London Prep

by Dodd, Jillian

  His brown eyes soften, his lips pulling up at the corner.

  “I understand. Don’t worry about it.” He nods his head, confirming.

  “Good,” I breathe out.

  When we finally make it to Statistics, I sink into my seat. Noah does the exact same, and I think at least half the other kids in class all let out a collective sigh. Because everyone was out late last night. And then everyone was forced to get up and go to school.

  I laugh to myself, thinking back to the party. For as much as Harry had hyped up going, he jumped ship just as quickly. I think that’s his personality though. When Harry’s having a good time, we’re all having a good time. And when he isn’t, even if we are, he’s ready to find something new that excites him.

  And the truth is, everyone lets him. I noticed it with Noah even more so than Mohammad. Mohammad will stay behind, do what he wants. He likes having a group of friends, but he isn’t stuck with them.

  For him, it’s almost like starting ground. But with Noah, it’s different.

  I look over at him, thinking about the way he is with Harry. They really are best friends. And not in the way that they just like one another and get along so they hang out. It’s more than that. They almost thrive off one another. Noah wouldn’t stay if Harry didn’t want to stay. And I think if Noah was upset, Harry would get upset. Because despite Noah not caring what people think and Harry being all for what people think, when it comes down to it, the most important opinion for both of them seems to be what the other thinks.

  My mind drifts to waking up with Harry this morning. The way his body pressed into mine left me breathless. I wanted more with him in that moment.

  And the thought scares me a little.

  Because I feel a lot when I’m with him.

  But then I think back to last night, and how, when I was dancing with Noah, there was this moment between us. It was like we were moving as one person or something—completely in sync.

  I quickly push the thought aside. Because we were just drinking and having fun.

  Dancing.

  Noah always seems to be more easy going when he’s drinking. Or maybe it’s just because he’s getting to know me better.

  He picked me up and had me over his shoulder, carrying me into the kitchen, and it didn’t seem awkward at all.

  I had on a T-shirt and underwear while we were all sitting in bed together, eating toast and jam. He seemed fine then too.

  Except, this morning, he didn’t seem that way.

  But I guess, this morning, it was different because it wasn’t the three of us.

  It was just Harry and me.

  For the first time, it makes me wonder if maybe that’s Noah’s problem with me.

  If he actually believes I’m going to come between the two of them.

  Sweet and busty.

  Latin

  When I get to Latin—correction, when I make it, walking from Statistics to Latin—I feel like I have conquered the world. My head is still pounding, but I’ve been looking forward to talking to Mohammad. To get the scoop.

  I slump down at my desk and pray I can stay awake.

  Mohammad saunters into the room, looking way better than I was expecting.

  “You look annoyingly chipper today,” I comment, taking in his glow.

  “Well, I happened to get a little action last night.” He grins, arching an eyebrow at me.

  “Really?” I say. It’s clear he’s dying to tell me what happened.

  Mohammad gets serious, leaning in closer to me. “Got Sarah into one of those booths. We kissed, and she even let me squeeze her boob. It was awesome.”

  Mohammad looks so happy with himself that I really can’t say anything other than, “Wow, congratulations.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, how was the rest of your night?”

  I bite my lip, not sure what to say. I really want to tell him what happened, but at the same time, I’m not sure if I should.

  I’m torn.

  Possibly freaking out.

  Finally, I just blurt out, “I have to tell you about this morning. Well, actually, is it okay if I tell you—because the thing is, it’s about Harry and Noah. And, well, Noah kind of walked in on Harry and me kissing.”

  “And?” Mohammad questions, like it’s no big deal.

  “Well, I was sort of sitting on top of Harry, straddling him, possibly with my shirt off.” I try to give him my best innocent look, bracing for his reaction.

  “No0000,” he says loudly.

  “Mohammad!” I urge him to be quiet because now people are staring at us.

  “We were just kissing and … you know,” I say, motioning at my general chest area.

  Mohammad studies me and then taps his fingers on the desk, like he’s trying to decide if he should believe me or not.

  “I swear, it just looked bad. And it’s not like Noah saw anything. I think it was just the whole effect. I was totally wearing underwear, but I’m not sure if he saw them, and Harry was shirtless too.”

  “Relax, Miss America.”

  “I can’t. I’m freaking out.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?” I say, trying to slow down my heart rate. I am definitely freaking out.

  “Why are you making such a big deal out of it? Why do you care what Noah thinks anyway? He was probably just surprised; that’s all.”

  “Well, he’s my friend. Our friend,” I correct.

  “Yeah?” Mohammad questions, obviously not following.

  And I don’t know if I should tell him or if I should keep it to myself. But I decide that I need to talk to someone about it.

  So, I do.

  “Noah made a comment the other day about Harry making a comment.”

  “I’m not following.”

  I push my hair out of my face, frustrated, trying to figure out how to word this.

  “On Tuesday, when Noah was hungover, I rubbed his hair in class.”

  “No fair. You don’t rub my hair,” he says with a pout.

  “Anyway,” I say, trying to keep him on track, “somehow, it got back to Harry.” I roll my eyes, not even sure how that happened in the first place.

  “Girls. I’m telling you, they’re always watching,” Mohammad says with effect.

  “It didn’t mean anything, but Noah told me that Harry had brought it up to him. Noah was worried about me getting between their friendship or something,” I ramble.

  “Wait. He said that?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, wondering why he seems so surprised.

  I can tell the wheels in his brain are spinning because Mohammad looks like he’s piecing something together.

  “Interesting,” he replies slowly, rubbing his chin.

  “What is?”

  “Well, it begs the question, Why would you come between them?”

  “Exactly.” Finally, we’re on the same page. “That’s what I don’t understand.”

  “It can only mean one thing.”

  “What?” I ask, wishing he would just tell me already.

  “Noah likes you.”

  “Noah likes me?” I repeat, wondering how he could ever think such a thing. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “The only reason it would come between them—that you would come between them—is if they both had feelings for you,” Mohammad states, giving me a pointed look.

  He looks upset at that thought, and I feel even more freaked out than I did before.

  I should have kept my mouth shut.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Noah’s made it clear. He doesn’t want a misunderstanding to come between them. Come on. Ew. I mean, it’s Noah. We live in the same house. I’m dating his best friend,” I argue. “Surely, you see it. Sometimes, I think Noah can barely tolerate me.”

  Mohammad narrows his eyes, and I can tell he’s thinking it through.

  When he finally opens his mouth, I’m hoping he’s going to have something profound to say. “Why do you think Harry doesn’t see me as a thre
at?”

  “Mohammad.”

  “Follow along. It’s because Harry knows I’m not a threat. Because if I were, you’d be with me and not him.” Mohammad grins.

  “Seriously?” I groan.

  “I’m kidding,” he says. “Besides, you’re too much drama for me.”

  “What?” I practically shout, causing some of the students to turn in our direction.

  Mohammad just grins at me and shrugs. “All I want is a sweet and busty English girl.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “I said busty, right?” He smirks, pleased with himself.

  “I think you did.” I can’t help but laugh.

  Class flies by, likely because I think I slept with my eyes open through, well, all of it. And when the bell goes off, I drop my textbook in my locker before going to lunch. I make it halfway down the hallway before I remember that it’s Thursday, and I have Art next.

  Shit.

  Completely backward.

  Art

  I barely make it to my seat as the bell sounds, my head pounding with each ring.

  “I feel terrible,” I say, laying my cheek down onto the desk.

  “I think that makes you and half the class,” Noah comments, looking around at the sullen bunch of us.

  I move my gaze with him, connecting with a few sets of eyes, realizing I had seen more of these people last night than I realized.

  A few of them just look blankly back at me. One girl gives me a half-smile while someone else glares at me. I want to tell her to get in line, but I sit up, deciding to try my best to focus on class.

  Mrs. Jones announces that we are starting a new project today, and the thought makes me want to groan.

  “For this project, we’re going to be making a collage. Now, it sounds simple, but this isn’t your typical collage. What I want from this assignment is for you to illustrate an emotion. You can use different images, colors, or items to portray this emotion, but make sure it tells a story.”

  Wonderful. Another abstract assignment that I am really not looking forward to putting my energy into.

  “Since our class is shorter today, I want you to work with your table partner on brainstorming ideas. Get some paper and sketch out your thoughts. We will work on this all class tomorrow and Monday, and it will be due Tuesday along with a paragraph summary of the story to go along with it. Be creative.”

  “Be creative,” I mock under my breath.

  “Any brilliant thoughts?” Noah asks, turning toward me.

  “Well, not really. I guess I’ll be strategic about it. Pick an emotion, figure out the colors and images that match it, and then create a story after.”

  Noah frowns. “I think you might have it completely backward.”

  I shake my head at him. “I can’t just come up with something like that. I have to do it in a certain order, or I’ll be floundering Monday night to create a collage because I’m so stuck on a story.”

  “But if you create without a story, it won’t have any meaning,” he counters, pulling out a piece of scratch paper.

  “Fine, we can try it your way,” I say, thinking, trying to come up with a story.

  Instantly, Helen comes to my mind. How she was telling me about Greece and how Mia being there fills her with pride.

  “You have it, don’t you?” Noah smiles.

  I smile back at him, nodding. “I think so, yeah. I actually was thinking about your sister. Your mom told me she’s Greek and that Mia being in Greece means a lot to her. It’s like coming full circle for your mom. Her leaving, your sister returning.”

  Noah searches my gaze, and I wonder what he’s looking for. He chews on his lip, looking away.

  “I think it’s a great idea,” he says.

  “How would I even show that though?” I ask.

  “Well, you have wishes, pride, and love. A mother-daughter bond. You can incorporate crisp whites, sun-faded colors, and bright blue for the ocean. Or you can focus on the pride, showcasing love and heritage. You could focus on coming full circle, so maybe the ocean and waves. Or you could start with my mom taking us on a journey of her life, ending up where my sister is. That part is up to you.”

  “Wow,” I whisper, looking at Noah in shock.

  All of those ideas were easy to him, like it just came naturally. I could have sat here all day and never thought of any of that.

  “It’s kind of amazing that you can think so creatively.”

  “You’re creative, too, just in your own way. You know how you were telling me about your room the other day?”

  And I do remember. It was the first night we met, when I was lying in his bed.

  “Yeah?” I question, wondering where he’s going with this.

  “You told me that your room was refined and collected, like you. So, I was wondering, does sleeping in my sister’s room give you a headache? Does it make you feel out of control, all of her knickknacks and photos and paintings? Or do you like it? Does it make you feel like you’re pretending to be someone else? Or does it just seem like a place you’re staying short-term?”

  Noah is expectantly looking at me, like he’s waiting on bated breath to hear my response. And I can tell it’s important to him somehow.

  “I’m not sure,” I reply honestly. “I really haven’t been in there much. I guess, at first, it felt weird. Kind of like I was intruding on someone’s life. But maybe that’s what makes it nice. I don’t have to pretend. It’s so different from mine that there isn’t any confusion.”

  Noah nods, considering my words. “I was thinking about it earlier. How you must feel—sort of out of place here. It probably isn’t easy, being in a new home on top of dealing with all the Olivia drama.”

  “I’m not going to be here all that long, so it’s not like I’ll even really have time to get used to it.” My stomach feels like it’s in knots as the words come out of my mouth.

  “No, I guess not,” Noah says, his jaw tightening.

  “I was meaning to ask,” I say, hoping to change the subject, “how is Mia? Have you two talked?”

  Noah’s jaw softens at the mention of his twin sister. “Yeah. She’s loving it. She said she’s drawing every day. That there’s never-ending inspiration. She talks about the sunshine and the water. She’s like that, a very fluid person. I knew she would love it there.”

  I sit and stare at him, loving how happy he always looks when he talks about his family.

  “Maybe she’ll end up there one day,” I say absentmindedly because, in truth, I’m thinking about myself—wondering what it would be like if I ended up back here someday.

  “Maybe. Would you ever want that?” Noah asks, and it’s a hard question. Because I did throw a fit about coming here. But, surprisingly, I’m actually enjoying myself.

  And part of the reason I am is because of the boy in front of me.

  But what I say is, “I love New York. It’s been my whole life. I thought it was going to be my future too. It’s something I’ve always been so sure about.” I look down at the desk and fidget with the scrap paper. “The truth is, I was upset with my parents when they made me come here. I thought they were sending me away.”

  “Is that how you feel now?” he asks, leaning his chin on his fist and staring at me.

  “I don’t really know how I’m feeling now,” I admit. “And I think that has me even more freaked out. Because I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing now.”

  “Well, if it helps, try not to overthink it. It’s good to reflect, but the future always comes whether we want it to or not. And the things we worry about today will seem trivial tomorrow. So, don’t freak yourself out, all right? You don’t have to know everything. At least, not yet.”

  What he says is sweet, and when the corners of his mouth rise up to his cheeks and his eyes sparkle at me, I can’t help but smile back at him.

  But then his eyes dive down to his paper. I watch as he sketches out a pattern and writes out a few scribbled ideas I can’t even begin to read.<
br />
  I let him work, leaning back in my chair, trying to do what Noah said—focus my attention to Mia. And Helen. Maybe if I analyze their relationship and emotions, their story, I can avoid the fact that I have no clue about my own.

  By the time the bell rings, signaling lunch, I’ve made no progress, but Noah has covered three pages with ideas.

  Not that kind of girl.

  Lunch

  We’re just getting ready to walk through the doors to the lunch room when a hand wraps around mine. When I turn and my eyes land on Harry, I practically jump into his arms.

  “You came to school.” I grin, taking in his fresh scent.

  “Couldn’t let you fend for yourself in Geography, now could I?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

  I pull back, taking in his rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes.

  He looks down at me, his gaze dropping to my shirt.

  “Are you seriously looking at my boobs right now?” I tease, tapping the bottom of his chin so his eyes come back up to meet mine.

  “I was just admiring the fact that your buttons are one off, allowing me to get a little glimpse of your bra,” he says, raising his eyebrows at me and giving me a smirk.

  I immediately look down at my shirt. And he’s right; my buttons are off by one.

  “Shit,” I say, embarrassed.

  “Let me help you with that.” He drags me around the corner, so we’re alone in an empty hallway, before bringing his hands to the front of my shirt. I can’t look anywhere else but into those blue eyes.

  “Thanks,” I whisper as he unbuttons my shirt, pulling it flat and buttoning it up correctly.

  When he gets to the top, he leans in close, only a few inches from my face.

  “Any excuse to get my hands on you,” he says, sliding his fingers into my hair.

  I can’t help but give him a deep kiss, and before I know it, he pushes me up against the wall in passion.

  “I’m not sure this is appropriate,” I say.

  “It most definitely isn’t,” he agrees, but it doesn’t cause him to stop.