“I’ll grab yours,” I say to Noah, getting up and moving to the front of the classroom.
Once I find ours, I turn back, surprised to see Noah is sitting up and looking a little more alive. I think about what it would be like to run with him in the mornings as I start shading my still life.
But I’m not really that into it today. I glance over at Noah. He is so meticulous about his shading. The way he moves his hand in strokes. Even if it isn’t perfect, he has a style to his. A rhythm. Sometimes, it seems like I’m just struggling to keep up and follow along. I do my best to follow the rules, doing it how our teacher shows. But I’m wondering if that might be the worst thing I can do. Maybe I need to be more like Noah. Listen to the instructions, watch, and then turn it into something of my own. Put my own take on it.
I get to work shading, my mind drifting around topics—from running with my dad to what it will be like to run with Noah. From running my hands through Noah’s hair to kissing Harry’s lips.
When I realize class is almost over, I look down at my drawing and suck in a gasp.
Because I butchered it.
Noah must hear me because he turns, taking in my work. His eyes go wide, looking down at my paper and then up at me.
I just shrug.
Because I have no idea what I’m doing.
Absolutely no idea.
And I’m not even talking about Art.
“So, can we leave campus for lunch?” I ask Noah as the bell rings.
“Not without being excused,” he replies, shaking his head.
“Shit. Well, there goes my hangover-cure plan,” I say, taking both of our drawings and putting them back on the desk.
When Mrs. Jones sees Noah’s, a smile comes to her face. When I set mine down, her mouth twists into a frown. I make eye contact with her, knowing she’s probably trying to understand what I’ve done to the beautiful table and fruit.
And, honestly, I have no idea.
I just shrug at her, not knowing what happened either. I’m with you, lady. I’m with you.
Because the day before, I was doing great. I was following instructions like there was no tomorrow. And she taught the same today, but I guess my heart just wasn’t in it.
Or really, my mind.
“Don’t worry about it,” Noah says with a grin. “I’m already feeling better.” He stands up from his chair, his backpack hanging off one shoulder.
“I hope so. You’d better hurry up and get back to normal, or I’m going to get used to you being nice to me,” I tease.
He rolls his eyes at me as we walk out of the classroom and down the stairs toward the lunchroom.
“I can’t wait to eat,” Noah replies, taking the stairs two at a time, his hair bouncing.
I try to keep his pace as his long legs move effortlessly alongside me.
“Are you brown-bagging it or doing something warm, you think?”
“Definitely something hearty today,” he replies.
I look over at him, and his eyes are practically shining when we make it into the lunch line. He takes two trays, handing me one before scooping a pile of pasta onto his plate.
“Want any?” he asks, turning to me.
I take in the watery tomato sauce, trying to keep from looking disgusted. “I’m all right.”
Noah shrugs, moving farther down the line, pushing his tray a few inches before stopping to add another scoop of something else. I scan the line, finding salad, fried chicken, and the pasta, none of it looking particularly appetizing.
“You can have my packed lunch today,” Noah says next to me, holding on to his filled tray.
“Thanks.” I smile, relieved. Just another one of the many things I forgot to do this morning. Pack my lunch. Pack workout clothes. Go see Ms. Adams. I’m normally not forgetful, but I guess there’s always a first time for everything.
“No problem,” Noah replies as we walk to the table.
“When did you pack this anyway?” I ask, sitting down, thinking back to this morning.
I waited for Noah, and when he finally made it downstairs, I swear, he was only in the kitchen for a second before we were off.
“Mum did,” he answers. “I normally do, but she must have known I was running a little late because she had it ready.”
“Moms, always so thoughtful,” I reply, pulling out a sandwich, apple, and a bag of chips.
“More powerful than thoughtful,” Mohammad comments, taking a seat at the table next to me. “Mums always seem to know what you’re thinking or doing before you even think or do it. I swear, it’s scary.” He shakes his head at the thought before picking up his soda and taking a drink.
“Are you serious?” I laugh.
He looks blankly at me and gives me a nod.
“I think that’s just women,” Noah comments.
I turn from Mohammad, looking now to Noah. Because for as smart as boys are, sometimes, their observations and conclusions just baffle me.
“Seriously. Women aren’t all-powerful,” I reply, shaking my head at both of them.
“I don’t know. I beg to differ,” Mohammad replies. “There was this one time that Harry and I were over at Olivia’s house, hanging with her and Naomi. I had told Mum that I was going to Harry’s, and she had nodded, not saying anything before I left. Well then, I get there, and I swear to God, within five minutes of being in Olivia’s house, Mum rings me and starts asking questions like, ‘How’s Harry? Are his mum and dad off traveling?’ She kept telling me she felt like something was off, and she wanted me to come home. If that isn’t a power, I’m not sure what is.”
“I guess moms do have a sixth sense,” I reply, thinking back to home.
My friend Anna’s mom was kind of like that. But I mostly thought it was because Anna was a terrible liar, and you’d know right away when she was trying to hide something.
“Doesn’t yours?” Noah asks after shoveling in a mouthful.
“Surprisingly, I actually think it’s more my dad than my mom. He isn’t the type to try to trick me into admitting I’m lying, but I think he generally knows what’s going on.”
“He’s the one to come to your room if you’re upset. Stuff like that?” Noah asks.
I nod.
“My dad’s just sensitive,” Mohammad moans. “Always crying about this or that. Trying to give me kisses. I swear, he acts like I’m still in primary school or something.”
“Your mum’s definitely the ballbuster in the family.” Noah laughs, agreeing.
“Tell me about it,” Mohammad says, taking another bite of food. As he chews, he looks across the table to Noah’s tray. “That looks disgusting, man.”
Noah has a mismatched pile of food on his plate, and he seems to be eating it all together. One bite, he has something fried with pasta, and the next, it’s a brownie. Then, he’ll shove a few fries into his mouth before starting the process all over again.
I take a bite of the sandwich, thankful that his hangover led to me having a packed lunch.
Noah shrugs, and I spot Harry over his shoulder, walking toward us. I expect him to look hungover, too, but instead, he just looks upset.
When he gets to the table, he slams his tray down across from me.
“Are you all right?” Mohammad asks, the sound causing him to look at Harry, confused.
“Fine,” Harry replies.
But I can tell he’s not. His typical nonchalant attitude is gone. His brows are furrowed as he watches Noah shoveling in food.
“Hungry?” Harry comments.
Noah takes a break from eating. “Starved actually. I was absolutely useless this morning.”
Harry searches Noah’s eyes, and I wonder if he’s upset with him.
Noah just looks blankly back at him.
After a minute, Harry visibly relaxes, a grin starting to form on his face.
“Bollocks.” Harry smirks, rubbing his hand across Noah’s head, messing up his hair. “I know you better than that. We just had to get you prepped
for tomorrow night. That way, you’ll be ready for the party.”
“Uh”—Noah sighs—“I’m not sure I can take another morning of feeling like shit.”
“Don’t worry. You can sip on a pint. Better to leave the hard liquor to the professionals.” Harry grins, raising his eyebrows at Mohammad.
“I think I’m with Noah on this one.” Mohammad laughs. “Need to be fully alert if I have any chance of getting some action.”
“Ooh,” I coo. “Anyone special?” I grin at Mohammad now, too, curious if he has someone he likes.
“I think every girl deserves to feel special for at least one night, don’t they?” Mohammad grins back at me.
“Classic.” Harry laughs, opening up a bag of chips.
I catch his eye across the table, and he winks at me.
“Besides, I’m not sure I will ever be able to be a one-woman man,” Mohammad continues for our entertainment.
“Why’s that?” Noah asks, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
“Well, if it got serious enough, she’d want to meet the family, and Mum would probably interrogate her. Bring her to tears. It’s for the best really that I remain a free man.”
“I think it is too,” I agree.
“So, what sport did you end up choosing?” Noah asks me, pushing his tray away, finally finished. He seems more awake now after eating.
“I chose yoga,” I reply, looking between the bag of chips and the apple. I push away the chips, knowing the apple is far healthier.
“Who would have thought Kensington School offered yoga?” Harry interrupts, surprised.
“Such a good choice.” Mohammad grins.
I turn my head sideways at him because he has this knowing look in his eyes.
“Familiar with yoga?” I tease, wondering why he seems so excited.
“I might happen to occasionally walk past the classroom when I sneak out of tennis practice.” Mohammad grins. “Though it might not be the best choice for you. I think Olivia is in that class as well.”
“Really?” Harry asks, sounding surprised again.
“Shouldn’t you know that?” Mohammad comments back with a laugh, but Harry just shrugs.
“How do you even know that?” I ask Mohammad.
“Tight yoga pants. Downward dog. Every time I walk past, all I see is sports bras and asses up in the air. Why wouldn’t I know that?” He shakes his head at me like I’m crazy.
“Well, shit.” I thought yoga would be my chance to relax and unwind. Om. Namaste. Whatever it is. It was supposed to be my hour or two of bliss in the afternoon. But with Olivia in the class, I’m sure all I will end up leaving with is negative energy. “Hey, that reminds me. Could I borrow someone’s workout clothes?” I look between the three of them, choosing to bat my eyelashes at Harry first.
“Do I look like I actually work out at the school gym?” Harry laughs, sipping on his soda. “I’m in squash,” he replies, leaning closer to me, “And, unfortunately, I only have one very specific outfit for that.”
I roll my eyes. Figures.
“Mohammad?” I ask, turning to him and giving him a pout.
He shakes his head. “Sorry.”
Noah is staring down at his empty food tray. He won’t make eye contact with me, and I know I’ve found my winner.
“Noah?” I beg, trying to make my voice high and desperate-sounding.
“They won’t fit you,” he states, finally meeting my gaze.
“Anything—and I mean, anything—is better than the lost-and-found clothing I’ll have to wear if you don’t help me.”
“Ew,” Harry comments, his nose wrinkling at the thought.
“Please, please, please, please …”
“Fine,” Noah says, rolling his eyes at me. “Just wait outside the changing rooms for me. I’ll bring you back out whatever I’ve got in my locker.”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling relieved, but then I think about what might be in his locker and add, “Just nothing smelly … please.”
“No promises,” he replies, flashing me a slightly evil grin.
Rubbing his hair.
Geography
Harry doesn’t walk with me to Geography, and for some strange reason, I’m practically the first one in the classroom. The door sits wide open, and I see a guy stop Harry from coming inside.
They talk in the doorway, and Harry tilts his head closer to the guy, listening closely.
And when he turns and looks at me, his expression is hardened.
He was acting weird today at lunch, and now this. Something is definitely up.
Is he mad at me about something?
And if so, why didn’t he mention it at lunch?
I pull out my textbook, not wanting him to see me watching them.
I try my best to focus on my desk, but when I sneak a glance back at the door, instead of seeing Harry, I find Olivia glaring at me.
Again.
I give her a tight-lipped smile, leaning back into my seat, trying to put more distance between us.
Harry follows her in and takes his seat.
I want to turn around and ask him what’s up, but he’s suddenly at my ear.
“Were you rubbing Noah’s hair in Art today?” His warm breath tickles my skin.
“Who told you that?” I ask, turning around.
“Who hasn’t told me that, would be a better question,” he says, his eyes not meeting my gaze. “What the fuck, Mallory?”
He shakes his head at me, and I search his face, realizing that he looks … well, hurt.
“Are you jealous?” I ask sincerely, trying to figure out what he’s thinking.
“Please,” he breathes out, but then his blue eyes connect with mine. He shoves his hand through his hair, swallowing hard.
“Harry,” I start, “Noah was pathetic all day. I was just trying to cheer him up and, honestly, to keep him from puking all over me in Art. I thought for sure he would this morning in Statistics. If he wasn’t moaning through class, he was asleep or looking pretty pathetic. And, actually, I blame you,” I state firmly, defiantly pushing my shoulders back.
“What? You blame me?”
“I blame you,” I repeat calmly.
“And why’s that?”
“You should know better,” I scold. “Noah apparently drank too much last night.”
Harry tilts his head to the side, concealing a small smile. But as quickly as it came, it leaves.
“And you were rubbing his hair,” he repeats.
“And I ask again, are you jealous?” I search his face, already knowing the answer.
I just hope, for once, he actually admits it instead of trying to brush it off or turn the whole thing into a joke. Because I can see he is.
“Yes,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Well then,” I say, leaning in closer, “let me clear something up for you.” I look over my shoulder, seeing that no one is paying any attention to us. I turn back to him, grabbing on to the collar of his shirt and pulling him to my lips. I can feel his smile as he kisses me.
“Let me come over tonight,” Harry says, a grin on his face as I pull away.
He’s staring at my lips, and it has my chest pounding.
“I would love that, but it’s Mia’s room and Noah’s house. With him finally being in a good mood, I would rather not ruin it.” I blush.
“You seem to care a lot about what Noah thinks.”
“Don’t you?” I ask, confused. “He’s your best friend. I’m not trying to fuck you around, Harry. I like you. But I still need to show him respect.”
Harry’s face flashes, almost in horror.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice strained. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.”
“How about you walk me home after school?” I ask, trying to keep things light. His face is still strained, so I add, “Besides, it sounds like if things go well, I’ll be staying at your place tomorrow night.” I raise my eyebrows at him and bite my
lower lip.
And then, thankfully, his grin is back.
“Shit,” he says, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear. “You’re right. We’ve got to stay focused. Maybe I’ll pop in after school as well. Have a little chat with Helen. Butter her up.”
“I think that sounds perfect.” I turn back around in my seat, sighing.
After kissing him the first night and seeing Harry again in school, I knew he was a good time. And maybe he was right about what he said yesterday. That most people think he’s just a good time.
And he is.
I’ve never thought that’s all that he is though, but having him open up about his family and seeing how close he is with Noah and Mohammad has given me a new perspective.
He isn’t just showing me a good time to get into my pants. I think he really does like me. He’s interested in having another friend.
Maybe even something more than that.
And I feel a little guilty. Like maybe I did misjudge him.
I thought the last thing in the world he would be insecure about was his friend. But I guess it’s maybe one of the only things he has to lose. He looked hurt and unsure. And even though I brushed off his jealousy, it leaves me feeling unsettled.
Was I crossing a line with Noah?
And even if we were flirting—which we weren’t—does Harry actually have a right to be jealous?
Because it’s not like we’re dating or even exclusive.
Hell, I’ve only known him for two days. I squeeze my pen, watching as my fingers grow paler before releasing my grip.
“Calm down,” Harry whispers into my ear. “I was an ass to bring it up.” He slides his finger up under my jaw and across my cheek before leaning back into his chair.
I’m not sure how he read my mind, but he did. And he’s right. I do need to relax.
Obligated to hate me.
Yoga
After class, I find my way to the locker rooms and am pacing back and forth, waiting for Noah. When he finally emerges from the boys’ side, I feel relieved.
“I owe you,” I say, grabbing the pair of sweatpants and T-shirt he’s holding outstretched in his hand.
“I think we’re probably even,” he admits, looking around the empty hallway. “It was a bit of a rough day for me. I appreciate the sympathy.”
London Prep Page 10
