.
‘What?’ I asked.
He blinked, then walked past me. ‘Nothing, just… you really don’t care what other people think, do you?’
I shrugged. I wanted to answer with a firm,No, I don’t, but I knew better than that. When it came to the people who mattered, I did care what they thought of me. Which might be one reason why I’d given up on friendships for a while. Loving someone makes you dependent on their opinion. If you don’t let anybody get close to you, you’ll never be rejected, never be made to feel like you’re not enough, or too much, or too wrong. Plus, when they die, it won’t nearly destroy you.
My aunt had dragged me to see a therapist after my mum died, but I didn’t need her to figure out why I made no effort to put down roots in my new home. I was sick of loving people and then losing them. It didn’t have to be a heart attack or a car accident–there were plenty of ways for someone to disappear from your life.
So no, I wasn’t oblivious to what other people thought of me. I was just selective about whose opinions I valued. And Matthew’s opinions definitely didn’t make the cut.
I squinted up at Blake. The sun was behind him, and his hair gleamed. Raven-black. Or rather… starling-black. ‘Like my mother used to say,If people are badmouthing you, it says nothing about you but a lot about them.’
‘Sounds like she’s a smart lady.’
‘She was,’ I corrected him automatically. Blake’s brow furrowed, and I sighed. ‘She’s dead. So’s my dad. I never actually met him–he had a heart attack before I was born. Bursary kidandan orphan. Extra cliché, isn’t it?’
I sped up a little, not wanting to see the expression I always got in response to those words. Pity, awkwardness. Clumsily stammered condolences.
To my surprise, that wasn’t Blake’s reaction at all. ‘I see,’ was all he said, catching up to walk by my side. The cobbled paths were dotted with puddles again today. A few feet away, the fountain shimmered in the noonday sun breaking through the clouds.
‘No,I’m so sorry?’ I studied his expression, and read neither pity nor unease. Only thoughtfulness.
He’d tucked his hands into his coat pockets, but his jumper revealed a glimpse of collarbone. I tried to see if I could spot a black dot, but as he turned to me the fabric covered his skin. ‘I can tell you from experience that sorry doesn’t help.’
‘Dead parents?’
‘Something like that.’
I waited, but when he showed no sign of elaborating I sighed. ‘You’re really doing your best to give the serial-killer vibe, aren’t you?’
‘Mmm.’ The corners of his mouth twitched, but I noticed that his eyes were grave. And that his attention wasn’t on me but on the group seated on the fountain steps. I didn’t have to look to know who they were. There was something revealing about people who considered themselves the cream of the university crop always choosing to hang out at one of its most famous landmarks.
Irritated, I stopped and waited until Blake had turned to face me. ‘Okay, level with me. What do you want?’
He tilted his head slightly. I wasn’t sure if I saw a trace of amusement in his expression. ‘Who says I want something? These are college grounds. My college, actually.’
‘In case nobody’s told you this yet: it doesn’t belong to you. Or to your friends over there, watching us from barely twenty feet away.’
