London Prep

by Dodd, Jillian

  He looks over at us, but Mohammad waves him off, telling him to continue.

  “Shush,” I say, scolding him. “I mean to say that I saw him almost naked. He had on a towel. A very small towel because it barely covered anything. Then, somehow, I saw his butt. It was all kind of an accident.”

  “He was taunting you,” Mohammad says, sympathetically looking at me, like he understands something I don’t.

  “Taunting me?” I ask, surprised.

  Mohammad looks at me seriously. “Miss America, I expected more from you. Noah is ridiculously meticulous and extremely intense. He does nothing by accident.”

  My eyes go wide in realization. Mohammad just keeps nodding at me.

  “He’s taunting me,” I repeat.

  “Exactly. That’s the power of Noah Williams.” Mohammad looks back out at the field.

  “Shit,” I say, mad at myself. “I’m not sure what I would do without you.”

  “I’m not sure either,” he agrees. “It’s fun, having you around.”

  “Speaking of fun, where’s Harry?” I ask.

  From the way he talked the morning before, he tends to skip classes and just shows up when he wants.

  “I’m not sure,” Mohammad admits.

  “Would he forget about meeting us here?” I ask, wondering if maybe he’s at lunch.

  Mohammad shakes his head.

  “I’ll text him,” I say, getting out my phone.

  Me: Hey. Missing you. Skipping today?

  “Does he skip often?” I ask Mohammad, putting my phone back into my bag.

  “Not as often as you’d think. He likes the drama of school, aside from the classes. But normally, he lets us know.”

  “Sounds like Harry,” I comment, thinking about him. “Hopefully, he’ll reply to my text. Maybe he’s just feeling sick. Or overslept, like way overslept.”

  We turn our attention back to Noah. He runs up and down the field, kicking the soccer ball through the cones.

  Next, he does a drill where he practices kicking it into the goal. He hardly ever stays still or does anything the exact same way he did it the time before.

  It’s interesting, watching him. Seeing the way his muscles move. The way his mind must work. He never looks over at us, always keeping his focus in front of him. And it’s almost mesmerizing to watch. You’d think it would be boring since it’s only him out there. But I get so drawn into it that by the time he’s done, I can’t believe lunch is already over.

  A little like a storm.

  Art

  “You barely made it,” I say to Noah as he slides onto the stool next to me.

  “Barely,” he replies. He’s back in his school uniform and not sweaty anymore. “It’s always a rush, but it’s nice to practice alone the day before.”

  “You seemed great out there. I mean, I have no clue what a good player looks like, but you seemed fast, and you were able to kick the ball into the goal.” I say, trying to be encouraging.

  “I appreciate the support,” he says, a smile on his face. “Did you like your lunch?”

  “I forgot to say thanks for that. It was delicious. And very thoughtful.”

  “Seemed a bit more your style than ham and cheese or peanut butter.”

  “Definitely.” I grin, wrinkling my nose. “You’re pretty creative. Did you just make it from leftovers?”

  “Yeah.” He nods. “Mum always has this and that in the fridge. If you don’t want something plain every day, you don’t really have any other choice than to be creative.”

  “Are you excited to work on this project again today?” I ask, taking out my notes for our collage project.

  Mrs. Jones has her entire desk littered with colored paper, newspapers, and magazines. There are scissors, tape, and glue spread out for us to use.

  “Actually, yeah,” he admits. “I want to spend the day figuring out the colors, and then I will start clipping out things. But I probably won’t put it together until this weekend.”

  “I’d love to get it done and over with today. I was thinking more about your mom and sister, and I was wondering what their favorite colors are.”

  “Mia always jokes hers is black because she can’t pick just one. But I think she likes purple a lot. Mum’s is light pink.”

  I nod, wondering if I can somehow bring all of that together. “Maybe I’ll stick with the Greek theme. Keep it to blues and whites. Or I’ll figure out how to incorporate pink and purple into it.” I laugh, not sure how I’m even going to do it.

  Noah laughs with me. “You’ll manage it, I’m sure.” He glances up at me, keeping his gaze on my face. “What color would you say your eyes are?”

  I clear my throat. “They’re blue. But I think they’re more gray blue.”

  “They’re a little like a storm,” Noah admits.

  I nod my head, agreeing. I don’t have to look at his eyes to know they’re a rich golden brown, almost like sunshine.

  “What do you think our eyes say about us?” I ask him.

  Noah cocks his head to the side. “I think they say everything that we aren’t able to say with words.”

  “You’re feeling both feisty and deep today.” I laugh, teasing him.

  He squints one eye, a grin pulling at his lips. “I guess I am.”

  “Hey, have you heard from Harry?” I ask, wondering if maybe he texted Noah. I checked my phone before class and had no response. I want to text him again, but I also don’t want to bother him.

  “No. He’s probably just blowing the day off.”

  I nod, wanting to believe that. But I’m starting to get a little worried.

  “Well, maybe we should go get him tonight. Make him go out. It’s Friday after all. Anything sound fun? What do you normally do anyway?”

  “You know, sit around and whine. Do homework. Contemplate philosophical questions. The usual,” he teases.

  “See,” I say, pointing at him, “I knew it.”

  “That’s what you think of me, isn’t it?” He laughs, shaking his head. “I’m not always so serious.”

  “I’ve only seen you chill out, like, twice. And both times, you were drinking.”

  Noah shrugs. “It takes me a while to warm up to people. But back to your question, sometimes, we go out for food or play video games. A lot of times we go to Harry’s. It just depends. Normally, Harry and Mohammad come up with something, and I’m just along for the ride.”

  “Sounds like them.”

  “Have you been to the area by Cromwell Place yet?”

  I shake my head. “No. When I was here last, we did more touristy, boring things. The Library, Buckingham Palace, Westminster. Nothing overly exciting. Just a bunch of buildings.”

  “Well, it’s nice. Lots of restaurants and pubs. They have a food market. And a good Japanese restaurant.”

  “Sushi,” I say, my mouth practically watering. “Yum.”

  “Sounds good?” Noah laughs, taking in my expression.

  “It sounds amazing. I usually have it at least once a week in New York.”

  “Let’s get it tonight then. I think if you give London a chance, you’ll actually like it.”

  “I’m not sure if sushi can change my mind about London,” I tell him, giving him a hard time.

  “I don’t know,” he says, a grin on his face. “It’s some pretty bomb sushi.”

  You’re shameless.

  Geography

  Geography drags on with Harry not there, but I stay focused the entire time, taking notes. Mr. Pritchard doesn’t assign any homework for the weekend, and I’m thankful because that makes him the only teacher who hasn’t.

  I go to my locker after class, taking out everything I’ll need to work on this weekend.

  When I get into detention, it’s only Olivia and me, and neither one of us seems willing to start up a conversation. We sit through detention in silence like the perfect students we’re pretending to be, and we are both relieved when our hour is up.

  “Hey,” I say, catc
hing up to her at the door. “I was going to walk over to the coaching offices to ask about helping out this weekend. Want to go over together?” I ask, bracing myself.

  She tilts her chin up, looking down her nose at me, but she just shrugs. “All right.”

  Olivia doesn’t say anything else to me as we walk, and I’m surprised she even said yes. Maybe this is the first step in a not-hating-each-other process, and I’m grateful to at least not be in a wrestling match with her. I can’t imagine us ever being friends, but I hope we don’t have to be enemies either.

  “Should we talk to Coach Carson? I know Noah has a game tomorrow,” I urge.

  “Let me do the talking,” she says outside of his office.

  “Okay,” I agree, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.

  Twenty minutes later, Olivia is done flirting with the coach and has gotten us water duty at the match. I’m pretty sure I heard the coach giggle when she batted her lashes at him, telling him how good the team was looking this year.

  “You’re shameless,” I say as we walk toward the school exit.

  “But effective.” She smiles, obviously feeling a little smug.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, pushing out of the building, Olivia still at my side.

  She raises her eyebrows at me, her mouth pulled in a straight line. And I can tell she’s about as happy at the idea as I am.

  It’s nice to get fresh air on the walk home, and the thought of going out for sushi tonight has me excited. I’m not usually the first to admit it, but I can write places—or people—off unfairly. And I’m looking forward to seeing a bit more of London.

  “Hello, sweetie,” Helen greets when I walk in the house. She’s sitting in the living room, curled up on the couch. She has candles lit everywhere and soft music playing in the background.

  “Hi.” I smile at her, coming into the room.

  “I just bought biscuits from the shop, if you want any, and the kettle’s warm.”

  “Thanks. I actually might take some tea up to my room and read for a bit,” I tell her, letting the comfortable environment seep into me.

  Helen nods, swaying her head to the music.

  I walk into the kitchen, taking one of the biscuits out of the package and deciding against the tea. There are some things you just can’t make better, and tea is definitely one of them.

  I get up to my room and start reading a book I brought with me. I secretly love the drama in books even though I’m not a fan of it in my life.

  But, sadly, if my time here were a book, drama would be its theme.

  “Mallory, we need to go.” Noah’s voice brings my attention up from my book and to his frame standing in my doorway.

  His eyes are cold and serious, and it sends a chill through me.

  “For sushi?” I say, looking at the clock. It’s barely past five.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he says, striding into my room, pulling me up off the bed with ease.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to yank my arm free.

  Noah grabs my coat, tossing it to me. “Now,” he says, already out of my bedroom.

  I want to call out to him, but I instinctively follow him, moving down the stairs after him. Because Noah seems upset.

  “What’s this about?” Helen says, peeking her head out of the kitchen. She has on a thick apron, and the smell of chili cooking seeps throughout the house.

  “It’s Harry,” Noah says to his mom. “We’ve got to go.”

  He’s looking at her intensely, and it makes my stomach twist.

  Helen’s eyes go wide. “I want him back here, tucked into bed with you tonight. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Noah replies before practically running out the front door.

  I look between Noah and Helen, trying to figure out what’s going on. She has suddenly gone pale and is standing, staring at the open front door. I race out after Noah.

  I’m starting to freak out.

  “Noah, stop,” I yell at him as he tries to hail a cab.

  “Fuck,” he shouts as it flies past us.

  I rush up to his side, making him turn to look at me. His face is hardened, but his eyes are filled with worry.

  “What’s going on?” I barely get out. “Is Harry all right? You’re freaking me out.” I’m stuck in a state of panic, and I feel my face go as white as Helen’s.

  Noah ignores me, trying to hail down another cab. He rakes his hands through his hair, and I decide to step in. I rush up to a street corner, stepping out and flagging one down like I would in New York. It sees me, turns sharply, and stops in front of Noah.

  Noah looks at me in awe, but then he rushes us into the car and tells the driver where to go.

  “Noah,” I beg, turning to him, feeling distraught. “Is Harry okay?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, frustrated, like he might break at any moment.

  And I don’t understand.

  I don’t understand his answer.

  Is Harry hurt?

  How can he not know?

  Noah wipes his hand down his face, attempting to compose himself. “Mohammad called me. He went over to Harry’s this afternoon since he wasn’t at school. He called me in a panic, saying I needed to get over there now. And that I should bring you.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, my hand coming up to my lips. “Is he sick?”

  Now I feel bad. I should have gone over to check on him or pushed Noah and Mohammad to do so when Harry didn’t respond to my texts. I could have done something sooner if I had known that he wasn’t feeling good. Or doing good.

  Noah turns to me, letting out a heavy breath, his eyes softening when they meet my gaze. “It means his dad was home.”

  Noah’s eyes don’t leave mine, and I shuffle through everything Harry told me about his parents. That his dad is never home. That his mom is always gone for work or for fun. That Harry is always by himself. I remember Harry telling me that his parents didn’t expect anything from him. That, one day, they would.

  Could they have gotten in a fight?

  Would they kick Harry out?

  My mind races, wondering why Noah looks so freaked out. I want to ask him, push him to tell me more, but he has me so worried that I sit in silence until we pull up to Harry’s house.

  Noah throws cash at the cab driver and rushes out of the car. He takes the steps two at a time, and I’m right behind him.

  When we get to the door, he falters, his fingers hesitating on the handle.

  “Come on,” I urge him, wanting to see Harry.

  “Look, Mallory,” Noah says, sucking in air, “Harry’s dad … he, um—”

  “He what?” I ask, frustrated.

  “He hits him,” Noah says, finally looking into my eyes.

  “What?” I gasp.

  “I mean, I’m not sure that’s what this is,” Noah replies, looking over my shoulder. “But every once in a while, he does. And it sounds like that might have been what happened. I just wanted you to know before we go in, just in case.”

  My mouth is hanging open at Noah’s words. His dad hits him?

  I follow Noah in through the house, walking closely behind him through the entryway.

  Noah weaves through the various rooms until we hear a woman singing. Then, he stops and turns a corner, moving toward the noise.

  We enter a beautiful and opulent sitting room. Warmth spreads out from the fireplace, and the room is bathed in a glowing amber color. Opera pierces my ears. Mohammad is tending to Harry, who is sprawled out on the couch. There are numerous liquor bottles lying on the floor and spread across the marble coffee table along with an ashtray filled with cigarette butts.

  “Harry, please, eat something,” Mohammad says, holding up a slice of pizza.

  “No,” he whines, batting it away.

  Mohammad huffs and then notices us.

  “Fine then, I’ll just go find something else,” he says, rising.

  Harry is looking at the fire, and he hasn’t noticed us yet. Moh
ammad motions us out the door, swiftly following us before closing it.

  “What’s going on?” Noah whispers.

  “He’s drunk. Sent all the maids home yesterday. Apparently, his dad’s already left again but no word from his mum. I got here,” Mohammad starts, looking even more upset, “and he was just lying on that fucking couch, staring at the fire. He had a bottle knocked over, liquor spilled on the floor, not even that far from the fire …”

  “It’s all right,” I say to Mohammad, pulling him into a hug. “We’re here now.”

  He squeezes me tightly, his frame shaking. When he pulls away, his eyes are pooled with tears.

  “I’ve never seen him so bad. I can’t get him to eat. Or drink any water. He won’t get off the couch,” Mohammad replies, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Let’s talk to him first. See if he might have a different reaction to Mallory or me,” Noah states calmly even though his face is pinched in worry.

  “All right.” Mohammad nods as Noah pushes open the door.

  I hesitantly follow him in. I don’t know what Harry’s reaction will be, so I move slowly, letting Noah take the lead. Noah stands in front of the fireplace, capturing Harry’s attention.

  “Hey,” Noah says softly. “Mallory and I came to see you.”

  Noah’s face flashes with pain when he meets Harry’s gaze.

  Harry sits up. “Mallory?” he asks, turning toward me.

  He sounds surprised, but I can barely make out his expression because his face is swollen and his cheek is bruised.

  I feel tears well up.

  One of Harry’s beautiful eyes is hiding under a purple bruise, and his top lip is split open.

  I try not to move too quickly. I don’t want to upset him, but it takes everything I have not to rush into his arms.

  “Harry,” I whisper, sitting down on the couch next to him.

  His face shows a range of emotions—from shocked at seeing me to angry because I’m here.

  He rips his gaze from mine. The moment he looks away from me, I wonder if I should leave. Noah glances at me but then squats down next to the couch, taking a seat on the floor.