“Who goes onto a reality show for respect? The girl just wants to get laid.”
“Not everybody—”
“She took Georgio on one of her special dates.” Finley waggles her eyebrows and folds her arms. “Name one non-sexual reason for spending time with that douche canoe.”
The show has done nothing worthy of drawing my concentration, but my roommates bonded over the bisexual lead, even if it’s hard to tell from their near-constant bickering. Judging from Rosa’s current silence, she’s won the latest round of you’re wrong and I’m right.
There’s a tentative knock at the door and I roll my eyes. The woman living opposite us is part of a Jehovah’s Witness group that meets early each Saturday morning to plan their routes and it wouldn’t be the first time their call to arms spilled across the road. We must look like easy pickings, desperate for guidance.
But Zach stands on the front rise, keeping a respectful two steps back from the door.
I haven’t really seen him in the past three weeks. He’s even been conspicuously absent from our shared English class; the seat next to mine earning colder glances with each skipped lesson.
Much as I hate to admit it, I miss him.
“What d’you want?” I bark.
I mean, I miss him, but I’m not a bloody idiot. I’ve now been separated from him for the same time we were together (and I use that term loosely) and my incidences of feeling like I’m having a nervous breakdown have subsided to a grand total of none.
“We’ve got the English exam tomorrow. Thought you might like to study.”
“With you?”
The faint wince makes me feel guilty, then I immediately plaster over that with indignation. How dare I care about a boy who’s never shown the slightest respect for my feelings?
“Did you bring presents?” Finley calls out from the lounge. “I’ve made a new rule that hot boys can only come inside if they bring presents.”
I haven’t bothered to tell her or Rosa that we’re no longer an item, just like I didn’t bother to say we were one, back at the start.
Still, she’s usually a lot better at picking up on tension.
Or maybe my tension is only caused by the reminder that I’m still behind in my worst class and a fifth of the assessment happens on the essay tomorrow.
“I ordered pizza in case you’re hungry. Enough for everyone,” he adds, still standing back where I’d expect him to barrel through the door.
Or the window. Come to think of it, this is one of the few times he’s bothered to use the appropriate point of entry.
“Christ, girl,” Rosa trills. “If you don’t invite him inside, I will.”
“Now we know the true cost of the lovely Rosa,” Finley says with a snigger. “Sells out for pizza.”
“Like you wouldn’t.”
“Hey, I demanded presents. You’re the one starting the race to the bottom.”
“Did you…?” Zach frowns at the ground. “Trent said he gave you a link, but did—”
“Come in.” I step back abruptly and wave him through. Being this close makes me jumpy, even if he’s not full of his usual brooding menace. Instead, he seems full of something completely different. Contrition maybe? I don’t know how to explain it. No one’s ever felt the need to apologise to me before, and this probably doesn’t count. “You haven’t been at school.”
“I didn’t want to crowd you.” Zach nods to my flatmates, then loads the table with textbooks and a folder full of notes. “Hey, guys.”
“Hey, guys,” Finley mouths back to me, her face a study in puzzlement. “What. The. Fuck?”
“Get back to your show,” I whisper, a tactic that immediately spikes her interest.
“Where’ve you been, Zachie? Haven’t seen you around lately.”
“That’s because I’m an awful person and it’s recommended that no one spend time with me in case I rub off on them.”
