“Everything OK?”he asks, and while his voice sounds hard, I can see the worry in his eyes.Grace’s face softens as he puts his hand on her back.She nods, and he gives her a nudge.“Come on then, let’s get you to the sick bay.I’ll take it from here, Olive.”
“Gideon, I—”
“Stop arguing, Grace.Unless you want me to call your parents.”
She falls silent, and Gideon looks triumphantly at me.I fall back, joining Emma and Henry on the way to school.
“I’m worried about Grace,” Emma says as Grace and Gideon turn off toward the sick bay and the rest of us continue to the east wing.
“Me too.”Henry’s voice is flat.
“Maybe it’s just a phase,” Emma says, not very convincingly.“Did she talk to you, Olive?”
“No.”I sigh.“I hope she will to Gideon.”
“He gives me the impression that she does,” Henry says.It’s obvious that he blames himself for Grace still seeming to be doing badly so long after they split up.
“Henry, hang on a mo,” I say, once we reach the third floor.“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”He turns to me.“What’s up?”
“Do you think you could help me with some work?”
Henry raises his eyebrows in surprise.“What subject?”
“Maths,” I say.
“What are you doing at the moment?”
I hesitate.“I was thinking more about the upper-sixth stuff.”
“Why do you want to do that now?”
“So that I’m up to date when I get back up to you lot.It’s nearly my birthday.”
Henry’s face softens.“Olive...”
“No, stop it,” I say at once.“I’ve started to have a look at what you’re doing.But I can’t do it on my own.Will you help me?”
It’s mean of me to ask Henry.I know he’s too conscientious to say no.He nods with a sigh.
“Thanks, Henry,” I say.
“Just for the record, I don’t think it’s a good idea to put yourself under this much pressure.”
“It’ll get easier once I move back up.”
Henry gives me a long stare.“I know, Olive.”
16
Colin
Olive Garden has gotten inside my head.Seriously, she just crept in and took hold like a disease.That sounds negative, but I never claimed to be a nice person.I’m sitting behind her in class today, staring at the back of her neck because I can tell that her skin there is sensitive and soft.Side glances in hallways, eyes darting away, eyes flitting right back.Sometimes, when she stares absently into the middle distance in the dining room or the classroom, there’s a hint of pain in her green cat-eyes.It reminds me of the night she stumbled into that doorframe and winced in agony.I can never again resent her for looking at me with that annoying anxious expression because, apparently, I’m no better.I don’t like the idea that she’s not doing well, even though it’s really none of my business.However much of a monster I am, there seems to be at least some last scrap of humanity left in me.
Of course I go to great lengths to hide it whenever I meet Olive Garden.Why?I hate to admit it, but Maresa Vega really did a number on my heart, and I never want to feel that way again.So dependent on another person’s attention.You’d think I ought tohave learned that early enough with my fabulous parents.You only get attention when you’ve seriously screwed up.And that’s not positive attention.Sometimes, I’d like to ask Ava and Eric Fantino why they wanted kids.If our relationship was better, I might know.But as that isn’t the case, I’ve come to the conclusion that I was most probably an accident, and Cleo was the planned child later.I’m not into self-pity, so I don’t mind.The main thing is for them to treat her better, especially now, when she has to cope without me.
Does Olive Garden have siblings?They’d definitely go to this school if she did, and then I’d have seen them around.I bet she sees her friends here as her sisters and brothers.No, wait, that’s way too kitschy for her.I grin to myself as I picture her eyes like daggers if I were to say that to her.Olive Garden trying to stare you down intimidatingly is on another level.It freaks her out when she realizes it’s not working.But somehow, lately, I feel less and less into trying to make her freak out.I feel very much into other things.And I don’t mean making conversation with her.Or not only conversation.I can’t stop thinking about her little cherry-red lips.They’re so pretty, and I think they’d be prettier hot and swollen from kissing.From me kissing them.Only for fun, of course.Furious, lustful kisses where we have to gasp for air and she grabs onto my hair.God, I’m so horny, it’s not funny anymore.But my last time with Maresa was the night after the fire, and I was so drunk I can’t even remember the details.I guess that’s for the best, because otherwise I’d be even more heartbroken over her.But I knew what I was getting into.It’s not Maresa’s fault that I nodded and said, “No feelings, sure,” but still hoped.Hope is for losers like me, so I’m done with it.But hopelessness feelsall kinds of shit, so I picked something more bearable instead.Emptiness, indifference.Maybe that’s weak, but I’m really not up for that stuff anymore.
