“What if people start trolling the concept? Sharing horrible photos, bullying messages?” I ask, and her face falls. I don’t want to be the person responsible for her disappointment. “Just playing devil’s advocate.” Trying to protect her.
I wish I hadn’t said it.
“It’s genius,” Oliver says. “Pictures of You. Poetic descriptions. A viral campaign.” She smiles and he spins her into his arms, kissing her as if none of us is there. I can practically see her goose bumps across the classroom.
23
Evie
Being Oliver’s girlfriend is dazzling. I feel like we’re living in a rom-com. He’s the king of grand gestures.
You are gorgeous, Evie.
Let me drive you and Bree to the movie.
Flowers.
Chocolates.
Books.
Tickets.
I’ve never felt so wanted and desired and needed.
He and I want to spend every moment together. School itself istorture, just an exercise in waiting to see him again. I am utterly and wholeheartedly, outrageously captivated by him.
“I thought your boyfriend’s name was Drew,” Mum says on the phone.
What?God, she can be hopeless. “Mum! Drew and I arefriends.”
“Photography Drew?”
“Yes!”
“I thought you were more than friends,” she says. “The way you were talking.”
Why would I be interested inDrewwhen I could be withOliver? Wait till she meets him. That will be persuasive.
“How’s your study going?” she asks.
It’s something I usually wax lyrical about. The driving force of my life these last five years. I need to talk to Oliver about this. I don’t know if he understands how much getting top marks means to me. I know he’s committed to his own study and getting into Arts Law, but I need him to understand my commitment to mine too. Because right now, I cannot let landing the Boyfriend of the Century distract me from the future I’ve dreamt about forever …
“Oliver,” I say, pushing him away from me on his bed one Thursday afternoon after school. We’re not having sex. Not yet. I’m nowhere near ready. But we spend a lot of time in his room kissing, with me imagining it. “I’m worried I’m going to fail.”
He sits bolt upright. Seriousness personified. “Fail at what? This?” He gestures at the bed. And at us.
I laugh. “What? No!” I mean, yes, secretly I am worried I’ll fail at that too, but I’m talking about my schoolwork. “I’m trying to get a scholarship,” I admit. “You’re distracting me. I mean,thisis distracting me. You and me.”
Do I imagine the flicker of annoyance?
“Evie Hudson: I won’t have this,” he says, taking my hand and squeezing it. For a second I panic and think he’s going to break up with me. “I’m going to make your scholarship my project.”
I laugh with relief.
“Pass me your phone,” he says.
I hand it over and watch as he does something with my calendar.
