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“Yup.”
She falls into step beside me. “I know. I just left from having lunch with her.”
I glance at her. “Did she have those gross noodles again?”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Her soba? Her soba is delicious, Cal!”
“Not you too.”
“Yeah, me too. You gotta get some taste, boy.”
Before Sydney can answer, two girls approaching from the opposite direction slow down. One of them grabs the other’s arm.
“Oh my God. Are you Callum Fox?”
I stop and put on the smile. “Last time I checked.”
They ask for a picture. I take one with each of them, ask their names, thank them when they tell me they loved the album. Ninety seconds later, they walk away grinning at their phones.
Sydney watches them go. “That’s creepy.”
I roll my eyes. “They seemed nice enough. Besides, aren’t you a fangirl?”
She smacks my arm. “Not anymore. Now we’re friends. Besides I didn’t mean them, I mean you.”
“Me? I’m delightful.”
“You become a completely different person.” She gestures at my face. “Like a little robot or something.”
“What is it with you and Bea comparing me to little things?” I look down at her. “You’re both like 5ft 1.”
“5ft 4 actually!” she corrects.
“And I’m over 6ft, definitely not little.”
“Whatever. It’s just weird.”
It is kinda weird. “Oh yeah? Well, if I was being myself I’d have said to them, sorry it’s 4 o five. That means I’m five minutes late to my tutoring session with a tiny evil dictator, so can you kindly fuck off so I can reduce my chances of getting stabbed with a red pen?”
She cackles. “Sounds like my bestie. Alright, go learn music, man.”
By the time I reach the lab, Bea is already waiting.
She hasn’t mentioned Friday. I haven’t either.
She asked for time, and I gave it to her. That doesn’t mean I haven’t spent all my time watching her mouth and remembering exactly what it felt like against mine.
So I sit across the lab bench, answer her questions, and behave like a model fucking student.
“Okay,” she says, stacking her notes. “I think that’s good. You’ve got the practice paper for the next session?”
“I’ve got it.”
She caps her pen and starts packing her bag. I do the same, assuming another painfully well-behaved session has reached its end.
Then Bea walks to the door and turns the lock.
My hands stop moving.
