London Prep: Book Two

by Dodd, Jillian

  “Morning.” I smile at her, setting my coffee down as I stand up. I give her a light hug before she sits in an open chair.

  “Thank God it’s Friday,” she says, her eyes scanning across the common room. “I’m so over school for the week.”

  “I agree,” Mohammad speaks up. “I’m ready for tonight.”

  “Already have your mind on the party?” Harry asks. He scoots closer to me and wraps his arm around my waist.

  “Always,” Mohammad says, sitting up straighter, really getting into it. “I always have my mind on the party. I’m thinking karaoke, some shots, maybe a little strip poker.”

  “That sounds kind of fun,” I admit with a shrug. Because, truthfully, I’m ready for a party.

  “It actually does.” Naomi laughs.

  “What do you think, Noah?” I ask, turning toward him. “Are you ready to let loose?”

  Noah looks at me, his brown eyes sparkling.

  “We’ll see.” His face is flat, but I know he’s just egging Harry on.

  “That wasn’t a no,” Harry declares, wrapping his arm around Noah’s shoulders.

  “Morning.”

  I hear the voice and instantly recognize it.

  It’s Olivia.

  She’s walking toward us, her eyes drifting over each and every one of us.

  “Sorry, we don’t have room,” Harry states.

  She ignores him, locking her eyes on Mohammad. “I’ll just squeeze in here,” she says, sliding down next to him.

  Mohammad’s eyes light up as Olivia forces her body into a space that should only seat one.

  I watch with surprise as they both somehow manage to fit. Mohammad drapes his arm over the back of the chair, giving Olivia even more space.

  The little traitor.

  “So,” she starts, looking between us all, “Naomi told me about tonight.”

  “Olivia,” Naomi says with force, her eyes flaring.

  “What?” Her gaze flicks to Naomi. “It’s not like you can keep a secret. Besides, we’re all friends here, right?”

  “No,” Noah and Harry both say at the same time as Mohammad says, “Definitely.”

  Olivia rolls her eyes. “I’m coming tonight.”

  “You weren’t invited,” Harry states, shifting uncomfortably.

  “Well …” she says, turning to Mohammad. She looks down at his shirt, running her hand across his chest and then up his tie. “Would you mind if I was there?” She gives him a sultry smile.

  My mouth almost falls open as I watch Mohammad blush.

  Damn, she’s good.

  “Oh, you can definitely come,” Mohammad says, nodding his head at her.

  “I thought so.” Olivia smiles, scrunching up her nose like Mohammad’s a cute little animal. The first morning bell goes off, and Olivia gets up. “See you tonight.”

  “Sorry,” Naomi whispers to me.

  “It’s all right.”

  I watch as she catches up to Olivia.

  “Holy shit,” Mohammad says. “Everyone saw that, right?”

  “You getting played by Olivia? I think we all witnessed it,” Noah comments.

  “That was awesome.” Mohammad’s whole face is lit up with happiness, and he looks like he just won the lottery.

  “You invited her,” Harry grumbles.

  “She wants me!” Mohammad counters, clearly thrilled by the situation.

  “She is using you to get to Harry,” I correct.

  “Exactly! It’s brilliant.”

  “And you’re going to let her?” I ask, wondering how he doesn’t realize this is, like, eight different levels of wrong.

  “Fuck yes, I’m going to let her. Olivia—sorry, Harry—is banging. Like, bang. Ing. If she wants to use me, she can use me.”

  I look to Harry, unsure of how he’s going to react.

  Or if he’s going to react at all.

  “This feels like a bad idea,” Noah says.

  “This feels like my shining moment. My moment of glory,” Mohammad says, standing up from the couch. “I’ve never felt as though everything was so right in the universe.”

  I raise my eyebrow at Mohammad and his dramatic performance.

  “Am I wrong?” Mohammad says, looking directly at Harry.

  And I’m wondering if that’s Mohammad’s way of asking for approval.

  Harry looks back at Mohammad, standing up. He rolls his eyes, a huge grin coming onto his face. “You’re bloody mad if you think you can handle Olivia. But fuck me, if you want to give it a try, I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”

  Both Noah and I get up, looking at Harry with shock.

  “Really?” I ask, surprised.

  Harry shrugs. “Why not?”

  Trying to process it.

  Statistics

  “Want a granola bar?” Noah asks, pulling two out of his backpack.

  “No, I don’t want a granola bar,” I say, shoving his hand away in frustration. “I want to know why Mohammad invited Olivia tonight.”

  Noah shrugs but then opens up one of the packages, taking a bite.

  “I mean, this is a terrible idea, right?” I start, trying to figure out what to do. “Do I let her come? It’s not like I can un-invite her. Do I ask Mohammad to un-invite her? Maybe it won’t be so bad? Or maybe it will be. This could be terrible.”

  I look to Noah, awaiting his input. But he has all of his attention on his granola bar. He finishes the first one and then practically inhales the second.

  “Why are you so hungry?”

  “Coach has been adding more weights to our practices,” he says.

  “He must be,” I comment back, watching him in awe.

  Noah flexes his bicep and raises his eyebrows at me. “Impressed?”

  “Not in the least,” I shoot back.

  “Come on. I’ve been working hard on my health.” He pouts, his bottom lip sticking out at me.

  “That’s the thing about our health. We should maintain it for ourselves. Not so other people might notice that our arms have gotten bigger.”

  “You think I’ve put on muscle then?” Noah is nodding his head and grinning.

  “Your appetite has grown—apparently, along with your ego.”

  Noah lets out one of his deep, full-belly laughs, and even from across the aisle, I can feel it bounce within me.

  I shake my head, grinning along with him. “You’re getting cocky.”

  “I’m teasing,” he replies.

  And I know he is. But I can’t help it when my eyes scan down across his white oxford. It’s pulling even more than usual across his chest and shoulders. There’s something about his attitude today. It gives me a glimpse of the fun and loving Noah. The Noah who’s light and happy. The Noah who’s confident.

  And I like that Noah.

  This Noah.

  The Noah from the bathroom last weekend was for sure sexy, but he was also confusing. And demanding.

  But today, it’s like I’m getting the perfect mixture of him.

  He’s playfully grinning at me, and it’s cute.

  I look up, taking in his dark lashes and thick eyebrows. I can always seem to get lost in his face.

  It will never cease to amaze me that he has such dark features with such creamy skin. Or how he has the deepest laugh but the softest lips.

  I mean, not that I know what his lips feel like. But they’re plump and rounded, and sometimes, they can be a little distracting.

  Not because I want Noah. It’s not that. It’s just distracting because he is one of my best friends. And he’s beautiful. And funny.

  And sweet sometimes.

  And I’m lucky to have him.

  Really lucky.

  “Do I even want to know what was just going on up there?” Noah says, poking my forehead.

  “I was just thinking, I like this,” I admit.

  “You like what?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

  “I like it when you’re playful.”

  My lips ache to pul
l into a smile, but I keep my mouth pinched closed. Because I don’t want to be grinning back at him the same way he’s grinning at me.

  His brown eyes flick to mine. “Well, I guess this is what life could be like if we agreed to stop arguing all the time,” he practically whispers.

  “We don’t argue all the time.”

  “You do realize you’re arguing with me now, don’t you?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not arguing. I’m disagreeing. Besides, I don’t want to think that we argue. I mean, I know that we do. But I hate to say that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because arguing sounds bad. And I don’t think we argue. I think we both just have strong opinions. And I don’t have a problem with admitting when I’m wrong.”

  “You actually don’t. And that’s something admirable. Most people can’t even admit when they’re wrong. And you’re wrong so often …” He gives me a big grin.

  “You’re teasing me,” I reply, stunned.

  Noah nods, biting into his lip. “I think people forget to laugh. We’re always so serious. What’s the point of life if you can’t have some fun?”

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you talk like this,” I say, feeling even more surprised. “I never would have expected Noah Williams to say that the purpose of life is to have fun.”

  He narrows his eyes in on me, his cheek pulling up into a half-smile. “I think there are a lot of things you don’t know about me. Besides, I didn’t say the point of life was to have fun. I just said we shouldn’t forget to have fun. It’s important.”

  Noah holds my gaze, and I find myself holding my breath, searching his face for answers. Answers to questions I’m not even sure I know yet.

  “What’s something I don’t know about you?” I ask, tilting my head at him.

  “Hmm. I haven’t a clue about what I want to do when I get older.”

  My eyes go wide. “Really?”

  “I mean, I’ve thought about a lot of things. Maybe I’ll go to university for maths. I likely will. But I’m not sure yet what I want to come from it. And I don’t believe in just following a path. So, if I can’t figure it out, I probably won’t go.”

  “You won’t go to university?” I ask, repeating what he just said. Mostly because I’m trying to process it.

  He shakes his head. “There are too many people who feel pressured to go to uni. Sometimes, I think it can be a good thing, like if you’re into academics or know what your purpose is there. But I’m not really a believer of just going and figuring it out. I feel like there are a lot of paths to success—or I suppose, whatever you consider success. And I want to make sure that I take the right steps for me. For what I want.”

  “What if you decided not to go and then later realized that to be what you wanted to be, you would have needed that?” I ask, wanting to really understand how he’s thinking this through.

  Because the idea of not going to college, well, it’s almost foreign to me.

  Noah smiles at me. “Like I said, you have to have fun in life. In anything you do. If you realize what you want and that university will get you there, then great. Go and do that. But we always have time. I hate when people feel rushed or forced into things. It makes them stressed and ultimately unhappy.”

  I chew on my lip, trying to consider all he’s saying.

  “You look confused.”

  “I’m not confused,” I reply. “I’m just processing.”

  “Like I told you before, you’re not a computer.” Noah grins.

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “What I don’t understand is, you’re literally one of the smartest kids in school. If university isn’t for you, then who is it for?”

  Noah shrugs, pinching his lips together. “I don’t want to be forced to do things one way. I hate the idea that there’s one path. It’s not just improbable, but also impossible. There are too many personality types, career goals, and aspirations. But it doesn’t matter too much yet. We’ve got time to figure those things out.”

  “You’re always telling me that. Don’t freak yourself out. You’ve got time.”

  “That’s because you do. You can’t tell my mum though.” Noah laughs. “I think it might break her heart. She sort of has this vision for my future. Especially since—you’re right—I do well in my courses. At least the ones I like anyway. She would be pretty upset to know that uni wasn’t a for sure for me yet.”

  “Noah,” I say, pretending to be shocked, placing my hand over my heart like I’m appalled, “are you asking me to lie to your mother?”

  “I’m not asking you to lie. I’m asking you to simply omit this discussion,” he corrects.

  “Well, for now, your secret is safe with me.” I grin.

  “Thanks,” Noah says.

  How he really feels.

  Latin

  I plop down into my seat, still feeling annoyed with Mohammad.

  My mind keeps shifting back to how he was so nonchalant about Olivia this morning, and frankly, it’s upsetting.

  I mean, he’s supposed to be my friend.

  My friend.

  And as my friend, shouldn’t he realize that this is going to be incredibly awkward for me?

  “You look upset,” Mohammad says, sitting down next to me.

  “I am,” I reply, crossing my arms.

  “Let’s hear it then,” he huffs, like the mini freak-out that is about to come is nothing more than a slight nuisance to him.

  “Did you think about the position you were putting me or Harry in when you invited Olivia tonight?”

  I watch his expression, wondering how he’s going to talk his way out of this one.

  “You were the one who tried to invite her over for a sleepover,” Mohammad starts. “You’ve always wanted to end your little feud and be friends. If anything, I’m merely helping the cause. I realize that Olivia isn’t actually coming for me, but it’s still an opportunity. We can all drink together. Chill. Maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe I won’t. But you wanted that, didn’t you?”

  “I mean, I guess,” I stutter, slightly taken aback by Mohammad’s seriousness.

  “That’s what I thought. Besides, it will be fun. And you’re hanging out with Naomi more. That has to be hard for Olivia. I felt a little bad.”

  “She was isolating herself,” I argue.

  “Well, apparently, she doesn’t want to be isolated anymore,” he counters.

  I let out a grumble, trying to figure out what I can say back.

  But literally nothing comes to mind.

  Somehow, I think Mohammad has outwitted me.

  And it’s pretty freaking annoying.

  “Are you going to stay mad at me all day?” He pouts. He puts his elbows on my desk and rests his chin on his palms, looking up at me with puppy-dog eyes.

  And damn him for looking cute.

  “I’m going to try,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “You can’t be mad at me. Besides, I know you’re as excited about tonight as I am.”

  “Well, I will admit that I am ready to let loose.”

  “Me too.” Mohammad smiles.

  “I also have some gossip,” I say, chewing on my lip.

  “Oh?” he asks, waiting for me to continue.

  “Last night, Harry and I sort of made it official. We’re officially together. Yay.” I’m part-serious, part-sarcastic, part-excited, and part-nervous about what he’s going to say.

  “I already knew that.” Mohammad laughs, tossing his head back.

  “How?” I ask. Because I know I didn’t tell him.

  “Please. Whose idea do you think it was to walk you to school this morning?” He cocks his head at me, causing my mouth to fall open.

  “Harry called you?” I ask, barely believing it.

  “Harry literally called me on his way home. The boy is smitten. Went on and on about how good this is.”

  I bite my lip, trying not to grin. “What else did he say?” I ask, leaning towards him.

  “I�
�ll only tell you if you promise to stop pretending to be mad at me.”

  I narrow my eyes in at him but decide I have to know. “Deal.”

  He shakes my hand and then drops his shoulders, ready to tell all. “First, he went on and on about Helen’s amazing dinner. I think Harry’s as taken with Helen as he is with you. But then he got around to actually telling me why he called, and he said that you two decided to make it official.”

  “And he sounded like, what … ecstatic?” I ask, feeling like I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting to find out what happens next in the story. “I mean, I know that he was excited and said yes, but sometimes, I wonder if that’s how he really feels. What else is on his mind? What else does he feel?”

  “Slow down, Miss America.” Mohammad laughs. “He was for sure happy about it. I think he’s excited for tonight too. Having you over,” he says, raising his eyebrows at me.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I’m just saying, it’s good timing. You’re finally official. You care about one another. You have an excuse to sleep over.” He stops, looking concerned. “You do have an excuse, right? Did you and Naomi tell Helen and her parents that you’re staying at one another’s houses?”

  “Not yet. But I’ll talk to Helen after school. Naomi wants to go shopping anyway, so I’ll tell her about it all at once.”

  “That’s a good plan,” Mohammad says approvingly.

  “I think so too.”

  Our professor starts lecturing, so we both pull out our Latin textbooks and turn toward the front of the room.

  I follow along through class easily, feeling like I could be well on my way to actually understanding Latin. I take notes, leaning over to Mohammad every once in a while to ask about a word or phrase I don’t know.

  And surprisingly, he always seems to have the answer.

  I’m the lucky one.

  Lunch

  “I’m starved,” I say to Mohammad as we leave Latin. “I only had a banana and coffee this morning, and my stomach is not happy about it.”

  “I could hear it grumbling,” Mohammad says with a laugh.

  “Hey,” I whine. “Be nice. It’s embarrassing.”