“To what?” I ask, frustrated. Because I feel like Noah’s trying to make me understand something without telling me anything.
“To his mum being around. To having someone home. To having rules. He’s used to his parents being occupied and leaving him alone. Sure, they make comments and things like that, but normally, their attention is somewhere else, not on him.”
“But I feel like, deep down, he wants that. He wants them to care for him in that way, right?”
I watch Noah’s face, hoping for an answer, but he just looks conflicted.
“If he wants a relationship with them, he’s going to have to work on it, right?” I ask.
“He doesn’t.”
That’s all Noah says—He doesn’t.
“I can’t blame him.”
“Neither can I,” Noah says, his eyes looking sad.
“This sucks,” I say just as class begins.
“All right, everyone,” Mr. Johnson says, standing up from his desk, “let’s go ahead and get started on the rest of the presentations today. Make sure to copy down the problems and their solutions and give the presenters your full attention.”
Noah pulls out his notebook, tucking his legs back under his desk before glancing over at me. He looks at me for a minute, like he’s searching for the right words, before he whispers, “Life’s not easy, Mal. That’s why it’s so important that we’re here for each other. It’s all we can do.”
I nod in agreement, knowing that he’s right.
Overhearing gossip.
Latin
Statistics flew by with the rest of the students presenting their problems and solutions. I made sure to copy down everything they had written out, but my mind was elsewhere.
As I walk to Latin, I can’t get rid of the feeling that Noah was right. Life isn’t easy. And all we can do is be there for one another.
But I struggle with just how we’re supposed to do that.
Are you supposed to give advice or just love? Should you speak up or let the person with the issue speak first? There are so many ways to approach life and friendships that it feels a little overwhelming.
But at the same time, it makes sense that it should be that way.
Because everyone is different.
And people will always struggle in different ways.
And they will need comfort in different forms.
I force a smile onto my face as I sit down in Latin, wanting to be in a good mood for Mohammad.
And for myself.
Mohammad’s pearly whites are out as he walks into Latin, and if he can’t put me in a good mood, I’m not sure anyone can.
“So, I’ve noticed something,” Mohammad says as he comes toward me.
“What?”
“You’re in a funk,” he states, sliding into his seat.
“A funk?”
“A funk.” He nods in confirmation. “And it seems like, since the whole Noah thing, you’ve been a little off your axis.” He brings his arm out in front of him, tilting it to show how far off I am.
I can’t help but smile, but then his words settle in, and my stomach drops when I realize that he’s right.
“I’m not trying to be in a funk. I was actually just thinking about that, about needing to be happier.”
“What’s got you down, Miss America?” Mohammad’s golden eyes soften when he asks.
I search his face, trying to figure out where to start, and then let out a dramatic sigh. “I think it’s just been a lot. Trying to grow closer to Harry while he’s going through something so tough. Getting things back to normal with Noah. But I also feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“I think you need to loosen up,” he says, a grin on his lips.
“Loosen up? Have you met me, Mohammad? I’m laced up as tight as they come,” I say, shaking my head.
But it’s hard to be serious and sad when Mohammad is grinning at me.
It’s almost impossible.
“Look, things will stay awkward if you keep feeling awkward. If you chill a bit, things will be chill. There’s no other shoe.”
“You know, it’s kind of annoying when you give good advice.”
Because I know he’s right. And I know I need to listen to him.
“I’m glad my help is appreciated,” he says. “Actually, thinking about it, I really should start charging. I give good advice. I could make a fortune.”
Mohammad’s face is serious, and I know he’s considering the idea.
“You probably could,” I agree. “Life’s confusing.”
“Correction: your life is confusing,” he replies, raising his eyebrows at me.
I push out my bottom lip and cross my arms over my chest. “It’s not like I’m the only one with issues here.”
“That’s my point. That’s what will make me rich,” Mohammad says, his eyes shifting to the ceiling like he’s seeing the heavens. “This school is full of confused and hormonal teenagers. And they all have issues! You name it, and they have it. Daddy issues, money issues, too much money issues. They don’t know what’s up from down when it comes to love, life, or friendships. They need guidance. They need Mohammad.”
My eyes go wide as he stands up, bringing his hand to his chest like he’s about to become Kensington School’s savior.
And the thought is a little scary.
Because, yeah, sometimes, he gives great advice.
But then, sometimes, he gives crazy, terrible advice.
“I think Mohammad should stop talking about himself in third person and sit back down.”
I look around, noticing some of the students watching Mohammad’s display. A few chuckle, and a few just look confused.
Mohammad sits back down in his seat, his face becoming serious. “What do you think? Should I start offering up my counseling services?”
“I think you give great advice. Um, but maybe you should consider a different line of work instead.”
“Like what?”
“Like … oh, I know! What about being a detective?”
“A detective?” he says, scrunching up his nose.
“Yes! You’re extremely sneaky, and you have a way of extracting information from people. You’re an expert at intercepting notes and overhearing gossip. You’re always informed. Sounds like the making of a great detective.” I grin, feeling pleased with myself for coming up with something so good.
“A detective,” he repeats, his face practically glowing. “I think I might have just found my profession.”
“See, look at that. Maybe I should be the one offering my services,” I say pointedly.
“Right.” He gives me an eye roll. “Shit, I forgot to tell you. I talked to Sarah.”
“Really?”
“Don’t get too excited.”
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?” I tease.
“No trouble. And no paradise. She hadn’t really said anything after Naomi’s party, so I thought that was the end of it. But she talked to me after class the other day. Said she’d been thinking about that night.” Mohammad waggles his eyebrows at me, looking a little too happy.
“Interesting. Girls don’t just bring things up casually. She meant something with that,” I tell him.
“Exactly. Probably couldn’t stop thinking about my magic touch.” He beams, waving his fingers in front of me.
And I really wish he hadn’t. Because, now, all I can picture is Mohammad groping some girl at Naomi’s party.
“Eww.”
“Regardless, I told her to hit me up. She was flirty as fuck, so maybe I’m in for a surprise with her.”
“You mean, maybe you’ll get some action,” I correct.
“Obviously. And let me tell you, it might become a problem for me. Supposedly, women have the ability to smell that you’ve been with a woman, and it makes you more attractive to them. And once they get a whiff of me, I’ll have to fend them off.”
“Seriously?” I ask, not believing him at all.
M
ohammad nods. “Absolutely. They’ve done studies on it.”
I furrow my brow, not sure if I should believe him.
But Mohammad keeps nodding, clearly convinced.
Crazy about you.
Lunch
“Thank God it’s time for lunch,” I say to Mohammad as the bell goes off. “That class dragged on and on.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Mohammad says at my side, an easy smile on his face.
“It was,” I counter, rubbing my eyes.
“Someone’s just tired.”
“Someone’s getting cranky,” I correct, but I bump his shoulder as we walk toward lunch. “I woke up way too early because I was excited. And my lack of sleep is mixing with a lack of food and coffee, and I’m about to implode.”
Mohammad’s eyes go wide, and he glances over at me like he’s not sure if he should do something to counteract it or just take cover.
“Don’t worry. You’re just hungry,” he says, throwing his arm around my shoulders. “Girls always get grumpy when they’re hungry.”
“Oh, stop.” Because I am not in the mood for one of Mohammad’s profound informative sessions on the differences between men, women, and their needs.
“It’s true though. Girls are always going on and on about how boys are so simple. That they just want food, sex, and time with the lads. But girls’ needs aren’t all that different. In fact, I think girls are actually way worse if their needs aren’t met. At least, with boys, you know what they want because they just tell you. Girls get upset, and it’s nearly impossible to decipher what the real cause is. They just somehow expect you to know what’s wrong. And then they get mad if you can’t figure it out.”
“You seem to know a lot about what having a girlfriend supposedly entails,” I say, prying a little.
“Well, obviously,” he continues. “And that’s the exact reason I don’t want a girlfriend. Like, say your bird is grumpy. You’re their boyfriend. Do they want more romance? Or are they just hungry? Maybe it’s their lady time of the month, and they just want kisses and chocolate. They won’t tell you, yet you’re supposed to know. It’s mad.”
“Lady time?” I repeat, raising my eyebrows at Mohammad.
“The point is, it’s never easy to tell what a bird wants. Though it usually comes down to three things: cuddles, food, and sex. Whereas, with guys, it’s time with their mates, food, and sex. So, we aren’t really all that different. The main difference is, a guy will say what he wants, whereas a woman wants you to know what she wants. And then she gets even grumpier if you guess which one it is out of the three wrong. It becomes all about the odds.”
“All girls aren’t like that. And you’re kind of focusing too much on fundamental urges. I mean, food, sex, shelter?” I push.
“I’m not saying emotions and love don’t come into it, but come on, Miss America, we’re only talking about grumpiness.”
I glance over at Mohammad, unconvinced, but he just shoots me a wink.
“Take you, for example. You just need some food and a little cuddle, and you’ll be back on track for the day.” He stops walking and rubs his hand firmly up and down my arm, almost like he’s trying to keep me warm.
“Are you agreeing that I’m grumpy?” I say, narrowing my eyes at him as we walk into the lunchroom.
“I’m saying, that’s the benefit of having a friend. You can just ask for what you need, and they’ll likely help you.”
“Aww, Mohammad,” I coo, wrapping my arms around him in a side hug.
“Uh, relax,” he says dramatically, even as he hugs me back.
“Well, thank you. And I think you’re right. At least about the me needing food part. The whole girls only need three things will have to be debated later.”
“When you have more energy.” Mohammad nods mockingly as we sit down at the lunch table.
I want to shove him for making fun of me, but he’s actually right. It’s going to take some food in my system before I even have the energy to do that.
I slump down onto the bench, resting my head in my palm, my elbow on the lunch table.
“Don’t you need to go get your lunch?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “But I can’t leave you here, helpless.”
“Helpless?” I ask.
Mohammad nods. “Every time I leave you alone, you end up in a girl fight, kissing and getting caught, or detention. You can’t be trusted alone. You get yourself and then me into too much trouble.”
“So, it’s for your own good then?”
“As much as I love the drama that ensues in your path, I’d prefer just a chill day. So, this is my insurance.”
“You’re dramatic. But I’ll take the company.”
“You’ll get company but not mine,” Mohammad says, giving me a pat on the head as he stands up and says to Noah, “Miss Grumpy is all yours.”
Noah looks at Mohammad, confused. His mouth falls open like he’s going to ask a question, but then Mohammad is gone.
“What was that all about?” Noah asks me.
“Nothing. Mohammad has decided I’m grumpy.” I pout.
“And why are you grumpy?” Noah asks seriously. He pulls out our packed lunches, handing me mine from across the table.
“Apparently, I’m hungry,” I say, taking the lunch sack.
“And that’s the only reason you’re grumpy?”
“I’m not grumpy,” I correct. “Mohammad stated I was grumpy when I told him I was tired and hungry. And then he went off on some tangent about girls and their needs. And supposedly, I need food and a cuddle—or so says Mohammad.”
Noah glances up at me, his lips pulling at the corner. “Mohammad’s probably right, Mal.”
“Are you agreeing with him?” I ask, irritated, pulling out my sandwich. I take a hard bite into it but immediately regret it. Because the sandwich tastes delicious. And I instantly feel bad for being mean to my sandwich. I close my eyes as I chew, silently apologizing to it.
“I’m saying,” Noah says, “you should get a little food in your stomach and then take a nap after school.”
I take another bite of my sandwich.
“You’re probably right,” I concede. “I’m just sleepy. I do wish I could go home and take a nap.”
“I tried to tell you this morning. Should have just stayed in bed.”
I take in Noah’s face, his words pulling me in.
Should have just stayed in bed.
He holds my gaze, and my stomach does a flip.
Okay, lots of flips.
Because is he suggesting that I should have just slept in? That we shouldn’t have gotten up early to go spy on our teacher?
Or is he saying more?
That I shouldn’t have just stayed in bed, but that I should have stayed in his bed?
I swallow hard, setting down my sandwich.
“All right?” Harry says, placing a quick kiss on my cheek.
“Fine.” I smile as he walks around the table, dropping his tray down next to Noah’s.
And immediately, I push the idea of Noah and his stupid bed out of my head.
“Fucking line took forever,” Harry tells us.
I notice his hair is messier than usual. It looks like he’s pushed his hand through it quite a few times.
“It always does,” Noah comments, opening his bag of chips.
I take mine out of my lunch bag and toss them to Harry. He catches the bag, questioningly looking up at me.
“They’re for you.” I grin. “It’s not like your love for crisps is a secret or anything.”
Harry winks at me. Then, he pops open the bag and shoves a handful into his mouth.
“Mmm,” he moans, licking his lips and looking happier. “Always thinking of everything.”
A second later, Mohammad is back, sliding his tray onto the table.
“Pizza today.” He smiles, picking up a slimy piece of cheese pizza and folding it in half.
“Ugh,” I moan, my stomach feeling sick at the sig
ht of it.
I look over at Noah, who looks just as repulsed. My gaze flicks to Harry, who watches Mohammad like he’s pure entertainment.
“That cannot be healthy,” I say, feeling the need to do something other than sit here and watch him eat a future heart attack.
“It’s not,” Mohammad replies, his mouth full. “But it’s delicious.”
“Well,” I say, pursing my lips, “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”
Harry shakes his head, popping a crisp into his mouth. “Well, History was shit.”
“Why?” Noah asks, curious.
“Because my professor is into an old, shriveled-up asparagus. That’s why,” Harry says.
“Mr. Pritchard isn’t an asparagus. He’s just traditional,” Noah defends.
“Did you end up finding out anything else about Mr. Johnson?” I ask, turning to Mohammad.
He wipes his greasy lips onto a napkin, throwing it back onto the table. “I did some research last night. Let’s just say, Mr. Johnson is a very well-liked man.”
“What do you mean?” Noah asks, finishing off his sandwich.
“I mean, presumably, he has a shit-ton of friends. Which was rather shocking. I created a fake Instagram account and added him as a friend. His feed was filled with posts. He’s always out.”
“That’s not that surprising,” I say. “I mean, he’s young and smart. Living in a vibrant city.”
“Wait, you’re telling us that Mr. Johnson is always happy in class because he’s actually a happy person?” Harry asks, confused.
Mohammad shrugs. “The evidence would point to that.”
“Well, that’s fucking depressing,” Harry cuts in.
“Come on.” Noah chuckles, shaking his head.
“What? You’re telling me, I woke up early as fuck to come to school to have my heart shattered. Finding out Miss Gunters is shagging some old sod and your always-happy Mr. Johnson isn’t getting a blow job every morning is shit.”
Noah busts out laughing and gives Harry a pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“You’re just upset because you thought we’d find someone having sex,” Mohammad says pointedly.
London Prep: Book Two Page 18
