“Mallory,” Harry says, shaking his head at me, “regardless of what your professor thinks of it, you need to give it to her. She will love it.”
“I will then,” I reply, knowing that he’s right. “It’s kind of embarrassing though.”
Harry laughs. “Sometimes, I think you’re more uncomfortable with your feelings than me.”
“Probably,” I agree, laughing with him.
My mind moves back to my conversation with Noah about New York.
“Random question, but when you think about me in New York, what do you think about?”
Harry’s gaze shifts. “I can see you in New York,” he confirms.
“Really?” I ask, surprised that his answer right off the bat is different from Noah’s.
“Of course. You’re a city girl.” Harry grins, draping his arm over my shoulders.
“I think so too.”
“What is your favorite thing to do back home?”
“Brunch with my girlfriends. And I miss shopping with my mom and spending afternoons in the park with my dad. My school was a lot more modern than Kensington, and I liked that. New York is just a city, I know, but it’s the little things that make it feel like home. It always seems like it’s the little things you miss.”
“New York is nice. I’ve been quite a few times actually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, Dad does a lot of business there. Spends his time in New York and Shanghai when he isn’t in London. We even have property there.”
He has a house in New York?
The thought gives me butterflies.
“Do you like New York?” I ask, feeling like there are so many layers to my question.
“It’s fun, like you said. I like the clubs, restaurants,” he admits, his arm still wrapped around me. “I don’t get there much, but I always have a circle to go out with when I’m there.”
“But?” I ask, feeling like he’s holding something back.
“Well, the beer’s shit.” He laughs. “And most of the times I’ve been there, I had to be with my dad, so not the fondest memories.”
“Do you think you could live there?” I come out and directly ask the question.
When I think about Harry, he almost embodies everything English. It’s hard to imagine him somewhere else.
“Who knows?” Harry shrugs, taking me by surprise. “It could be a fresh start. Not that I’ll get one, but just … somewhere different.”
“What would you miss about London?” I ask, looking around as we walk down the street.
“So many things,” he says. “The pubs, for sure. The countryside. And you know, the boys.”
“Ah. And now, we get to the truth.”
Harry laughs, tapping the tip of my nose with his finger.
“Do you get out into the countryside much?”
“Not too much. We have a house a few hours outside the city. Mostly, it’s used for the holidays. Mum has it decorated for Christmas, and we spend the winter holiday there.”
“That sounds nice.”
“That’s what she wants you to think,” Harry replies. “She wants us, the house, our life to look perfect. Manicured. She invites everyone we know for never-ending parties and dinners. I remember the first year that I talked her into letting Noah and Mohammad come with me. I felt so bad because they were in a tux every other night.”
“Really?”
Harry nods. “I didn’t mind it, really. Getting dressed up. Putting on a show for everyone. It comes naturally for me. But it got boring, quick. You see the same people from international divisions of the company year after year. The same stuffy families from London come out. Anyway, that’s about the time I decided drinking and playing billiards upstairs had more fun to offer than the numbing conversations downstairs.”
I wrap my arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him closer.
“I could never be what my parents wanted. So, I stopped trying.”
“Well, I like you just the way you are.” I grin as we make our way down the Williams’ street.
“Is that right?” Harry says, pulling me up against his chest as we stand in front of the door, number 32.
“Mmhmm.” I nod, my eyes sparkling. “And I think, sometime, we should go out to your house in the country. Your memories there need to be good ones.”
“Good ones, huh?” Harry asks, a smirk playing on his face. “What do you have in mind?”
“We could make a whole weekend of it. Play pool and explore outside. Kiss in front of the fire …”
“You would change my entire childhood if you could, wouldn’t you?” he whispers against my lips before kissing me.
“I wouldn’t want to change it. I just want you to have more good memories than bad ones.”
Harry pulls his head back, connecting his blue eyes with mine.
He looks at me with almost disbelief.
And I half-wonder if he’s going to tell me to stop trying to fix him.
Or if he’s going to tell me that he doesn’t need new, better memories.
“We should go up to the country house then,” Harry replies, surprising me. “And soon.”
He presses his lips back against mine, and I almost can’t kiss him back because I feel choked up.
But then he slips his tongue into my mouth, and instead of saying anything, telling him how much I care, I try to show him with my lips.
Tuesday, October 1st
Just say sexy.
7:00am
“Noah!” I call out from my bedroom.
I’m holding up two sweaters in front of the mirror, trying to figure out which one is the cutest. Well, maybe not the cutest, but at least which one isn’t the worst. I already have on my white oxford and plaid skirt, but it’s cold out this morning, and I know that I’m going to need the extra layer.
“What?” Noah asks, walking into my room. He has on his uniform pants but is shirtless and still rubbing his damp hair with a towel.
I just stand, fixated, watching his arm muscles flex.
“What did you want?” he asks me again.
I blink hard, trying to remember, and then notice the two sweaters in my hands. “Uh, which one?”
“Why does it matter? They’ll both keep you warm.”
I let out a huff. “It matters because I want to look cute today.”
“And why do you want to look cute today?” He throws the towel over his shoulder and puts his hand on his hip.
I keep my eyes on his face, refusing to look at his shirtless chest. “I woke up in the middle of the night, almost frozen solid. It seems like it’s going to be a cold day, so I figured I should wear one, and I’m in the mood for something different.” I glance down at the sweaters I’ve thrown on the bed, already annoyed with them.
Because they’re boring.
And preppy.
“And I wish I didn’t have to wear this uniform today. I want a snuggly fall sweater that makes me feel like I’m wrapped up in a hug. Not like I’m being stuffed into a scratchy grandma’s outfit.”
“You should have asked for another blanket if you were cold,” Noah says seriously.
“I don’t care about being cold last night. I care about what to wear today.”
Noah rolls his eyes. “You’re wearing a shirt on under them, right? So, they won’t be scratchy.”
“Okay. And? Which one?”
He looks between the two sweaters but then glances up at me. “Do you have any of those …” He gestures toward his head and motions from one ear over to the other.
I look at him, confused. Then, I get it. “Like a headband?”
“Yeah. Do you have any headbands?”
“No, but I did bring a few clips.” I open up one of my bags, rifling through it and pulling out bobby pins and a few different hair clips.
Noah’s eyes scan across them. “You want something different, right?” he asks, looking back up at me.
“Yeah.”
“How about this,” he says, p
icking up a white hair clip, “with this?” He motions to the white cardigan with navy trim. “And … I don’t know … maybe something red on your lips?”
“Wow,” I say, surprised.
Like, really surprised.
I narrow my eyes in at him. “How did you even come up with that?”
Because he’s always either in workout clothes, his uniform, or a basic black top and jeans. I’m not sure his wardrobe has any variety in it. Yet here he stands, picking out an adorable outfit.
It’s preppy but cute. And a brighter lip will actually give it some life.
Noah shrugs. “Just because I’m not the most fashionable person doesn’t mean I’m not helpful.”
“Apparently not,” I reply, stunned by his statement.
It’s a little profound for so early in the morning. I shake the cobwebs out of my head, knowing that I need to get dressed, get a coffee, and pull myself together.
“Besides, it’s for my benefit. One less outburst I have to deal with from you today.” He gives me a smirk and laughs in that deep voice of his.
I want to smack him, but I have a soft spot for that laugh. Something about it echoes in my own chest, making me feel like I’m laughing too.
“Like I ever have outbursts,” I say, rolling my eyes, but I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling along with him.
I put the sweater on and button it up before sitting down at the desk.
“Please, you throw a fit about something daily,” Noah replies, his eyes sparkling.
“I don’t throw fits. If anything, I just state my opinion. And there’s nothing wrong with telling someone how you feel.”
I brush through my straight hair, pulling the top part back and clipping it in place. It adds a nice amount of volume when I get it poofed up a bit.
Noah openly starts laughing at me. “Telling someone how you feel? Mal, you have the ability to go from sweet to angry to sexy to fucking impatient, all within ten seconds.”
I whip my head around, my eyes becoming saucers.
Because did he just say sexy?
But then the rest of his words register in my mind, and my patience flies right out the door.
“If anything, my ability to adapt to a new situation or new information should be impressive.” I glare at him.
“I think you mean, your ability to react,” Noah corrects, his tone light.
“Well, this conversation is about to make me throw my first fit of the day. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
I turn away from him, focusing on my reflection in the mirror. I decide to go with a thick black-winged liner over a nude shadow. Normally, I don’t wear makeup at school, apart from a little tinted moisturizer, but I feel like adding something extra today.
Noah’s still standing in my room, but he’s not speaking. He just watches as I put on the liner, add two coats of mascara, and then top it off with red lipstick.
I turn around to face him, wondering what he will think.
“Well?” I ask, waiting for Noah to say something.
He looks me up and down before sucking in his cheeks. “You look … nice,” he finally says.
I look nice.
Nice?
If there is one word that should be eliminated from a boy’s vocabulary, it is the word nice.
“What?” he asks, taking in my reaction.
“I was going for something like adorable or cute—anything but nice.”
Noah takes a step closer to me, his bare chest grabbing my attention again. I look up from it to his face, and our eyes meet.
“You look beautiful,” he corrects, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. One of his fingers barely grazes my cheek. But then it moves to my bottom lip. “And I really like this red.”
I jolt backward at his touch.
“Thanks.” I flush, realizing that isn’t at all what I was looking for. “You did a good job, helping me pick everything out.”
I turn away, focusing on putting my yoga clothes into my bag.
I glance over at Noah, who is still standing where he was a minute ago. He’s studying me like he’s trying to figure me out.
He rakes his hand through his hair. Then, he turns and walks out, saying, “Anytime.”
I shove a notebook in my bag, trying to push my feelings down with it.
But when I get to my art folder, I handle it gently, making sure that my project stays safely tucked away.
Noah and I are eating quickly. I glance at my watch, realizing that, at this rate, we are actually going to be late.
“Chew your toast,” Helen scolds.
“Mum,” Noah pleads, scraping a knife full of jam onto another piece of toast. He folds it in half, shoving it into his mouth.
“I don’t want to hear a word. I thought this would be nice.” She pouts, glancing over at Gene, who has his head in the crossword section of the newspaper.
“Breakfast is lovely, dear,” he says, looking up at her through his thick glasses. He places a quick kiss on her cheek.
“I can’t believe I managed to burn the eggs,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee and shaking her head.
“We all have off days,” I barely get out, my mouth full of toast. I take a big gulp of coffee, partially to get the stuck toast down and partially because I know we definitely won’t have time to stop for any today.
“I suppose,” Helen says. She spreads a slab of butter onto another piece of toast before topping it with jam and handing it to her son.
Both Gene and I watch in amazement as Noah continues to devour his breakfast.
“Hungry?” I ask. Because this is his fourth piece of toast. Fourth! And I’m not sure where it’s going.
Normally, Noah is a slow and somewhat picky eater. He always takes his time and never rushes a meal. But today, it’s like he’s in a speed-eating competition or something.
He stands, gulps down the rest of his orange juice, clears our plates, and puts them both into the sink.
“Thanks,” I say as I grab our packed lunches from the counter, rolling up the top of the bags in my hand.
Gene gets up from the table, too, leaving Helen as the only one seated.
“You’re going to need umbrellas today,” Gene says, looking out the front window.
I can hear the rain beating against the roof at a slow, steady pace.
“Will it be all right to walk?” I ask, zipping our lunches into Noah’s backpack.
Helen gets up from the table, moving next to Gene at the window. “It’s a steady rain,” she notes, pushing the curtains back further. “But there’s no wind. An umbrella should be enough to keep you dry.”
I nod, handing Noah his backpack.
“All right. See you guys later,” Noah says to his parents. He grabs two umbrellas from the corner by the front door and hands me one.
“See you,” Gene calls out.
“Not too bad,” Noah comments as we get our umbrellas open and start walking to school.
Helen was right. There isn’t any wind, so the rain falls straight down onto my umbrella, rolling off and dripping onto the sidewalk.
“Not too good either. It’s going to make my hair all frizzy.”
I pat down my hair, wanting to pout. Even with it being naturally straight, my hair has a thing with humidity.
“You’ll be fine,” Noah says, rolling his eyes.
I glance over at him. His black umbrella matches mine, and he has on a navy jacket over his uniform. He almost looks the opposite of me today. His navy set against my white.
I smile to myself.
“What?” Noah asks, his brown eyes connecting with mine.
“I was just thinking about our outfits. You look so English with your umbrella and trousers.”
“And what about you?”
“I look like a fifties cheerleader.” I laugh, taking in my white cardigan.
Noah smiles at me.
When the ivy that climbs up the side of Kensington School comes into view, the sky o
pens up on us.
“Hurry!” I scream at Noah, both of us racing through the courtyard to the closest entrance. The rain is coming down sideways, hitting me across the face.
“Fuck,” Noah says, looking down at his rain-splattered pants when we finally get inside.
“That was cold.” My tights are completely soaked, and I shake for a minute.
Noah rubs his hands up and down my arms, trying to help warm me up.
“Thanks,” I say as the bell goes off.
“Shit,” he mutters, his eyes going to the clock hanging in the common room.
I look around, noticing other kids pouring into the building.
It seems like everyone is late today because of the rain.
“They won’t give us all tardies, will they?” I ask as we move down the hallway.
“I don’t think so,” he replies, but he’s walking faster than usual.
I want to tell him to slow down, mostly because the floor is wet and I feel like I might slip and fall at any minute.
But I stay quiet, trying to keep his pace.
There’s no one else here.
Statistics
“I just want the day to be over already,” I whisper to Noah when we get to Statistics.
Students are still filing in. Apparently, the rain messed with everyone today. And I don’t feel as bad for myself once I look around. Because even though my legs are cold, some of these poor kids are soaked.
“How come?” Noah seems more relaxed as he notices only three-fourths of our class are present.
“Besides getting rained on, I hate presenting. And at some point today or tomorrow, I’m going to be up there, standing in front of everyone, having to work out my problem.”
“You’re nervous?”
I nod. “It’s just awkward. I hate the idea of having everyone stare at me.”
Noah leans back in his chair before glancing around the classroom. “There’s nothing to be intimidated about.”
“Easy for you to say,” I comment, pursing my lips. “You run around the soccer—sorry, football field in front of tons of people. You’re good at math, and everyone knows it.”
“Being good at something doesn’t give you confidence, Mal.”
London Prep: Book Two Page 10
