“I’m not coming with you.”
“…What?”
I press my hands flat on my thighs. “You go without me. It’s better this way.”
His eyes narrow. “Why?”
Silence.
“Chris, I’d like to speak with her myself.”
He rests both arms behind his head, leaning back so far on his chair that it squeaks in protest. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to.”
“What do you know that I don’t?”
I shake my head, keep my voice light. “I’m doing you a favor. Bethanga is five hours from Kangaroo Bay. Do you know how many fish puns I could cram into a five-hour drive?” I nudge him with my knee. “You’d assassinate me.”
He shifts his knee, angling it away from mine. Gently, I reach forward, pushing it back. “You know what they say. Keep your friends close and your anemones closer.”
The tips of my fingers still rest on his knee. His hands are behind his head, cuffs rolled up to his elbow, revealing spidery veins running down his pale wrists. The boys at home are sunburned from infancy. It’s odd to see a man so pale—fascinating, to be honest. His eyes are fixed on my fingertips brushing his knee. His breath hitches, and it’s as if he’s trying to keep himself very still.
I pull back.
He gives me a sidelong glance as I get to my feet and swig from his water bottle, just to give my hands something to do. I hear him sigh, hear the creak of his chair as he finally shifts in place, muttering wearily, “Fine, go by yourself, then. You’re my nemo-sis now.”
“You’re krilling me.”
“You have much to beschooledon.”
“Makes sense. I didn’t go to school.”
He pauses. “What?”
“I was homeschooled from grade six to year twelve.”
He gives me a puzzled look. “Who taught you? Your dad?”
“No one taught me. It was different back then. It used to be called distance education,” I tell him. “They’d mail you a semester’s worth of work, leave you to it. If you fell behind, they’d give you a ring. That was about it.”
“There’s a school in Kangaroo Bay, though,” he says, frowning.“I drove past it. One of those primary and high schools in one. Prep to year twelve.”
Stupid. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. “Yeah, I went there.”
He pauses. “Until?”
I shrug. “Until I decided I’d rather learn at home.” I pointedly add, “No annoying boys asking me questions.”
I turn back to my laptop, uneasy, hoping he’ll drop the subject. Of course, he doesn’t. I hear him shift his weight. I can almost see him crossing his arms, eyes locked on me.
“Did anything happen that made you change schools all of a sudden?” His words hang in the air, heavy with suspicion. “Andchange your name…”
Shit. I open my mouth, feeling caught out. I throw him a quick smile, too quick. I keep my laugh light, casual, like everything’s fine. Like I didn’t notice the shift in the room. “Yes, I know the rumors about homeschooled kids.”
For a moment, he doesn’t respond. My heart stutters. I watch his face, hoping for even the flicker of a smile, anything at all that will break this tension. His eyes are unblinking, steady, like he’s trying to look past my skin and into something deeper. Then he uncrosses his arms, snorts, and the air finally loosens. “That you’re a bunch of weirdos?”
“Let me guess, you went to a private school. Your socks were pulled all the way up. You cried if you didn’t get homework.”
