‘Well don’t.’ Mr McInally strode up the corridor between the desks to row four. ‘Don’t do anything together. You could do better than this one, anyway. Seems to have water in his ears from all the surfing.’
The blow was low, and Carli noticed Niall tense. No matter what had gone on between him and this teacher in the past three years, surely he deserved a clean slate on the first day of term. Mr McInally was looking for trouble.
Carli eyeballed the shadowy figure standing above her. ‘Well, you were too busy to help, so I stepped in to do your job.’
‘Don’t!’ Niall growled and elbowed her. ‘You won’t win.’
Mr McInally, ignoring Niall, inhaled, through his nose, what seemed like all the air in the classroom. ‘I can only assume you’re suffering from the effects ofpersonal issues. Either that or Mr Butler has been rubbing off on you already. I’ll give you the option of stopping now or coming to discuss this with me in detention.’
Carli continued to meet the teacher’s eye for longer than she ought to, sending him a message of sorts, before putting her pen to paper again and getting on with her work. Or pretending to. She was fired up with adrenaline now. It was out of character, but this teacher’s blatant condemnation of Niall, who’d done absolutely nothing wrong, irked her.
That afternoon, Carli was sitting in English class working on analysis of a poem by Robert Burns, Scotland’snational poet, when there was a knock at the classroom door.
‘Come in,’ Ms Walker blared.
And in strolled Niall Butler, crumpled shirt untucked, trainers on his feet instead of school shoes and hair still as sexily mussed up as it had been in maths. Carli’s composure faltered. She tried to concentrate on her poetry, but it didn’t hold as much of an attraction as the boy standing at the teacher’s desk asking if his English teacher could borrow a few copies of the Robert Burns anthology. His low fully broken voice sent vibrations through her. She glanced up again.
And Niall was staring right at her. He smiled and gave her a little wink. Oh shit!
‘Niall!’ Ms Walker was holding out a pile of books and jotters while Niall was otherwise distracted looking at Carli. ‘If you could tear yourself away for a second.’
‘What? Sorry, Miss.’ Niall turned back to the teacher with a grin on his face. Carli had to stop herself from blushing and from a big beaming smile spreading across her own features. He wasn’t embarrassed one bit and it was so cute.
Carli didn’t see Niall again until maths class two days later. It was period one, and she was exhausted from a poor night’s sleep and an argument with her dad before school. The man seemed to resent that he had to single-handedly look after his daughters now.
And she was in no mood for Mr McInally’s sarcastic comment when she was unable to answer a simple sum because she hadn’t been listening. In fact, tears stung at her eyes.
‘You okay?’ Niall nudged her.
‘Niall? Number three.’ Mr McInally tapped at thewhiteboard with his marker and waited for Niall to tell him the answer, expectantly hoping for him to get it wrong.
‘Dunno, sir,’ Niall admitted, unflinchingly. ‘It might be three is x, but it might not be.’
‘Three is x is correct, Niall. Incredible.’
‘Yass!’ Niall whispered, then through gritted teeth he spoke to the desk as the teacher was talking again. ‘FU Mr Cocknally.’
Carli nudged him. ‘Well done, Butler.’
He turned to her and she saw that he’d clocked the upset in her face. Probably her mascara was smudged already. But there was no way of talking over the teacher, so he monitored her the whole time until they were working on a set of questions. She sensed him checking her face every few minutes and it made her skin tingle. Eventually, there was a light nudge on her arm and Niall spoke quietly.
‘Hey, Caselli… Cass. Do you like poetry?’
‘What?’ Carli mouthed.
‘Girls like poems, right?’
‘Uh… girls don’thatepoems.’
Niall leaned back in his seat and pointed down to his lap. Carli cast her gaze downwards, slightly nervous of what she might see. What it was confused rather than alarmed her. The Robert Burns anthology – the one they were using in English – sat on Niall’s thighs. The books were meant to stay in the classroom but were never counted – the chances of students stealing a book of poetry were slim to none.
But they hadn’t seen this boy coming.
‘Want me to read you a poem?’ Niall leaned closer to Carli. ‘Wee sleekit cowrin tim’rous beastie.’
Carli stifled a laugh. ‘Did you steal that?’
He raised one shoulder in nonchalance. ‘Borrowed.’
