Flynn nodded. ‘I’ve got a younger sister too,’ he said.
I sat forward, transfixed by his eyes, by the elegant slope of his nose, by the perfect curve of his lips. ‘I’ve got a younger brother,’ I said. ‘Stone. He doesn’t talk much. In fact he’s a pig, mostly, but . . .’ I stopped.
An incredulous expression had spread over Flynn’s face. ‘You have a brother called Stone?’ he said.
I could feel a red flush creeping up round my neck. I hate it when people take the mickey out of our names. I mean, it’s not our fault Mum and Dad spent the whole of the nineties smoking pot and demonstrating against GM foods.
I shrugged, staring down at the table and cupping my mug in my hands. One of Flynn’s strong fingers pressed against my hand. The touch of it was like a burn.
I looked up at him.
‘Sorry. Again,’ he mouthed.
We stared at each other for a moment. Then I sipped at my coffee, trying desperately to think of something to say.
‘Your sister’s very pretty,’ I said. ‘Beautiful, actually.’
‘Yeah?’ Flynn looked mildly surprised. ‘Really?’
I nodded. ‘Her hair’s amazing. And she’s got a great figure.’
Flynn screwed up his face. ‘You’re not a lesbian, are you?’
‘No,’ I said indignantly, feeling myself blushing again. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, but no.’
Flynn laughed. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘That would be just my luck.’
My breath caught in my throat as his eyes rested on mine again.
Saying that . . . that meant he was interested, didn’t it? That definitely implied he was interested.
Flynn was still staring at me. Into me.
And then my phone buzzed.
I leaped about ten centimetres in the air, then pulled my mobile out of my trouser pocket. My blush deepened as I bent over the text message. How seriously uncool was it to jump when your own phone rang?
Whre r u? G & me gng 2 look @ shop, bttm Brdwy. Wl go alone if u nt here in 2 . . . hurry up! x
Emmi. I’d completely forgotten I was supposed to meet her and Grace further up the High Street half an hour ago.
Oh no. They were going to be walking down to the bottom of the Broadway. They’d pass right by this café. I looked around. We were sitting beside the window and all the other tables were full.
If Emmi and Grace looked into the café and saw me with Flynn . . .
I couldn’t face it. This thing with Flynn was all so uncertain. So fragile. And my feelings were so confusing. No way was I ready to tell Emmi and Grace about it. Not until I was more sure of how I felt. Right now it was private – it belonged to me and him.
No one else.
Flynn raised his eyebrows. ‘Who was that?’
I shook my head. ‘No one,’ I said. I didn’t want to tell him I was supposed to be meeting Emmi and Grace. He might suggest he came along to say hello or something.
I stood up. ‘I gotta go,’ I said. ‘I’m meeting someone.’
Flynn stood up too. God. He was so much taller than me. I felt suddenly ridiculous, only coming up to his chest like I did. I glanced up at him. For the first time since I’d met him he looked unsure of himself, like he didn’t know what to say or do next.
‘Thanks for the coffee,’ I said. My mouth felt dry. I didn’t want to go. But Emmi and Grace would be down here any second.
I turned and practically raced out of the coffee shop.
8
I spent the rest of the weekend reliving what had happened in the coffee shop. Thinking about Flynn.
I could feel myself falling for him. It was the weirdest sensation, like the thought of him was sucking me in – taking up all my energy.
I couldn’t believe I still knew so little about him. OK, so I was pretty sure he wasn’t well off and I knew he had a couple of sisters, but that was about it. Discovering those things had only thrown up far more interesting questions, none of which I had satisfactory answers to.
Why was he so angry about being poor? Loads of people don’t have much money, but Flynn acted like it was . . . I dunno . . . somehow shameful.
And why was he so protective of his sister? It struck me when I thought about it that it was extremely odd for him to pick her up after work. I mean, she was older than him, and he was in the sixth form: one year older than me. That meant she must be at least eighteen. Surely she could get herself home after work on her own?
I tossed and turned, unable to sleep on Sunday night. If only I’d been able to stay longer at the café, I might have worked some of it out. We could have talked about the play too. I could have found out why Flynn had said it was great that I wasn’t Catholic. Why he didn’t like anyone using his first name, Patrick.
I could have given him the chance to ask for my phone number.
Jeez. I could have asked him for his.
Instead, I’d met up with Emmi and Grace and had another coffee with them, then we’d set off for town, where – true to form – Emmi had spent her allowance on three pairs of outrageously sexy heels and Grace had deliberated for half an hour over a new pair of trainers.
Part of me wanted to talk to them about Flynn. I knew if it was either of them, they would have gone on and on about him. In fact, Grace did go on and on about Darren. While Emmi let slip – very casually, as if she wasn’t that bothered – that Alex had asked her to some party a week next Saturday.
But I couldn’t do it. Not just because of how uncertain everything was with Flynn, but because of how powerfully I felt about him.
How deep my wanting him went.
I approached Monday’s rehearsal in a state of high excitement. Surely Flynn was bound to say something to me today?
But he wasn’t there. And this time James had no reason to offer up.
Bitterly disappointed, I schlepped moodily home with Emmi and Grace afterwards. They were both buzzing from the rehearsal, which had gone well, despite Flynn’s absence.
‘Wasn’t it funny when Mr Nichols got Alex to do that sword fight with a folded-up piece of paper?’ That was Emmi.
Grace giggled. ‘Yeah. His face when it flopped over that time.’
She and Emmi clutched their mouths, remembering.
‘I thought it was stupid doing the fight without Romeo being there,’ I said grumpily.
Emmi and Grace exchanged glances.
‘I thought it was better without him,’ Emmi said, looking at me strangely. ‘He’s a bit weird if you ask me. You know. Intense.’
I shrugged. ‘I guess,’ I said.
‘And he always looks so angry,’ Grace added. ‘To be honest, sometimes he frightens me.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, Grace,’ Emmi laughed. ‘You get scared over nothing. He’s just a bit weird. He’s not even that good-looking.’
I sat back, more glad than ever that I hadn’t said anything to them about my feelings for Flynn.
Flynn was at the next rehearsal – we were having two a week now, after school on Mondays and Thursdays. It was October – nearly half-term – and the play was going to be performed the week before the end of term – the middle of December.
Mr Nichols spent the first ten minutes of our rehearsal time trying to impress upon us the importance of learning our lines over half-term and threatening to up the rehearsals to every night during November.
I tried to catch Flynn’s eye while he was speaking, but failed. Flynn simply stared stonily down at his script the whole time Mr Nichols was talking. He didn’t look at me once during the whole of the rehearsal either. And he didn’t come down to the common room afterwards for the orange juice. My stomach was in knots. Why had he changed? I was sure he’d been interested in me when we were having our coffee. Why was he ignoring me now? Had I done something to annoy him?
The following week I wasn’t called for the Monday rehearsal, but the same thing happened on the Thursday. Flynn completely ignored me. I was beside myself. I couldn’t wor
k out what I’d done.
I started dreaming about him. Long, slow dreams in which he paced around me like a lion, getting closer and closer and finally reaching out to hold me, to kiss me. I would wake up sweating. Unable to sleep. Unable to get him out of my head.
Emmi insisted Grace and I came to the party Alex had invited her to. It was over in Stoke Newington. I agreed with Mum that the three of us would get the night bus back together and sleep over at mine. That meant she didn’t mind us getting back late – up to 1 a.m.
The others brought their stuff over to my house early. We set out the camp beds in my room and then took ages getting ready. We did each other’s nails and hair and tried on various outfits. Emmi was in a skin-tight dress and a pair of the killer heels she’d bought two weeks before. I knew from the glint in her eye that Alex was definitely going to get lucky tonight. But she didn’t talk about him at all. Instead, our conversation revolved around Grace’s Darren.
‘He’s okay,’ Grace said unenthusiastically, ‘but I’m starting to think he’s a bit boring.’
Emmi and I exchanged ‘we could have told you that’ glances, then Emmi persuaded Grace to wear this cropped, strappy top. It wasn’t Grace at all – though she looked great in it. I could see Emmi was planning to launch Grace at one of Alex’s unsuspecting friends. She loves it when we go out with guys who get on – all the double-date possibilities seem to give her a massive thrill. Just the idea of them.
‘What are you wearing, River?’ Emmi said, looking up from Grace’s hair, a section of which she was now teasing into a line of blonde mini-plaits.
‘Just this, I guess,’ I said, indicating my old jeans and the pale blue sleeveless top I was wearing.
‘No way.’ Emmi plumped up her hair like she meant business. She rummaged through my wardrobe then appeared with a low-cut black top with little spaghetti straps and a ruchy bit under the boobs. ‘You have to wear this,’ she said. ‘It’ll make your tits look amazing.’
I stared at her. I’d bought that top on a whim weeks ago. I loved it, but whenever I put it on I always felt too big. Too exposed.
‘Everyone’ll stare at me,’ I said.
‘So?’ Emmi rolled her eyes. ‘That’s the point, isn’t it? At least you’ve got something to stare at.’
‘But River wants love,’ Grace giggled. ‘Not boys staring at her chest.’
Emmi snorted. ‘You won’t get one without the other,’ she said flatly. ‘Put it on.’
In the end, I put it on, but took my jacket too. If I felt too self-conscious, I could always put the jacket on top. Well, that’s what I told myself. Underneath, I was hoping the top really did make me look good, and thinking that I’d only put the jacket on over it if Flynn wasn’t there.
As we traipsed downstairs, Stone was lingering in the hall. He was pretending to be reading a magazine, but I could see him sneaking long, lustful looks at Emmi while the three of us fussed and flapped at the door, putting on some last-minute lipgloss.
Creep, I thought. Then I remembered myself looking at Flynn in rehearsals and how it had felt when he’d stared back at me, and I blushed so deeply that both Grace and Emmi asked me if I was feeling all right.
9
It took ages to get to the party. I felt nervous as we walked in – wondering if . . . hoping . . . that Flynn was going to be here.
He wasn’t.
It wasn’t much of a party either. Rubbish music. Not that many people.
Alex whisked Emmi off almost as soon as we arrived. Seconds later James Malloy materialised beside me and Grace, a bunch of beer bottles in either hand. From the way he smiled at Grace, it was clear his fixation on Emmi had completely gone. He started chatting away with surprising confidence. I looked at Grace. Mmmn. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising. She was blushing, smiling up at him coyly.
I didn’t give much for Darren’s chances of not getting dumped in the next twenty-four hours.
James didn’t seem to know if Flynn was coming or not. I drank a couple of beers too fast, out of nerves. Then, with no sign of Flynn in the house, and with Grace and James ignoring everyone else, I drank another out of boredom.
I’d just extricated myself from a long and tedious conversation with the red-haired boy who played Lord Capulet when Flynn finally turned up. It was almost eleven o’clock. I looked up and he was there, standing in the living room doorway. His white shirt was creased. He looked tired, but gorgeous.
I held my breath as he gazed round the room.
Notice me.
But his eyes skittered past me, as if he hadn’t seen me. He looked down at the floor and shoved his hands in his pockets.
I glanced over at Grace. James was definitely moving in on her – she had her back against the living room wall and he was leaning his arm against it, above her head. Still, they weren’t kissing yet.
I went over. ‘Hey, James,’ I said lightly.
He turned round.
‘Flynn’s here,’ I said.
James showed absolutely no interest in this bit of information.
‘Oh.’ He turned back to Grace.
‘How come he’s so late?’ I persisted.
This time James didn’t even turn round. ‘Just finished work, I expect.’ He leaned closer to Grace and smiled down at her.
Work? What kind of work did Flynn do on a Saturday night? I stared across the room at him for a minute longer, then, emboldened by my three beers, I decided to go and talk to him. I set off across the carpet, but before I got halfway he caught my eye. I could see from his expression that he knew I was coming to speak to him. He turned away and vanished from the doorway.
I stopped, stock-still, in the middle of the carpet. It felt like a slap in the face. Why had he done that? Didn’t he want to talk to me? Feeling utterly humiliated, I retraced my steps across the living room. James and Grace were now kissing.
Of course.
I wandered over to the kitchen where the music was louder and four boys were boasting loudly to each other about how much they’d drunk the night before.
I sidled across to the counter and helped myself to an open bottle. I didn’t notice what was inside it – something pink and sweet. It tasted disgusting, but I didn’t care. As I went back to the living room, tears welled up in my eyes. I took a few swigs from the bottle, then sank into the only available seat – at one end of a large, soft sofa. The boy at the other end squished up next to me.
‘Hi there,’ he slurred beerily.
I got up and took another swig from my bottle. Then several more. The bottle was almost empty now. A few hot, fat tears trickled down my face.
What a rubbish party. Boys all over Grace and Emmi. And me as unloved and unlovable as ever.
Another boy wandered over to me and offered me one of those premixed rum and juice drinks. I took the bottle, twisted off the cap and drained it fast. The boy started talking to me about some band I’d never heard of. God. Why were boys so boring?
After about fifteen minutes, I was feeling sick as well as bored. Making some excuse about needing a pee, I staggered out into the hall. Maybe some water on my face would help. I stumbled up the stairs in search of a bathroom.
I was swaying a little as I walked. About halfway up, I missed my footing and lurched over, onto the stair rail. A hand pressed into my back, steadying me.
‘Doesn’t your boyfriend mind you coming to parties and getting drunk?’ said a familiar and very sarcastic voice.
I spun round, nearly losing my footing again.
Flynn was on the step beneath me, which put our heads at the same level. I stared at him, part of me soaking in the golden glow of his eyes, part of me furious at the contempt which dripped from his voice.
‘I’m not drunk,’ I slurred angrily. ‘And I don’t have a boyfriend.’
I turned away and strode haughtily up the rest of the stairs. I had to let go of the stair rail as I reached the landing – which immediately started to spin around me. My stomach clenched in a spasm of pa
in.
I put out my arm to steady myself. Flynn was still there. He caught my arm. ‘Are you okay?’ he said, more gently.
I swallowed. ‘I’m fine,’ I snapped. My stomach heaved. Oh God. ‘Except . . . except I think I might be sick.’
Flynn pushed open the door in front of us. The bathroom. As he stood back to let me through, my gut spasmed with pain again. I stumbled inside, shoved at the door behind me and sank to my knees in front of the toilet. A few seconds later and my stomach was heaving itself up into the toilet bowl.
‘Aahh,’ I moaned to myself, tears welling in my eyes. My forehead felt clammy with sweat, my throat burnt and swollen. Ugh. Vomiting is so disgusting. It doesn’t often happen . . . I mean, I can’t remember when I was last ill . . . but when it does, I hate it . . .
A hand stroked my hair.
‘AAH!’ I jumped up, spinning round. Flynn was straightening up behind me. The bathroom door was shut behind him. Oh my God. He was in the room. He’d been in the room when . . . I stared up at him, speechless. I couldn’t believe he’d just seen me puke my guts up. I turned quickly, put the toilet seat down and flushed.
‘Better?’ Flynn took a sip from his plastic cup. The liquid inside looked clear.
‘You oughta be careful.’ I forced a grin, trying to cover up just how hideously embarrassed I was. ‘Neat vodka? You’ll be next.’
He looked at me without smiling, then held out the cup. ‘It’s water,’ he said. ‘I don’t drink alcohol.’
I stared at him in disbelief.
‘Have it,’ he said. ‘I was going anyway.’
I took the cup from his hand and took a tiny sip. Water. It soothed the burning in my throat. I wanted to rinse my mouth out properly. But there was no way, not with Flynn watching.
Instead, I wiped my mouth with the back of my shaking hand, sank down on the floor and leaned against the side of the bath. At least I didn’t feel sick any more.
Flynn towered over me. ‘I wanted to make sure you were okay.’
He hesitated.
‘Why don’t you drink alcohol?’ I said, fixated by this latest intriguing revelation.
Falling Fast Page 5
