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CHAPTER SEVEN

Eden.

Gemma’s laughing at me. And she’s laughing hard.

I don’t blame her—I do look ridiculous right now. Dragging my fingers through my hair and picking at my nails. I think I’ve worn a patch of skin away from how many times I rubbed my fingers over my knuckles.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more anxious for an assignment mark before. The tutor said it would be released today at 5pm. And it’s almost five.

I pause in my pacing and glance at my phone, revealing the current time as 4:57pm. I groan as I sit down next to Gemma on her bed. She nudges me with her shoulder.

“Three minutes, Eden. Think you can last that long?”

I cornered Gemma in her room after she finished her Medieval Art History class to wait with me. She’s been watching with amusement for the last half hour as I fretted over the score, saying next to nothing.

That’s the thing I love about Gemma—she’ll push you when you need to be pushed and give you space when you need space. Even when you don’t know it.

I check my phone again. 4:59 pm.

“It’s almost time!” I squeal as my stomach churns. To anyone watching me at the moment, I would appear excited and overjoyed. As for Gemma, she knows I’m absolutely terrified. My fingers shake as the time clicks over to 5pm, and my phone dings.

1 new email notification.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Gemma asks. “Open it!” With my heart in my mouth, I click on the email. And wait. And wait. And wait. And…scream?

“It’s a 93!”

“What?”

“A 93!”

Gemma launches herself and wraps me in a bear hug, laughing. Me? A 93? In Literature? Who am I and what did I do with the old Eden?

“I’m so proud of you!” Gemma’s hug is so tight it almost hurts, but not as much as the smile that threatens to split my face in half. “You have to tell Oliver!”

“Okay! I’ll call him!”

Somewhere in my excitement a thought passes through my head that it might not be the best idea to call him out of the blue. But I know he’ll be just as excited for me as Gemma is, and I want to make him proud. It’s like we’re teetering on the edge of something, but neither of us can put our finger on it.

I press the video call button and wait. After three rings he picks up.

“Hello?” Oliver’s voice sounds more strained than usual, like he’s out of breath or something. His face is red, and he’s…shirtless. Sweat decorates the lines of his collarbones and the top of his chest. His hair is dark and stuck to his forehead in messy clumps.

“Oliver?”

“Yeah, one moment.” His face disappears from the screen and I hear some shuffling noises, him telling someone to go away, and then he returns to the phone.

That’s when it hits me. He’s not…with someone, is he? Gemma falls still beside me, holding her breath. My only guess is that she’s drawn the same conclusion.

“I hope it’s not a bad time.”

Please don’t be hooking up with someone else.

“No, no. It’s fine, I promise.” He still seems so distracted, looking over the top of his phone, something else capturing his attention. I realise with a twinge of irritation that even if he is with someone, I still want his approval.

“I got a 93,” I blurt out.