“He likes her.” She pulls a face, and my pulse picks up speed. “Likedher, then.”
“And that wasn’t what I asked.” Her gaze fixes to mine, holding steady. “He looked at you this morning. He asked you forpermission.”
“No, he fucking didn’t.”
She grabs the book and opens it again, resting it against her bent legs, shielding behind it, her mobile propped against the page.
“I didn’t tell him to do anything. Wilder wouldn’t listen even if I had.”
Her finger slides over her phone screen, disengaging completely.
“Why bother to ask if you’re not going to believe me?” I snatch the book, slamming it shut, and she rises from her chair but not to talk, not to front up to me. She grabs her bag and walks past.
“I asked him not to, okay? After the party, I asked him to leave her alone because we were all meant to stay miles away from both of you.” She pauses, half turning back to me. “When that changed, I just… updated him but not like you’re thinking. I’d never do something like that.”
“You’d never use her friendship to control me?”
A tic hits my eyebrow, face heating as I think of the videos I uploaded, the sessions I should never have listened to. The way I used those secrets. “I thought we were past this.”
Her expression softens and her body angles towards me. “Your mother’s studio isn’t the real world, remember? This is. Out here, you’re still the boy using my friendship to get the result you want.”
“It happened like I told you. Not how you’re suggesting.”
“You gave him a green light when it suited you. Got it.”
My combative streak wants to argue, but I stiffen my jaw, changing the subject. “How’s Clare doing?”
“Badly.” She gives a long sigh, leaning against the stack. “She was all set to play nurse and protector and instead he told her they were done. He didn’t even give a reason.”
“The reason is walking around the quad every day, trying to drum up interest in an anti-royal club.”
Her lips press together, and she ducks her head to hide the smile. “Guess it sucks to be a rebound.”
“They’re not us.”
Avon jerks her head up, eyes widening with laughter. “Oh, no. We’re the pinnacle of a healthy relationship. They dream of being us.”
“If Wilder gave Clare a car, she’d probably sell it.”
For a second, her eyes narrow, then she sighs, rubbing her eyelid. “It’s hard to argue when she wears the label gold digger like a badge of honour, but that’s my best friend you’re talking about. She still has feelings.”
Her phone buzzes and she pulls it from her pocket, posture freezing, face stiffening as she reads the text.
My pulse races again, temples thumping from the swift changes in temperament, then Avon gives a shriek. “I’m through.” She launches at me, arms around my neck, bouncing on her toes, pulling me around until we’re both dancing in a circle. “They actually liked my submission.”
And my head catches up as my arms close around her. Matthewson. She’s through to the second round of the scholarship application.
“Of course they liked it. You’re probably the most talented artist in there.”
She disconnects, hands flying in the air. “Oh, I have to go tell Clare. And phone Mum.”
“And tell Mr Simmons.”
Another burst of laughter. “He’s the one who texted the news.” My smile wilts a little, but it doesn’t stay that way as another crow of satisfaction pours from her throat.
“Ah!” She hugs herself, turning non-verbal as she plants a kiss on my cheek, smacking loudly while someone from the next section over pops their head around, frowning at the noise.
Avon pushes away from me and dances past them with another rapturous call of “I got through.” The baffled student smiles in puzzlement as she flings herself headlong down the stairs.
