I See London

by Chanel Cleeton

  “You have a girlfriend?” I couldn’t do more than stupidly repeat the question that had been running through my head. The words came out scratchy and hoarse.

  “Yes, I have a girlfriend. As of this weekend, at least.” Samir frowned at me, his gaze piercing. “You don’t have to say it like it’s so surprising. Some girls do find me attractive, you know.”

  I heard the underlying hurt in his voice. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there, lurking underneath the surface. Like so many things with Samir, I’d learned you had to listen, really pay attention in order to pick up on what he really thought. He didn’t always say what he meant and more often than not the subtle nuances were the most important cues.

  I studied him from across the cafeteria table, this time thinking before I spoke again lest I blurt out something else that offended him. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I just didn’t know how to process this latest development.

  Did he like her when he was kissing me?

  I pushed the thought aside, horrified it had even sprung up. I struggled to change the subject. My voice was strained. “So is she Lebanese?”

  He studied me for a minute before turning his attention back to his food. His answer came a moment later. “Yeah.”

  “How did you guys meet?” My mind couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. I knew I was interrogating him but I couldn’t help it. Part of me didn’t want to know any of this; part of me had to know everything.

  “We grew up together. Our parents are friends.”

  My heart thudded. I felt like an idiot. This whole time, there had been someone else.

  “Congrats,” I offered lamely. The moment the words left my mouth I realized how insincere they sounded.

  “You don’t sound like you really mean it.”

  I didn’t. And of course Samir picked up on it. All along he had been doing the same thing to me that I had been doing to him—noticing me, my quirks. And in that moment I knew that he knew I wasn’t entirely happy for him.

  Shame filled me. He was my friend. I should have been happy for him. I should have been happy he found someone to be with. But no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that this was Samir—our Samir—my Samir, with another girl.

  “How are things going with the British guy?”

  “What?”

  The question jarred me from my mental freak out.

  Samir repeated the question, his head cocked to the side. It hadn’t escaped my notice that he never referred to Hugh by name despite the number of times we’d talked about him.

  “They’re fine,” I hedged, realizing I wasn’t quite telling the truth about that either.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” His tone sounded just as sincere as mine had.

  Suddenly I didn’t want to be there. I felt like my sweater was too tight, like the room was too warm; everything just felt off. For an irrational moment I hated this anonymous Lebanese girl who had taken Samir away. There would be no late-night movie nights in the common room, no joking around at dinner. It shouldn’t have felt as though everything was changing—she was, after all, a long-distance girlfriend; it wasn’t like she would be here in his pocket. But somehow it felt as if everything was different now. There was a wall between us that hadn’t been there before.

  There would be no more kisses.

  * * *

  “Did you hear Samir has a new girlfriend?” I asked Fleur, struggling to sound casual. I kept my voice low. There was no such thing as privacy in the halls. Besides, I had pretty much accosted her outside of her English class, hoping someone else would be as freaked out by this latest development as I was.

  At least then it might not feel so weird.

  Fleur frowned. “Is that what he’s calling her these days? I think arranged marriage is more appropriate.”

  My heart thudded at the word marriage. “So you think Samir is serious about her?” Once again I struggled to sound like her answer didn’t really matter, like I was just making casual conversation.

  “I don’t think Samir is serious about anyone. It’s not his style. She’s probably someone his parents pushed on him. They’re all about political alliances, that sort of thing. He’s been dealing with it for years. Guys get married pretty young in Lebanon. Now that Samir’s going to be a senior next year, they’re probably making plans for when he graduates and goes back to Beirut.” I wasn’t sure that made me feel any better. In fact I was pretty sure it definitely didn’t. This whole time I’d forgotten that Samir only had a year left of school.

  “This girl is an idiot for thinking Samir’s going to be a good boyfriend to her,” Fleur continued. “He’s a player. Always has been. Always will be.”

  My eyes narrowed slightly. That seemed a bit unfair. “He’s not that bad. He has his moments.”

  Like when he flew to Venice to bail out Fleur. Or held me the night on the steps when my world was rocked. Or took me on a tour of Paris.

  Fleur snorted. “He’s pretty much an ass. I mean, sure, he’s my cousin and I love him, but he’s hell on girls. And anyone who gets involved with him has to realize what they’re getting themselves into. He wears his rep like a fucking badge of honor.”

  “He can be nice sometimes,” I argued.

  Fleur flipped her hair over her shoulder, moving through the crowd of students waiting between classes. I lengthened my stride to keep up with her.

  “You’re right, he can be nice. When he wants to be. He’s nice to me, to Omar. He’s even okay with you and Mya. But there’s a point where that ends. He’ll never let anyone get close to him. He’ll never let anyone love him. He’s smart, really, really smart.” Frustration seeped through her tone. “But he doesn’t go after smart girls. He only goes after girls who just want another night out at a club, girls who won’t make him feel. Girls who are with him for what he can do for them, for what his name is. He doesn’t really want a girlfriend, because if he had a girlfriend he would have to let his guard down. And I promise you that will never happen.”

  It was a fascinating insight into Samir, probably from the person who knew him best.

  “You worry about him.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, I guess I do. I don’t know. I just want him to be happy. And I don’t think some girl his parents pushed on him is going to make him happy.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We said goodbye, making plans to meet up later to do some shopping on High Street Ken. I walked away, telling myself the talk with Fleur helped. We could all still be friends. Nothing would have to change.

  Except the kissing.

  I was pretty sure the whole purpose of Fleur’s speech hadn’t been to make me feel sorry for Samir. But the more Fleur described Samir, the more she talked about his relationships and the way he treated people, the more I realized how much she might as well have been describing me. On the surface we couldn’t have been more different. He was so confident and arrogant. I tended to blend in the background more than stand out. And yet that wall Fleur described? How many times had I used that in my own life to push people away? Wasn’t that what I always did to Hugh?

  That was why I could always talk to Samir when I was freaking out. Why he made me feel better the night I found out my dad got married. We were more similar than I cared to admit.

  And that scared the shit out of me.

  * * *

  Considering how close-knit the International School was, there was only one person who I could think to confide in.

  I called home. My best friend answered immediately.

  “It’s Maggie. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  “Of course I have a minute. I haven’t heard from you in forever.” Jo paused on the other line. “Are you okay? You sound kind of funny.”

  I didn’t blame her for being surprised by my phone call. It was almost midnight in South Carolina. And I hadn’t been the best about keeping in touch lately.

  “I’m sorry to call so late.” I sucked in a deep breath.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a bit of a weird day.”

  I heard rustling on the other end of the line. “What’s up?”

  I gripped the phone, struggling to keep my voice low. I’d been going around and around about the Samir situation in my mind, coming up with just one solution to explain my bizarre reaction. I hoped I was wrong. It came out of my mouth in a panicked rush, the words smashed and jumbled together.

  “How do you know when you like a guy? As more than just a friend?”

  I felt like throwing up.

  There was a pause on the other end of the line and then Jo laughed. The sound was so familiar; it filled me with waves of homesickness.

  “I don’t know, Maggie. That’s not normally something I have to think about a lot. I know if I like someone or not. It isn’t exactly rocket science.”

  “Yeah, but how?”

  Jo sighed. “I don’t know. I just get that feeling.”

  “The slightly feverish, nervous, am-I-going-to-throw-up feeling?”

  Jo laughed. “Yes, exactly. That feeling. Why? Is this about the British guy? Hugh, right? Did he call?”

  I felt a rush of guilt. It had been ages since Jo and I had last talked. I hadn’t filled her in on the fact that Hugh and I were dating now.

  “Yeah, he called. We’re actually dating now.”

  “Your first boyfriend. That’s amazing.” She paused as the rest of our conversation clearly set in. “Wait. I don’t get it, though. If you’re dating, how do you not know that you like him? You seemed so sure when you came home over Christmas break. What changed?”

  A trip to Paris. My dad telling me he got married. A series of ill-advised kisses. All of these little moments that, pieced together, most likely accounted for the feeling of acute nausea in my stomach.

  I sucked in a deep breath, ready to let the other shoe drop.

  “I’m not talking about Hugh.”

  Chapter 44

  “Who are you talking about?” The surprise in Jo’s voice came through over the other end of the line. I didn’t blame her. I wasn’t exactly the type of girl you’d expect to be torn between two guys.

  “This guy at school.” I wanted to keep things as vague as possible. Fleur and Noora were out for the night, but still. This wasn’t exactly the kind of thing I wanted to shout from the rooftops.

  “A British guy?”

  As much as I tried to explain it, my friends back home didn’t seem to understand just how international the International School actually was.

  “No, he’s actually Lebanese. And French.”

  “But I thought you were dating that British guy?” I could hear the confusion in Jo’s voice. I was pretty sure it matched the confusion in my own life.

  “Yeah, I am,” I answered glumly.

  “But you like them both.” There was no judgment in her voice, just uncertainty. I sounded nothing like the Maggie she had known most of her life.

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I like Samir.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I had been asking myself that same question for hours now. “I don’t know. It’s just this feeling I get when he’s around. It’s weird.”

  “What kind of feeling?”

  “I don’t know.” I couldn’t keep the frustration out of my voice.

  The not knowing was the worst part. I couldn’t put a name to the feelings going through me. They were just this jumbled mess of guilt and confusion. I racked my brain to think of a better way to describe it. I tried to remember all the times we’d spent together. “It’s like I always seem to know where he is. Or what he’s doing. And he makes me uncomfortable,” I added, thinking that was somehow important.

  “Uncomfortable how?”

  I was beginning to feel as though Jo was the Spanish Inquisition. Exasperation filled my voice. “Just uncomfortable. Itchy. Warm. Incredibly turned on.”

  “Well, does he like you?”

  “I don’t know.” I was starting to sound like a broken record.

  “Why not?”

  “Let’s just say that’s not really his style.” I didn’t even bother explaining the girlfriend development.

  “But this guy Hugh likes you.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “So maybe you should forget about this other guy and just focus on Hugh.”

  She had a point. If only it were that easy.

  * * *

  Operation Avoid Samir worked out better than planned. Partially because I suspected he had his own Operation Avoid Maggie going on. Which was fine with me. I had much bigger things to worry about than Samir’s love life. My going-back-to-the-U.S. deadline was looming near, not to mention the fact that exams were breathing down the back of my neck.

  On Friday, Hugh took me to dinner for our last date before I started my final exams.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” he commented, stroking my wrist.

  “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going to spend the whole summer in the U.S.” His voice was teasing. “What are you going to do there, anyway?”

  “Work, I guess.”

  “Where will you work?”

  “A retail shop. I sell clothes.” I couldn’t quite keep the embarrassment out of my voice. “It’s not the most glamorous job.”

  “Maybe I’ll come visit you in the U.S.”

  I coughed, choking on my wine. “That would be nice,” I managed.

  “We could go to New York or maybe Miami for the weekend. I haven’t been before, but I’ve heard there’s a great club scene there. I have a friend who runs a bar in South Beach. We could check it out.”

  I nodded, guilt filling me. Here he was making plans for us and I couldn’t even be honest with him. I couldn’t go out to clubs or bars in the U.S. Hell, I couldn’t even drink in the U.S. And I doubted that my grandparents would let me go off with a guy for the weekend. I couldn’t keep lying anymore. Even if it meant he was going to hate me, even if he was going to break up with me—I had to be honest. I was sick of him not knowing me. And maybe a part of me had to know if Samir was right. Was I making a mistake with Hugh?

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I took a sip of my wine, trying to calm the pounding in my heart. I could do this. “I wasn’t exactly honest with you when we first met. I didn’t mean to lie, but when we met in Babel that night and you seemed interested in me, I wanted to impress you. And so I told you I was doing a master’s rather than telling you the truth.”

  I had his full attention now.

  “I’m not doing a master’s degree.” I focused my gaze on the stem of my wineglass to avoid watching his reaction. My fingers clutched the stem, my knuckles turning white. “I’m at uni here in London. I’m an undergraduate. I’m not twenty-three.”

  “How old are you?”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Nineteen.”

  For a moment he didn’t speak. I lifted my gaze, the suspense no longer bearable. I studied his reaction carefully, waiting to hear his response.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head.

  “It just got out of control. I never imagined when I told you that it would matter because I never thought someone like you would be interested in me. And then when you were, I was so happy that you were interested that I didn’t want to do anything to spoil it—”

  “Maggie—”

  I closed my mouth.

  “I knew you were probably younger than you said.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I admit, I didn’t think you were nineteen—”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated.

  He shook his head again. “It’s not even the age that bothers me that much. We’re both adults. I just don’t understand why you couldn’t be honest with me. If you didn’t want to tell me that night in Babel, then fine. But why didn’t you tell me any of the other nights? Why didn’t you trust me?”

  “I wanted you to like me.” I knew
how hollow the words sounded. I didn’t even fully understand my actions myself. I never even gave him a chance to like me, never let him see the real me.

  “I do like you.”

  The waiter came over and dropped off our check. Hugh stared down at it, frowning for a moment, before reaching into his coat and pulling out his wallet. His jaw clenched.

  “Are you mad?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not mad. I’m just not sure what we’re doing here. Things are getting complicated and I don’t know. I’m just wondering if this is really working.”

  He couldn’t dump me.

  “I know things have been tough lately. I’ve been distracted with school. And I know I could make more of an effort.” I reached forward and grabbed his hand, running my finger down his palm. He didn’t move away. “I want to be with you. Just give me two more weeks to finish with exams. And then I’m all yours.”

  He was silent for a moment before he squeezed my hand. “My friend Tony is getting married two weeks from Saturday. I need a date. Are you interested?”

  I grinned, the first waves of tension falling away. “I would love to.”

  We left the restaurant together, our hands entwined. I felt as if a weight had been lifted off of me. I’d been honest with him. And he didn’t seem angry. Fleur was right—if I was going to have a relationship with Hugh, it had to be real. It was time to take things to the next level. As he drove me home I told myself everything was going to be okay.

  He didn’t invite me back to his place.

  Chapter 45

  “Which one will he like?”

  Mya’s eyes narrowed, her gaze shifting from me to Fleur. “I don’t know. What do you think, Fleur?”

  “The black. Definitely the black.”