London Prep: Book Two

by Dodd, Jillian

  Harry was the perfect mixture of sweet and sexy in the hallway.

  He was even sweeter than normal.

  He didn’t treat me like one of the guys.

  Or flirt with me just because it was fun.

  He treated me like I was his.

  Like I was special to him.

  And it felt really good.

  “You look happy,” Mohammad comments, sitting down next to me, studying my face.

  “I am happy,” I sigh, putting my chin into my palm, resting my elbow on my desk. Because I’m prepared for this test. Because things are wonderful with Harry. I still feel like my whole body is tingling from our talk.

  “Right …” Mohammad replies.

  I glance over at him, and he’s looking back at me with suspicion.

  “What?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at him. “Can’t I be happy?”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble,” he says, throwing his hands into the air, “but you have to tell me what happened. How did Noah take the news?”

  “Well,” I drawl out while trying to come up with something to say.

  Mohammad nods at me, obviously eager to hear my answer.

  “Um, I didn’t exactly tell him.”

  Mohammad’s facial expression changes from looking at me in suspicion to practically outraged.

  “Yet,” I quickly add. “I haven’t told him yet.”

  “Mallory,” he says, his jaw closed and his teeth tight. He’s wearing a what the fuck, Mallory look on his face, but he doesn’t respond further.

  “So, here’s the thing, Mohammad. There were, um, a few more moments with Noah yesterday,” I say, trying to make it sound way less intense than it actually was. “However, later, he asked me to go with him to get sushi, and it didn’t sound casual. So, basically, I asked him point-blank if he was asking me on a date because I figured that should answer all of our questions. And he laughed in my face, Mohammad. Everything’s fine.”

  “Regardless, you have to tell him. It doesn’t matter if he wants to date you or not. You told me you would deal with this.”

  “I know,” I plead with him, leaning in closer. “And I will. I promise I will today. I guess I just chickened out yesterday, especially after how cold he was about the date thing. I mean, if he liked me one single ounce, he wouldn’t have laughed at the idea.”

  “Do you sense the circle we’re going in?” he asks, shaking his head, looking like he almost feels sorry for me.

  I think about it for a moment. “You’re right. The point is, it doesn’t matter what his answer was. I will tell him today, so we can all move on with our lives.”

  I push myself back into my chair, trying to get comfortable.

  “Thank you.” Mohammad lets out a heavy sigh.

  “I don’t like conflict."

  “I know,” he says. “But I don’t want this to grow into an actual conflict.”

  “I understand. I don’t either,” I agree.

  He doesn’t say anything further before we start our test, and it makes my stomach twist into knots. I don’t want him mad at me. I just want my regular Mohammad back. The one who I can tell about my date with Harry and give an update on how things went with Naomi at the salon. I want to know when his parents will be back and when I can meet them. But I can’t ask him any of that or even expect a happy response until I get this thing with Noah figured out.

  Because Mohammad loves gossip, and he didn’t ask me a single question. He hasn’t looked over at me with a smile on his face.

  He keeps his head down, focusing on the test.

  So, I do the same.

  I try to push everything out of my mind, so I can remember what I studied last night.

  As I move from one question to the next, my mind shifts through the notecards I looked over for hours. When I get to the last question, I can’t believe it. Because I think I did good. Like, really good.

  I turn in my test and then have to sit back down in my seat, waiting for the bell to ring.

  “I’m going to find Noah now,” I say to Mohammad, quickly getting up when class is over.

  Mohammad doesn’t smile, but when I’m practically out the door, he calls out, “Good luck.”

  They sound so awkward.

  Lunch

  I remember that Noah has Chemistry before lunch. I’m not sure what room it’s in, so I decide it’s best to go to his locker, hoping that I can intercept him there. My stomach is doing somersaults while I wait.

  Finally, I see him coming down the hall. He’s walking next to someone and talking, but I don’t recognize the guy he’s speaking to, and at this point, I’ve gotten myself so worked up that I don’t really care about interrupting them.

  “Noah,” I call out, trying to grab his attention.

  He looks over at me and nods his head before turning in my direction.

  I take in a deep breath, trying to calm my stomach, which, at the moment, wants to break free from within me. I’m not sure if I have cartwheels or somersaults or butterflies happening in there, but something—or everything—wants out.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” I say the second he gets in front of me, before I lose my nerve.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks, his jaw tightening in concern.

  I press my lips together and squeeze my eyes shut. “No. I mean, yes, but, well … I didn’t get a chance to tell you something yesterday,” I start, trying to figure out how to word this.

  “Relax,” Noah says, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m—”

  “Yes?” he asks again, tilting his head at me.

  His hand stays on my shoulder, and I finally open my mouth again.

  “I’m—” I whisper, but the second it comes out of my mouth, Harry throws his arm around Noah’s shoulders. I’m not sure how I didn’t see him before, but he looks between us with a grin.

  “Lunch awaits,” he declares, pushing us both in the direction of the cafeteria.

  Noah looks over at me, but I just shake my head at him like it’s nothing.

  “I’m starving,” Harry comments, walking between us. “Something about History just makes me hungry. What I wouldn’t give to be able to snack through History. At least it would give me something else to do other than to fend off Miss Gunters’s advances. She’s getting bolder.”

  “Bolder?” I ask, wondering if he’s kidding or if we should actually be concerned.

  “Definitely. She’s been calling on me in class even though she knows that I never know the answer. How else could you explain that?”

  “Maybe she’s calling on you to let you know that she knows you don’t know,” Noah replies.

  “She’s trying to embarrass you,” I state. Because, come on, how does he not realize that?

  “Nah,” Harry says, downplaying it. “She knows I don’t get embarrassed. That would never work anyway. She’s calling on me to make a point, I think,” he replies, contemplating.

  “And what exactly is her point?” Noah asks, looking at Harry seriously this time.

  “She’s showing me who’s in control,” Harry replies.

  I just shake my head as we get to the lunchroom. Harry gets into line. Noah goes with him even though we brought our lunches. And now, I’m starting to freak out. I can’t let them stand in line alone together. What if they talk?

  “Noah,” I say casually while my mind is frantically trying to think of something to do or say. “Come sit down. I’m hungry.” I give him my best pout and puppy-dog eyes and pray that he will come sit with me rather than just throw me my lunch.

  Noah narrows his eyes at me. “What’s going on?” he asks, clearly noticing my awkwardness as we walk to our table.

  “Nothing. I’m just hungry. And getting grumpy,” I say, trying to change the course of the conversation. “And I’ve been meaning to tell you …” I start, knowing that I have to get it out of the way now.

  But then Noah stops and looks at me. Real
ly looks at me.

  And I instantly wonder about his response.

  Is he going to be mad?

  Hurt?

  Will he throw a fit in front of everyone?

  Or will he be upset with Harry?

  “I think I did amazing on my Latin test,” I confide, deciding I need to tell him when we actually have time to talk. When we’re alone.

  Noah’s looking at me like he isn’t sure he should believe me, but then he finally says, “That’s great.”

  “I appreciate the help with studying. I really thought I was screwed, to be honest.”

  Noah grins at me. “You’re too hard on yourself. When you get your test back, we should celebrate.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Noah gets our lunches from his backpack, handing me mine as Mohammad takes a seat next to Noah.

  “Hey,” Mohammad says, putting his tray down onto the table.

  “Hey,” I reply.

  When Mohammad looks at me, I quickly shake my head, already knowing what his question is going to be.

  His eyes go wide, and he swallows. “So … that Latin test,” he says.

  And I want to slap my hand over my face at his words.

  Because they sound so awkward.

  And so suspicious.

  I mean, come on!

  The point is to act normal. Casual.

  I roll my eyes at him and have no choice but to go along.

  “I think I did good. What about you?” I ask him, pulling out my sandwich, wondering what it will taste like.

  I take a bite. I’ve never eaten stew on bread. But it’s a surprisingly good combination. I take another bite before opening up the bag of grapes and popping one into my mouth.

  “I don’t know,” Mohammad comments, shoveling in a mouthful of potpie. “I didn’t really study.”

  “Do you even need to? You’re always so good about helping me in class.”

  Mohammad glances up at me, his pearly smile coming out. “Well, I am pretty good,” he says like it’s no big deal. But I know that it is to him. “But it’s different with tests. My mind always goes blank on something.”

  “I’m sure you did fine,” Noah tells him.

  I swallow a bite of sandwich and smile at Noah. “Great job with lunch today,” I say, trying not to be awkward.

  Noah narrows his eyes in on me. “All right,” he says, clasping his hands together, “what’s going on?” He looks between Mohammad and me, waiting for one of us to explain.

  “What?” Mohammad asks, his voice clearly straining. “Nothing.” He attempts to laugh off Noah’s question.

  “Well, that confirms it,” Noah says, turning to me. “Mallory?”

  “Well … Harry and I—”

  The second Harry’s name comes out of my mouth, Noah’s creamy skin goes white, causing me to swallow hard.

  “Uh, we are friends again,” I finally say, hoping that at least half of the truth is closer to the truth than I was before. Or whatever.

  Noah’s expression changes. Now, he looks confused.

  “You talked?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I reply with a curt smile. “Harry apologized for everything that happened on Saturday.”

  “Really?” His lips pull into a flat line.

  “So, everything is good between us,” I say, trying to look relaxed when my insides are anything but. “Anyway, let’s just drop it.”

  “Right.” Noah takes a bite of his sandwich. “Well, at least things aren’t weird between you two.”

  “Exactly,” I confirm.

  “Why were you so freaked about telling me?” he asks.

  He’s too smart for his own good.

  Noah looks between Mohammad and me, like he’s piecing together a puzzle. Mohammad keeps his chin tucked down, not meeting Noah’s eyes, but the second he looks away, Mohammad’s eyes get huge, like he’s seeing a car crash in front of him and he can’t look away.

  “I didn’t want to affect your friendship,” I state truthfully.

  Noah seems perplexed by my statement and pushes his sandwich away. “Okay.”

  Harry sits down next to me, putting his tray onto the table as the word leaves Noah’s mouth. Harry takes a fork, stabs it into a brownie, and opens his soda.

  “Healthy,” I comment, feeling slightly sick from just looking at his plate.

  Harry winks at me before taking a bite, and Noah catches it. He purses his lips at me, and the second I know Harry isn’t looking, I just shrug at him.

  “How did things go yesterday?” Mohammad asks Harry.

  “Yesterday was shit,” Harry comments, his jaw twitching.

  “Yeah?” Noah asks, his face softening.

  “Mum wants to go after the bastard now,” Harry says, popping open his bag of chips. “She sees this as her winning hand, I think.”

  “You mean, you?” Mohammad asks, focusing fully on Harry now.

  “Yeah. She was beside herself—at least, she acted like she was,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

  And I’m not sure if he really believes that his mom doesn’t care or if he’s just acting this way to protect himself.

  “I think we expected her to be,” Noah says gently.

  “I guess.” Harry shrugs. “Anyway, she was outraged by it all and was on the phone with her lawyers this morning. She wants a divorce. Part of the company. Who knows?”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” Mohammad asks, wanting him to see the bright side of things.

  “It’s shit, mate. She doesn’t give two fucks about me. The worst part is, they’re going to drag me into their mess. If I thought good old dad was angry when his life was moving along fine, I can’t imagine what he’ll be like when he’s actually upset about all of this.” Harry swallows hard but then laughs. “Anyway, doesn’t really matter. She knows now and can decide what to do. I’m over the lot of it.”

  “Harry,” I say to him.

  “Fuck them,” Noah says.

  Both Harry and I look at Noah, surprised. But a huge grin comes to Harry’s face, and he raises up his soda.

  “Fuck them,” he repeats, taking a sip.

  “You’re always welcome at the house. Whatever is going on, we’ll handle it together,” Noah says, looking around the table. “And if you have to be home with your dad, we’re going to be there. It’s not an option.”

  Harry doesn’t say anything; he just nods.

  We all stay quiet for a minute, waiting for the silence to break. Waiting for someone to say something.

  But I think we’re all too scared to be the one to do it.

  “I can’t believe I have a bloody squash match tonight. It’s bad enough that Mum’s home, but now, this,” Harry finally says as he pops the last of his brownie in his mouth. “You’ll all be there?” he asks, not looking up at any of us.

  “Definitely,” I say first even though I know he wasn’t talking to me.

  Because I can’t help it.

  Harry is finally talking about how he’s feeling. He’s letting us—me—in. And asking us to come tonight is his way of leaning on us.

  Mohammad nods at Harry. “Of course, mate.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Noah adds as the bell goes off.

  Piece together a story.

  Art

  “How’s your project coming?” Noah asks as we sit down in class.

  “It’s all right,” I comment, pulling out my clippings and paper. “I’ve got all the pieces, I think. I just need to put them together.”

  His eyes scan my work. “You went with their favorite colors,” he comments, looking up at me.

  “Yeah. I thought about doing the Greece thing, but I don’t know … something about this felt right. I want to put them together to make a sunrise,” I say, looking down at the pinks, oranges, and blues I have picked out.

  “And do you have the story to go with it?” He pulls a blank sheet of paper out of his folder but keeps his collage tucked away.

  “Yeah, actually. I haven’t
written it down, but I know exactly what I want to say. What about you?”

  “I don’t have the words yet,” he says, gesturing at the blank sheet of paper in front of him.

  “You’re taking this pretty seriously. Isn’t your collage done?”

  “It is,” he says, sitting up straighter, running his fingers through his hair.

  “What’s the problem then?” I ask.

  If he’s already created the collage, why can’t he just make something up about it?

  Piece together a story.

  He’s creative enough.

  “It means something to me,” Noah says, his gaze connecting with mine. His brown eyes are glowing, and he bites into his lip.

  “Okay,” I reply.

  “Sorry. This project is … confusing me. I’m not sure what to write or why I care so much. It’s just a stupid collage …”

  “Noah …”

  “I’m struggling to figure out how to put what I created into words. And what it means to me.”

  “Well, if you need help, I’m here.”

  Noah lets out a sigh, his broad chest falling. “Thanks.”

  I shift through my cutouts, putting them into rows by color on my desk, deciding I should lay them out from the soft cream of the sand all the way to the pinkish glow of the sunrise.

  I stop and take a moment to peek over at Noah. He’s still just sitting there, holding his pen over his paper like he might write something but he doesn’t. He just keeps his pen there, hanging in the air.

  I roll my eyes, grabbing it from him.

  “You need a distraction,” I say, trying to pull him out of his thoughts. “You’re not going to get anything accomplished like that.”

  “A distraction?” he asks, pursing his lips at me.

  “Yes,” I reply, slipping his pen between my fingers.

  A smile forms on Noah’s lips as he takes my hand into his, examining my fingers. “How can you accomplish anything with those nails?”

  “I already told you, they weren’t my first choice.” I roll my eyes at him. “Are they that bad?” I ask, feeling a little self-conscious.

  Noah doesn’t say anything. He’s just staring at our still-touching hands. “No,” he finally says. “But you don’t need them.”