London Prep: Book Two

by Dodd, Jillian

  “Exactly,” Harry agrees, missing Mohammad’s sarcasm. “I wanted to see professors getting freaky. Preferably in the lunchroom or on the copy machine.”

  “Ugh, gross,” I say, trying to avoid the thought of any of my professors having sex.

  “There’s nothing gross about sex,” Mohammad states. “It’s natural.”

  “It’s not supposed to be natural,” Harry disagrees. “It’s supposed to be hot.”

  I look across the table, wondering what Noah thinks about all of this. But he’s just staring at the rest of my sandwich.

  “Earth to Noah?”

  His brown eyes come up to mine, and he looks like I just pulled him out of a dream.

  “Yeah?” he asks, blinking a few times.

  “You’re staring at my sandwich.”

  “Are you done with that, Mal?” he asks, glancing back down at it before reconnecting his eyes with mine.

  I look at his lunch sack, realizing that he’s already finished his food.

  “Yeah,” I say, sliding it over toward him. “You can finish it.”

  He gives me a smile before biting into the sandwich. “Thanks.”

  “Someone’s hungrier than usual,” Mohammad comments, folding his third slice of pizza in half and taking a messy bite.

  I shake my head at him, watching as both Mohammad and Noah eat happily. Noah finishes off the rest of my sandwich, looking like he’s having some sort of religious experience while doing it. Mohammad has pizza grease running down his chin. I look across the table at Harry, realizing, like me, he’s done eating.

  And he doesn’t look happy.

  The bell rings out, giving me a little jolt of surprise.

  Noah and Mohammad walk ahead of Harry and me, and I can feel my stomach churning.

  Because Harry’s expression has hardened. And when I slip my fingers through his, his hand feels tense.

  He’s anything but relaxed.

  “What’s wrong?” I finally ask when we get in front of my locker.

  Because all the way down the hallway, we walked in silence.

  And it wasn’t a nice, calm silence.

  It was a palpable silence that, at any moment, could reach up and suffocate us.

  I take in Harry’s white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. I bring my hands to his forearm, straightening out his cuff.

  Harry glances around the hallway, his eyes not meeting mine.

  He presses his lips hard together, like he doesn’t want to speak.

  “Harry,” I urge.

  “When the fuck did Noah start calling you Mal?” he asks the question, his blue eyes finally landing on mine.

  “Are you jealous?” I state, dropping my hand from his arm.

  Because here we are again, in the same situation.

  Harry not being sure of himself.

  Of us.

  But he looks hurt.

  “I’m not jealous,” he says with frustration. His blue eyes feel like they’re almost pleading with me. “I’m mad.”

  “At me?” I ask, swallowing hard.

  “No.” Harry shakes his head.

  “At Noah then?” I say, looking up at him.

  “Of course not,” Harry mumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  He looks as confused as I feel.

  Like he’s trying to figure things out with me.

  “Then, what is it?” I ask, forcefully pushing my hair off my shoulders. I need some air around me. “Because last we talked, I wanted you. And you said you didn’t want anything coming between you and Noah. Or between you and me.”

  I stare at him, wanting him to mull on my words. He looks like he’s in pain, his face growing paler.

  And I want to feel sorry for him, to bring him into my arms and make it better.

  But I don’t.

  Because he needs to figure this out.

  “I, um, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry,” he says, pushing his hand through his blond hair. “I just … I wanted to flip the fuck out when I heard that. Things are tense at home, and I feel like the ground around me must be made of eggshells or something. I’m reading into things. Into almost everything.”

  Harry runs his hands down across his face, turning his cheeks pink.

  My hands instantly reach up to his.

  “You’re not reading into it wrongly …” I finally admit. “Because the thing is, Noah and I are close. And we’re close because we’re friends. And the same goes for Mohammad. But I like you, Harry. Only you.”

  Harry nods at me, like he’s trying to convince himself.

  “But you don’t sleep one room over from Mohammad, do you?” he breathes out.

  And I have to take a step back at his words.

  My eyes go wide, and I feel like my heart is in my throat.

  “Harry,” I barely whisper.

  “Just forget it, okay?” he says, turning away from me.

  I know I should let him walk away, but I can’t.

  I grab on to his arm because I don’t want him to walk away from me.

  From us.

  “Stop trying to pull away from me. Last night … it was one of the best nights of my life,” I say, looking him straight in the eyes. “You are, in one word, amazing. And I don’t want anything to come between us. I won’t let it. I’m telling you now, I choose you, Harry. I like you. But you have to promise to stop with this jealousy. Because it will break everything apart. And I don’t want that.”

  Harry’s face looks serious, and I know he’s listening to me.

  “I care about Noah and Mohammad as friends,” I continue, wanting to put everything out there. “But I want to be on your lips. I want to be in your bed. And I want you to be sure about that.”

  Harry swallows hard, but his jaw relaxes. “I think everything has just felt upside down.”

  I nod in understanding. “I can’t imagine what it has been like. Probably surreal more than anything.”

  “My head has just been all mushed up. And here I am, suddenly accusing the girl that I like that she’s into my mate. And I don’t even mean it. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “Please, just stop talking,” I say, pushing my finger against his lips.

  His eyes come down to mine, and he looks like he could cry.

  My stomach twists at his torn expression.

  I vaguely hear the bell go off, but I don’t care.

  I need to be here with Harry right now.

  “I’m sorry, Mallory,” he says, bringing his hand up to my cheek.

  I hold on to his arm and close my eyes, not wanting to be anywhere else.

  “I’m sorry too. I’m crazy about you,” I whisper as he rubs my cheek with his fingers.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, pulling back to look down at me. “I know you are.”

  A smile forms on his face, and I’m instantly flooded with relief.

  “I forgot how well you take compliments.” I smile, biting my lip.

  “Mallory, I like you too,” he says, his voice almost catching. “I should have said this sooner. But I like you. A lot.”

  Harry holds my cheek more firmly, so I’m stuck, staring back at him. It’s one of those moments where I want to be shy and look away, but I never could. And even if I tried to, Harry wouldn’t let me. Because I think he wants me to feel his words, not just hear them.

  “I think it’s clouding my judgment a bit, and that’s not fair to you.”

  “I just want us to be good,” I breathe out. “No issues.”

  “No issues, I promise.”

  I wrap my arms around Harry and hug him tightly.

  “I think you might be my angel,” he whispers in my ear, pulling back from our hug.

  His blue eyes are serious, and he squeezes my hand before urging me in the direction of my class.

  “I’m sorry to have made you tardy,” he says, watching as I walk toward the stairs leading up to Art.

  I don’t say anything else.

  I’m not sure there’s e
ven anything else to say.

  But when I get into the stairwell and Harry’s out of view, I just want to cry.

  For lots of reasons.

  Because he shouldn’t be made to feel that way about Noah and me.

  Because his feelings for me are stronger than I realized.

  Because his feelings for me are stronger than he expected.

  And because everything is becoming real, and I’m not sure how to handle it.

  Talk about things.

  Art

  I sit down in class feeling defeated. And I’m also late.

  It’s been one of the longest days of my life, and it’s barely past noon.

  Mrs. Jones marks me as tardy and tells me to take a seat. Then she announces to the class that we will continuing working with textures today.

  I’m not even sure what that means.

  “Ugh,” I groan. I cross my arms on the table, pushing my face down into them, trying to hide.

  “Someone’s in a good mood.” Noah’s voice rings in my ear, and I listen as he shifts on the stool next to me.

  “This mood is your fault,” I mumble under my breath.

  “My fault?”

  Shit.

  He wasn’t supposed to hear that.

  He wasn’t supposed to hear anything.

  I just want to crawl into the little hole I’ve burrowed my head into and never come out.

  I sit up, deciding I need to face this.

  “Look, it’s like I said this morning,” I start, already feeling nervous. “We need some boundaries.”

  “Boundaries, huh?” Noah tilts his head a bit, a smile pulling on his lips.

  “Yes, boundaries,” I repeat, narrowing in my eyes on him.

  I’m not sure why he looks so amused, because I don’t find any of this even remotely funny.

  I’m sitting here having a full-fledged freak out, and I think it’s because I need to get this cleared up.

  “Tell you what,” he says, kicking his legs out to the side and turning towards me. “I’m here,” he says, touching his chest. “And you’re there,” he says, reaching out to touch mine. His palm is warm, but it only stays on me for a second. “I will always be me, here, and you, there. Thus, we have to have boundaries. It’s implied by our different locations.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “I’m not talking about physical boundaries.”

  “You’re not?” Noah asks, surprised. But he still has a smile on his face, and some part of me knows he’s secretly enjoying this. He’s taunting me again, and it’s not going to work.

  “No. I’m talking about friend boundaries. Say, for example, you had a girlfriend. I would never want her to feel like I’m closer to you than she is.”

  “You’re talking hypothetically?”

  “Obviously.”

  “I wouldn’t care. Besides, if I had a girlfriend and she got upset that I had friends, it wouldn’t go over well.”

  I let out a grumble. “You’re missing my point. As your friend, I would want you to be happy. And you’re only happy if your girlfriend is happy,” I say, trying to let him follow along.

  “That’s wildly dependent,” Noah interjects. “My happiness is never only dependent on someone else.”

  “Noah,” I almost shout, feeling flustered. “Pay attention to my point.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me your point?” he says, his perfect brows dipping in.

  “My point is—” I start, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to tell him that Harry was jealous that he called me Mal. Because for one, Noah’s right. I’m allowed friends. I’m allowed to be close to other people. But at the same time, I don’t want Harry to feel worried, or like there’s someone else romantically in my life. Because there isn’t.

  “I’m desperately waiting for your point,” Noah says mockingly.

  “My point is—that I’m thinking about telling Harry it would be okay if he was my boyfriend.” I bite my lips after the words come out of my mouth, bracing for the impact.

  But there isn’t one.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I was definitely expecting something.

  Noah just sits there, blinking at me.

  His jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck becoming tense.

  “You want to be his girlfriend?” Noah’s voice is flat, and I watch him suck in his cheeks, his lips pinching together.

  “I mean, I think so,” I reply.

  “You think so? Isn’t that the type of thing you should be sure about?” Noah lets out a heavy laugh.

  “This isn’t a joke,” I say, frustrated. “I thought I could at least talk to you about this.”

  Because I have no idea where my statement came from.

  I want to be his girlfriend?

  I want to be his girlfriend?

  Up until a minute ago the idea never even crossed my mind.

  But after seeing Harry in the hallway, I don’t want him to have any doubts. I want him to know how much I care for him.

  “You told me we could always talk about things,” I say to Noah, wanting to emphasize my point. “That’s what friends do, right?”

  Noah’s body tenses, his creamy skin flushing.

  “You can always talk to me. I guess… I guess I just hadn’t realized you and Harry were at that point.”

  “I didn’t really realize we were either,” I admit. “But our date went really well last night.”

  “So one good date gets you a girlfriend?” Noah asks, his nostrils flaring.

  “Apparently. And what did you even mean earlier about boundaries? I thought you were always the one saying that people move from two separate beings to one,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “I said that about sex. About love,” he replies, seeming confused.

  “Right…” I comment, not sure why I even brought it up.

  “Wait, did you mean we don’t have those types of boundaries?” Noah asks, sounding surprised.

  “I don’t know what I meant.”

  And I instantly want to shrink away and disappear.

  Noah searches my face, looking as confused as I feel.

  “Well, I’m happy for you both, then,” he finally says, his lips pulling into a tight smile. “I’m happy for you, Mal. I really am.”

  And there it is again.

  Mal.

  The nickname that my dad gave me.

  What Noah calls me.

  What Harry was so upset about.

  I search Noah’s face, taking in his pale complexion. His brown eyes are looking directly at me, and I can see it written all over his face.

  He isn’t happy for me.

  He isn’t happy about this at all.

  You’re blushing.

  Geography

  “Hey,” Naomi says, rushing toward me the second I get into Geography.

  Noah and I spent the rest of Art in silence, listening to Mrs. Jones talk about different ways of creating texture in our artwork and our upcoming project.

  “Hey,” I reply, trying to pull my mind into the present.

  Her fingers loosely wrap themselves around my wrist, and she grins at me.

  “I can’t wait for our sleepover tonight,” she gushes. And I know that I have to relax.

  I was tense all through Art, and I need to take Mohammad’s advice.

  No more weirdness, no more eggshells, no more holding my breath.

  Noah knows how I feel. Harry knows how I feel.

  Everything is out in the open, and I’m done with the internal roller coaster.

  “I’m excited too,” I agree, smiling back at her. Because I’m ready to be in a good mood. And if anyone can do it, it’s Naomi.

  Standing here with her, I also realize that this is the first time I’ve talked to anyone in Geography other than Harry.

  And knowing that kind of feels good.

  “I’ve been preparing supplies all week,” she says quickly, her eyes shifting to the door.

  I look with her, noticing that she’
s checking to see if Olivia has come into the classroom yet.

  “Supplies?”

  Naomi rolls her eyes at me and then pats my hand. She does it slowly, like she’s both laughing at me yet telling me it’s okay.

  “Face masks, pajamas, magazines. I’m bringing all of the essentials,” she says brightly. But then she drops her voice. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  And all of a sudden, she’s gone.

  She drops my hand and is back in her regular seat by the time that Olivia walks in.

  I stay standing by the door, speechless.

  Because she’s sneaky!

  And it’s both impressive and a little terrifying.

  Olivia gives me a once-over, her back turned to Naomi. At the same time, Naomi winks at me, her cheeks pink.

  “Everything all right?” Harry asks at my shoulder.

  “Shit,” I say not so quietly, grabbing the attention of other students in the class.

  Luckily for me, Mr. Pritchard isn’t in the room yet, or our never-ending detention might have just been extended.

  I close my eyes, trying to slow down my heart rate.

  “Everything’s fine,” I lie.

  “Everything isn’t fine,” Harry corrects, pinching my chin with his pointer finger and thumb.

  I look up at him, almost drowning in his shiny blue eyes.

  “I think everything might be fine now,” I admit, a flush on my cheeks.

  Because Harry is, well, Harry.

  He’s smiling again, and he looks absolutely adorable.

  His blue eyes do something to me, and anything within me that was worrying or stressing leaves the second that Harry arrives.

  He just has that effect.

  “You’re blushing right here, in front of everyone,” he states. His mouth falls slightly ajar as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

  “You make it hard not to.” I grin at him.

  Harry grins back at me. He puts his hand on my arm and leads us down the aisle toward our seats.

  Before I know it, we’re sitting down, both facing the front of the room.

  I try to turn back, to look at him, but he keeps my head forward with his hands.

  “What?” I pout, wanting to turn around.

  “Apparently, you can’t be trusted when looking at me.” His words are thick and smooth, and they pour down over me.