“What are your classes?” I ask, leaning against my door while she fiddles with her keys.
“Statistics and Physics this morning,” she says, finally getting her key in the lock. “English after morning break.”
“Where we can form a protective wall around you if you’re still worried,” Rowena states firmly, eyes spoiling for a fight. “And give us the names of anyone causing you grief.”
The smile Esme gives her doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. The video’s been available for so long; I think I’m the last person to see it.” She glances over to me, a frown appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye.
I file it away for later, grabbing my textbooks from my room then scooting back into the hallway so I don’t miss her. Esme seems surprised when I fall into step beside her, and I get a hefty vibe of ‘don’t touch.’
A sense that grows progressively stronger the closer we get to the classroom. A metre shy of the door, she stops, frowning at me. “What’re you doing? You’re not in my class.”
I shrug. “Today, I am. Today, I’m in all your classes.” When I try to snake an arm around her waist, she dodges me. “For the rest of the month if you need me.”
“You can’t just change all your subjects,” she insists, and I can’t tell if she’s upset because I’m crowding her or if this is just her rigid adherence to rules.
“Sure, I can. I’m dropping back a year soon, remember? The work I put in now means absolutely nothing.” She still looks uneasy, stepping back to let other students go ahead. “If you’d prefer I didn’t, that’s okay, too.”
“I…” Her eyes dart from mine to the door to the oncoming students to her books then back to me.
The rejection is right there, written across her face and I can’t stand it. “You said you’d be my girl,” I say in the lowest possible volume she can still hear. “I don’t want you going into class and feeling isolated. Not when you don’t have to.”
I put my hand on her back, stroking her softly where she told me she felt eyes on her. But right now, I’m the one who’s exposed.
“The teacher will just kick you out.”
“He can’t.”
She frowns and turns, wrinkling her nose as she stares into my face. “Why not?”
I bend down, whispering, “Because we haven’t gone into the classroom.”
Her voice comes back, equally small. “Why are you being nice to me?”
Like I hadn’t spilled everything out to her last night. But perhaps she didn’t hear me. It could be something she’ll need to hear again and again.
“Because you’re mine, remember?” I reach down and take her hand, dragging her reluctant feet into class so she’s not stuck out in the hall when the second bell goes, something that would probably send her obedient arse into a tailspin.
There are a few confused glances from the teacher but, as I expected, no one’s too exercised about my abrupt subject change. The longer I stay near her in class, the less worried Esme seems as well.
She brightens more visibly when we finally reach English and both Rowena and I are legitimately beside her. When I invite them both along to join my friends at lunch, Rowena declines and Esme looks troubled, but rallies. I take her hand as we approach the rowdy group and she lets me, eyes shyly cast to the ground.
“Keep hanging around in public and people will think you two are an item,” Gareth says with his usual flair for subtlety. Then sends my day on a turn for a worse by adding, “Has Seb sounded you out about requests, yet? I passed on a few pieces of equipment if you’re keen.”
A small frown creases her face again while I jump in to divert this potential train wreck. “Wearea couple, and you can submit any requests on fuck you dot com.”
“Equipment?”
Gareth’s face lights up at Esme’s question, then he clocks my expression and abruptly backpedals. “Just a joke. Some of us are slightly miffed that we only found out you were back on the market a day after Seb took you off it again, that’s all.” He elbows me in the side with enough force that I wince. “Fast worker.”
“We knew each other growing up, so it’s actually extremely slow.” Esme rubs her forehead as she surreptitiously surveys the group members. I let go of her hand to slide my arm around her waist instead and she leans back against me. “Tortoise speed worker.”
“You grew up together?” He seems taken aback by the idea. “Thought you were rich.”
“No,” I shoot back.
“Not you, dumbarse.” He nods to Esme. “Isn’t your dad like a billionaire or something?”
“Or something,” she calmly agrees, eyes defocusing. “But somebody’s got to staff our houses. You don’t expect us to clean them ourselves, do you? Next, you’ll be telling me your mother cooks.”
