London Prep

by Dodd, Jillian

  “Well, either way,” I say, feeling awkward. Harry’s words are swirling around in my head, and now, I don’t know what to say. Am I supposed to be friends with Noah? Am I supposed to hate him?

  He smiles at me, one side pulling up more than the other. “My practice goes longer than yours, so you’ll have to find your way back to the house, yeah?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine,” I agree.

  Noah nods at me, only standing there for another second before turning and walking away.

  I rush into the changing room, knowing I’m going to be late. Only one other girl is still in there. She’s rummaging frantically through her locker, searching for something. It’s the same girl who was sitting next to Olivia in Geography. The girl whose birthday party I’m supposed to be crashing tomorrow night.

  “Hey,” I say, opening one of the empty lockers. “You’re Naomi, right?”

  She stares blankly in her locker, blinks a few times, and turns to me with a smile.

  “Yeah,” she says simply. “And you’re the girl from New York.”

  I nod my head, turning around to strip off my shirt and pull on Noah’s tee. “Yeah. I’m Mallory. It’s nice to meet you. I think we’re in the same geography class.”

  “And you’re dating Harry, right?” she asks curiously.

  I turn around taking in her innocent gaze.

  “We just met. I only arrived in London on Sunday,” I confide.

  I’m not sure if it will make a difference or if it will change her opinion of me. I know if she’s best friends with Olivia, then she is kind of obligated to hate me.

  “Oh,” she exhales, seeming to understand.

  “Anyway, I heard it’s your birthday tomorrow. So, happy early birthday.” I smile.

  She looks me over, and it’s almost like she’s frozen. I decide to give her a minute, turning around and stripping off my skirt and tights before pulling up the sweatpants. Noah was right; they are big on me. I pull the string at the waistband, hoping it will allow them to at least stay up.

  When I turn around, I take in what Naomi is wearing. And it’s exactly like what Mohammad said. Typical yoga attire—fitted sports bra and leggings. I can’t help but look down at my contrasting attire and chuckle. She notices because she lets out a small laugh and smiles at me.

  “Thanks,” she says. “I actually am having a birthday party. Everyone is kind of invited, so maybe I’ll see you there.” She turns around and closes her locker before walking out of the changing room.

  Her invitation leaves me feeling a little stunned, but I don’t have much time to figure out what it means because I’m already late. When I make it up to the room, I find eight other girls stretching out on mats, one of them being Olivia. I look around, surprised to not see Naomi.

  “Welcome,” a woman says, now standing in front of me.

  I look her over. She has on a fitted tank and leggings, her short hair tied back in a low pony.

  I try to smile at her. But all I can think about is how my shirt is going to fall up the second I go into any pose and how I forgot a hair tie, so it will also be falling in my face. Wonderful. At least maybe it will shield me from Olivia.

  “Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m the yoga instructor, Ms. Harrison, but you can call me Amy. Please, take a seat on the open mat. I will be standing up front, giving instructions, and will walk around as we move through our routine to help adjust you. We’ve been building up to a few poses, so if we get to one you’re uncomfortable with, just do your best, and I will guide you.”

  “Thank you.” I say gratefully, until I realize that the open mat she pointed to is next to Olivia.

  And let me tell you, the girl knows how to glare. And the most frustrating part is that she looks beautiful while doing it. Her hair is pulled up, a few tendrils framing her face. And with her full lips and curvy figure, I can see why Mohammad might gawk.

  “All right, ladies, let’s start in the seated position,” the instructor says. “I want you to close your eyes and take a few deep breaths in and then out again.”

  I slowly breathe in, closing my eyes. As I exhale, I can feel Olivia’s eyes on me, but I don’t look in her direction.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, telling myself that if I can’t see her, then she doesn’t exist. And if she doesn’t exist, I can get some good from this class.

  I exhale, trying to push out every negative thought with it. We start off slow, warming up our muscles, finding a nice rhythm. There isn’t any pose that’s overly hard, so I follow along pretty well.

  “That’s a great start, everyone,” our instructor, Amy, encourages, standing up. “Let’s take a five-minute break. When you come back, we will start building our poses up and end with different breathing techniques.”

  Shit. So, maybe I will be a little behind.

  I stand up, wiping my hands off on Noah’s sweats. They’ve somehow managed to stay up, and I was able to knot his shirt, at least keeping it in place. My hair, on the other hand, is likely a different story. But whatever.

  I look around and recognize a few of the girls from other classes. One of them smiles at me, but they’re all talking in the corner, leaving me feeling a little out of place. I spot a water fountain, deciding going to get a drink will be better than just standing here.

  The cool liquid hits my throat, and it’s refreshing. When I pull my lips away, standing back up, Olivia is right there next to me.

  “So, Mallory, how are you finding Kensington School so far?” she asks.

  Based on her glare, I can tell her question isn’t sincere. She takes a sip from her water bottle. When she does, I spot a single bead of sweat on her face.

  Even after working out, she looks unaffected—a little bead of sweat the only proof that she actually put in any effort. Regardless of the Harry situation, I kind of have to hate her for it.

  “Charming.” I smile at her, my nostrils flaring.

  “That’s unfortunate,” she says. “I was rather hoping you didn’t like it. The worse off your time is here, the sooner you’ll go home.”

  “What makes you think I even want to be here?”

  Her head snaps in my direction. “Are you telling me you don’t?” She pushes a piece of loose hair back, tucking it into her clip.

  Even though I want to nod my head at her and say, I don’t want to be here, I can’t.

  Not one single piece of me was happy about coming here. But then I met Harry and Mohammad.

  And Noah.

  And we’ve had fun.

  But I’m not sure if it really changes anything.

  Because the fact is, I’m leaving in three weeks.

  And will I see them again? Maybe.

  But will they be a part of my life forever? Probably not.

  And that thought hurts.

  Which means I shouldn’t get attached to any of it.

  Or to anyone.

  It’s better this way. To just have fun. To mess around. Make friends. But not get overly invested in it. Because nothing good will come from it.

  “Well, let me tell you something then,” Olivia says, crossing her arms and cutting through my thoughts. “Harry is mine. You’re new here, and you probably don’t understand, so let me enlighten you. We’ve always been together, and we always will be. We have a past, and we will have a future. You’re just a little blip in the middle, so don’t get comfortable.”

  Does she actually believe that? Because she sounds both delusional and possessive as shit. It’s not even about me now; it’s about Harry.

  “What makes you think you can have someone? You don’t own Harry. Just because you had a past doesn’t mean you’re guaranteed a future. And frankly, I don’t think you deserve him. It’s pretty clear you don’t give a shit about him.”

  I half-expect her to throw her water bottle at me.

  “Who the fuck are you to say?” she growls. “You have no idea of our history and what we’ve been through.”

  “You’re right,” I say, agreeing w
ith her. “But I do know this. Harry definitely doesn’t see you in his future.”

  Her eyes go wide. I want to scream, Take that, or stick my tongue out, taunting her like I’ve won because I know that my words hurt her.

  But when she bites her lip, I think she might cry. My insides drop, and I feel bad for her. I don’t want to hurt her, but I also don’t want her giving me shit. I realize there’s a fine line between standing up for myself and causing someone else pain.

  “Well,” she says, whatever pain she felt gone and the bitch fully returning, “let me tell you something about Harry. He always wanders. He’s like a curious cat. He likes to fuck around with the mice, mess about in garbage, and chase after a few strays. But let me be clear, he always comes back to me. Because, eventually, he realizes he’s been playing around in the dirty sewer when he can be at home—with me. And I think you need to realize that you’re just a piece of shiny garbage that’s caught his attention.”

  She plasters a fake smile on her face and gives me a shove, pushing past me on the way back to her mat.

  I stand there in shock for a moment, but then the shock quickly morphs into anger. And I, like a fucking cat, want to pounce on her. I want to snarl at her perfect hair and claw at her sweat-free face.

  And I consider it. Just running over there and attacking her.

  But I can’t. That’s not me. I would never do something like that. Sticks and stones and all that. Her words hurt. They make me mad, but I’m sure as shit not going to let her know it.

  Amy moves to the front and ushers everyone back to their mats.

  I walk to mine, pretending to be unaffected.

  I know that if I say anything else to Olivia, trying to get the last word in, it will just blow up in my face. And if I leave class because I’m upset, she’ll consider it a victory.

  No, the best thing I can do is act like her words don’t bother me. Pretend that she didn’t get to me.

  I take my place on the mat, not looking at her. I refuse to give her the satisfaction.

  I keep my eyes on our instructor, and instead of thinking of yoga words, I repeat in my head, She didn’t get to me. She didn’t get to me. She didn’t get to me.

  A piece of trash.

  4:15pm

  “Your ex-girlfriend is a bitch,” I say to Harry, fuming, as I push open the school door, slamming into them as we walk outside.

  Harry looks at me with concern, but I keep walking.

  I’m still pissed.

  And I need to get away from this school.

  “Are those Noah’s sweats?” Harry asks, taking in my attire and keeping up with me.

  “Are you serious right now?” I say, stopping. I turn to look at him, crossing my arms. “And, yes, it’s Noah’s shirt too!”

  “What?” Harry says, staring back at me.

  “Does the fact that your ex compared you to a fucking cat and me to a piece of trash not bother you?”

  I’m trying to keep calm, but honestly! You would think he would understand.

  “She what?” Harry asks, trying to follow along.

  And I realize he hasn’t heard about what happened yet.

  “First off, yes, these are Noah’s sweats. And let’s just get the conversation over with. Yes, I would rather be in yours. Yes, I tried to be, but you didn’t have any extra clothes. Yes, I’m sure you’re jealous. And, yes, I would rather have these stinking things off and be in your bed. But unfortunately, we are not. We are here. And I was just stuck in yoga for two hours with your lovely ex-girlfriend, Olivia, who proceeded to tell me that you’re like a cat who wanders off into the alley, playing with garbage and chasing after mice. And to be clear, she was calling me trash. She said that she was like your warm, safe home, and I was just a shiny and distracting piece of garbage, and eventually, you would realize this and leave me for her.” I shake as I speak. I’m so mad, I’m vibrating.

  Harry looks at me, and I want him to pull me into a hug and tell me that’s bullshit. But instead, he laughs.

  Yes, he laughs.

  And I storm off. Because I’m not going to stand here and put up with it.

  Fuck that.

  “Mallory,” Harry says, rushing after me and grabbing my arm to stop me.

  I try to pull away, but he has a fairly firm grip, so I stop. “What?” I spit out.

  “She really got to you,” he says, his face softening, seeming to finally gauge the situation.

  His blue eyes connect with mine, and although it softens me, I can’t let him know that. I turn my face from his, trying to break our gaze, but he brings his hand under my chin, pushing it back.

  “Mallory?” he asks again.

  “What?”

  “Look,” he says, pulling me fully into his arms, “I’m here, right now, right in front of you. You’re in my arms. She can say anything she wants, but she can’t change the truth. Right?”

  “I know; you’re right,” I say, trying to calm down.

  Because Harry is right. He is standing here, with me. He’s not standing with her. But it doesn’t stop the ache in my heart that maybe, one day, he won’t be. He could change his mind and crawl back to her. Just like she said.

  “You need to tell her that,” I say, crossing my arms so his chest can’t touch mine.

  “What?” Harry asks, pulling back too.

  “I said that you need to tell her that you aren’t hers anymore. And publicly, so there’s no confusion. Because what Mohammad said is right. She’s friends with everyone, and they all believe her. And there’s no doubt that she’s going to start spreading rumors about me.”

  “About us,” Harry corrects.

  “No. That’s where you’re wrong. She still cares for you. She obviously wants you back. She won’t include you in any of it because she wants to save your reputation. But mine, she doesn’t care about.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about that stuff,” Harry says, surprised. And he’s right to be.

  Because I don’t. At least, I thought I didn’t. But then I realize he’s got it wrong.

  “It’s not that I care what other people think, Harry. I care what you think. I like you.”

  “I would never say that you’re trash. Her words don’t get to me, and they shouldn’t get to you,” Harry says, pulling me back to his arms.

  I let out a breath, trying not to cry into his chest. Because it does hurt. I can be strong in front of Olivia. In front of everyone. But being strong in front of Harry, trying to hide how I feel, is hard.

  “I know,” I say, giving him a halfhearted smile.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Harry admits, taking my hand in his and moving us away from the school. “I promised Noah I would apologize to her, but now I can’t. Obviously, I fucked up, and you’re in the middle of it.”

  I nod, agreeing.

  “I need to talk to Noah,” Harry says, looking over at me. “I promised him, but things have changed.”

  “Are you taking his side?” I ask, hurt.

  Because what, if Noah says he has to then he will? What is he, five?

  “I’m not taking sides. I’m just saying that maybe he’s right. I should apologize to her, and then we should just ignore her. Dealing with her takes up too much energy. And I can think of better uses for our mouths than to spend it talking about Olivia.” He flashes me his devilishly handsome grin.

  “Not going to work right now,” I say, trying not to grin back at him. I push at his chest, trying to show him I won’t give in.

  “Are you sure about that?” His grin grows wider, and he raises it in a challenge.

  As we walk up the stairs to number 32, he wraps his hands around my waist, backing me up until I’m pushed against the front of the house.

  “I mean, maybe you can try to change my mind,” I state, trying to remain objective as his lips move against my neck. “But it will take a lot of time and effort.”

  Harry laughs against my neck. “You know I love a good challenge,” he replies and then kis
ses me. He bites at my lip, causing a tiny moan to escape from my lips. Because if anything can de-stress me, it’s definitely Harry’s lips. Maybe I should ask if that could be my sport instead of yoga.

  “Is it working yet?” he asks, his hands moving into my hair.

  “Definitely not,” I lie, pulling him closer. “Might just need more time.”

  His tongue slides into my mouth. And his lips do seem to wash away all of my upset.

  When he ends our kiss, his eyes are lusty.

  “Come on. We’d better pull ourselves together and get in there to Helen.” I put my key in the lock, pushing in the front door.

  Harry brushes past me as he walks inside. I feel dazed, and I probably look like I’ve just taken a hit of something. Harry, on the other hand, seems to bounce back from our kissing sessions with ease. He’s smiling widely as he places a kiss on either side of Helen’s cheek.

  “Well, this is a nice surprise!” She smiles, gets up off the sofa, and heads into the kitchen to turn on the tea kettle.

  Harry leans against the doorframe leading into the kitchen. “I thought you wouldn’t mind,” he says to her. “When I realized Noah had practice after school, leaving Mallory with no one to walk her home, I knew I had to step in and help.”

  She waves her hand through the air. “Oh, stop it.”

  I move past Harry into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. Helen sets down a plate of biscuits, urging Harry to sit as she gets out three cups. When she finally sits down at the table with us, she pours us each a cup of tea. Harry loads his with sugar, taking at least three cubes, while Helen does only one cube but splashes some milk into it.

  “Milk?” Helen asks.

  I shake my head at her. Helen and Harry look at each other and then look back to me with disbelief, like the thought of drinking tea straight is the craziest concept in the world. Harry takes a bite of his biscuit, his eyes practically rolling back.

  “You always know how to treat us.” He smiles, dipping a piece of biscuit into his tea.

  “It’s nice to have the company. You kids have been so busy lately; I’ve barely seen the three of you,” she says, a hint of sadness in her voice.