I nod. “I’m going back to Australia at Easter, my flight’s early April.”
“Right. Well. . .” Mrs. Benson’s eyes leave mine, and she focuses on something over my shoulder.
Turning around, I see what she’s looking at. Or rather who. My spine straightens. Whatever has happened in the forty minutes since I saw Hendricks, he’s riled. I have the strangest feeling he was glaring at me before I turned around, and though he acknowledges me with barely more than a flick of his gaze, I’m certain it narrows as it passes.
“Ah, Hendricks. Hello. How can I help?”
“Sorry to interrupt, but could I have a word, please? It’s important.”
“Of course, we were finishing up,” she simpers, and I guess that’s my cue to stand. Her eyes flick from Hendricks to me. “Must be strange for you to have Sophie back, teaching young Max. Not that long ago, it was the two of you together in the classroom.”
“Long enough,” Hendricks snaps, which I feel is directly aimed at me.
What’s his problem? Surely, he can’t be annoyed about Max’s secret valentine remark. If anyone should be annoyed, it’s me, and I’ve decided not to be.
I’ve decided to be the bigger person.
My guess is he’s not waiting for a response, so I take it upon myself to make everyone—me—more comfortable and go back to my classroom.
“Miss MacIntosh, have a think about what I said, please.”
“I shall do. Thank you.” I smile, taking one lastglance at Hendricks, who’s now glaring at me. “Bye, Hendricks.”
“Story.”
I don’t even get to eavesdrop on their conversation because the moment I’m out in the hallway, he slams the door behind me.
In true fashion, I find it virtually impossible to concentrate for the rest of the day. My thoughts flip-flop between the task at hand—practicing the songs for the Valentine Fair, and it’s going to takea lotof practice—wondering whether I should accept the longer contract and stay at Valentine Prep for the next year—my position varies in accordance with how many tears are being shed at any one time—and Hendricks.
Thought one is manageable. Thoughts two and three are less so, yet innately tied together. Six years ago, I left for Australia to get away from everything Valentine Nook, everything Hendricks. I didn’t plan to stay six years. I didn’t plan much at all, but I did, and I found a life there. I found a boyfriend and then a fiancé, albeit the wrong one, but a fiancé nonetheless.
More importantly, I found myself. At some point. Kind of. At least, I found someone separate from the girl whose life revolved around Hendricks Burlington. The few times I returned to Valentine Nook, up to and including the last one, I came for myself, not him.
And I might still be in love with Hendricks, but I’m not lost in him.
By the end of the day, I know I can make a decision without my feelings clouding my judgment.
I stay at school later than usual, but tomorrow is Friday, and I want to prepare for the following week. With the Valentine committee getting into full swing, there’s a lot to do. By the time I leave, it’s started to rain, and rain clouds completely obscure the full moon.
“Well, the weather certainly isn’t a reason to stay,” I grumble to myself, thinking about the thirty-degree temperatures in Sydney right now.
I’d also planned to run home this evening, which was me being full of good intentions this morning, but it’s so cold. I moan about it all the way through getting changed, packing my bag, and lacing up my trainers. I thought I might be able to talk myself out of it because I couldn’t recall packing my high-visibility vest, but it’s there at the bottom of the pile of running clothes.
It takes five minutes of trudging along the lane away from the school before I find any kind of rhythm, and another mile of cursing what a stupid idea it was to run in the pitch-black and rain, before I begin enjoying myself. Something about the coldness of the air kicks you up the arse and breathes a little more life into you.
But as I turn the corner, I pick up a sound that fills me with dread.
A noise, bleating, but frantic, deeper almost.
“Hello?”
There it is again. Crying. Whatever’s making the noise is in pain. My heart is already racing from my run, but that noise causes it to beat harder. This is exactly how horror movies begin. In the dark lane, alone, with rain.
But I clearly have no sense of self-preservation when I pull out my phone and switch on the torch to follow the sound. Especially when I end up in the ditchon the opposite side of the lane.
The bleating gets louder, enough that I know it’s an animal of some kind. Not distinguished enough that I can tell what it is or whether I want to get close enough to find out. But as my eyes adjust to the dark and torchlight I see where it’s coming from.
Shit.
