We fall silent again, the voices fade.Then I hear the TV.
Olive sighs, half with frustration and half with tiredness.In my mind, I agree with her.I could never have imagined I’d be looking forward to getting back to boarding school this much.It’s just as possible that we’d get caught there, but anything is better than risking it at home while my parents are sitting on the couch in the room next door.
Olive seems to feel the same.
“Hey,” I say hoarsely—she’s shut her eyes again.
“What?”she mumbles.“I’m still tired.”
“I thought I’d woken you up.”
“You wish, Fantino.”
“You might as well admit you didn’t find it so bad yourself.”
“Hm,” she says, and no more.
“Livy...”
“Tori would have your head on a platter if she heard that name on your lips.”
“I’d like to see her try.And stay awake now.It’s too early.”
“Just five minutes,” she mutters.
I can tell that she’s really tired, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling the same.This day has been too much.I mean, I’ve been to the police, had a fight with Mom and then with Cleo.My eyes rest on Olive’s face and see it relax—she’s beat.
You’ll never adjust to the time here if you give in to the jet lag, I want to tell her, but then it occurs to me that we have no reason to adjust to New York time.Seriously, none at all.We’ll be flying back to Edinburgh in a few days.
Olive sighs with relief as I put my arm around her and pull her close.Her head is resting in the crook of my arm—exactly where it belongs—and growing heavy.
“Tell me how you’re doing,” she says, to my surprise.
I study her face and don’t have to think long about it.“Fine, now.”
“What did Cleo say?”
“She mainly cried and apologized.”
Olive blinks.“So it was her?”
I nod but don’t reply.
“Was she scared you wouldn’t come back?”
I nod again.“But we talked.She knows I’m staying.In Scotland,” I add hastily as Olive opens her eyes again.She tries to play it cool, but then a blissful smile creeps over her face.She buries it in my neck.
“You’re staying,” she repeats, sounding so happy.
Where else would I go?There’s no point to a place if Olive isn’t there.Obviously, I’d never tell her that.But I don’t have to—I figure she’s known for ages now.
“And I’ll speak to my parents, ask if Cleo can come too.”
“Would she like that?”Olive puts her hand on my chest.She always does that.Her little hand with the delicate fingers that she runs an inch or so over my body.I’m lost.My heart beats faster.
“It was too much for her,” I say.“Let’s see what she says when she’s had a while to think about it.”
“I like her.She’s like you—like a cute version of you.”
