London Prep

by Dodd, Jillian

  “I guess.” He flushes, which brings my eyes to his cheeks. His face. The distinction between his plump lips and hard jawline. How his hair is so dark while his skin is so creamy. He’s sort of this mashup of opposites. It’s what makes him hard to figure out, but also what makes him unique.

  “I like it,” I say, not wanting him to be embarrassed. “You’re saying it’s a mingling of two people?”

  “Yeah,” he agrees, nodding at me. “I like that. A mingling.”

  “Does that mean you’re serious about romance? Relationships?” I grin at him, wanting to tease him a little. But he doesn’t take the bait because his answer is just as serious as before.

  “I don’t think we need anyone. It’s a sort of illusion to feel fulfilled. But, sometimes, people take you by surprise.”

  “Did you think that Harry and Olivia just wanted someone then?”

  “I think they used to be good together,” Noah says with a heavy breath. “She cared about him a lot. Not in a fake way. She saw through his bullshit. Kind of like you do.”

  “But then?” I ask, needing to know what happened.

  “But then, she started caring more about how they looked as a couple. About what other people thought. And … well, Harry cares enough about that without her.”

  “And then they broke up,” I ask, finding the whole story sad.

  “And then they broke up,” Noah confirms.

  We start a new project in class, moving on to, funny enough, watercolors. Mrs. Jones says she wants us to do something different. We’ve been doing shading all week, and it was pretty meticulous. She says now she wants us to be in free-form.

  And I’m not happy about it.

  Because Noah is right. One color bleeds into another. The paint slides around in ways I don’t anticipate, encroaching on one area or barely touching in another. My picture feels like it’s gone from slightly artistic to a fat blob of random colors.

  I huff.

  “You’ve destroyed it.” Noah laughs, scrunching up his nose when he sees my work.

  “It’s not that easy,” I counter, taking a peek at his.

  And it’s beautiful.

  My mouth drops open.

  How on earth?

  The colors on his fall tree are gorgeous—browns and golden colors swirling with reds and oranges. I look back down at my pathetic attempt and feel slightly ashamed.

  “It shouldn’t be that hard,” Noah teases, leaning in closer to me, taking away my paintbrush. “Look, Mal, you have to think of it kind of like chess. It isn’t about what you intend to do. Where you intend to put the brush down. It’s where the colors are going to flow to after. Does that make sense?”

  “Not in the least,” I admit, trying to follow along. “But, Noah, you’re good at painting. Like, really good. Why don’t you have any of these hanging in your room? The house?”

  Noah just shrugs at me. “Clutter is a distraction. Besides, you’ve seen my sister’s room. It’s a disaster. I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

  Noah gets up when the bell rings, turning in his painting. Mrs. Jones smiles when she sees what he set down in front of her, a look of pride on her face. But when she sees me behind him, her smile disappears. Probably because she knows what’s coming next.

  “I really did try,” I tell her before walking out of class.

  What my intentions were.

  Geography

  I’m feeling torn between pretending the conversation at lunch didn’t happen and wanting to know more about Harry’s past.

  I decide on the former, trying to stay focused on today’s lesson.

  But Harry is playing with my hair and whispering over my shoulder about seeing me tonight. It’s hard enough to concentrate without thoughts of sex and paint on my mind, but add in the party and spending the night at Harry’s, and I feel like my brain might explode.

  When class is over, I practically fly out of my seat.

  “Wait up,” Harry says, catching my arm in the hallway.

  “Yeah?” I ask, turning toward him, feeling flushed.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, looking concerned. He takes my hand in his, lacing his fingers through mine.

  “I just need to get out of here,” I say, feeling overwhelmed. “I’m over classes for the day.”

  “You sure that’s it?” Harry pushes.

  People walk past us, looking down at our interlaced hands. I feel like every eye is on me, including Harry’s.

  I start to open my mouth but close it, not sure what to say.

  “Hey, you ready?” Noah says, joining us in the hallway. He has his backpack hanging over one shoulder, and he’s looking expectantly at me.

  “Yeah.” I nod, taking my hand out of Harry’s.

  “See you around seven then, yeah?” Noah says to Harry, giving Harry a pat on the back as he passes him.

  I turn and look back at Harry, giving him the best smile I can manage. I don’t want him to think I’m upset with him or mad. I just don’t have the right words to phrase my questions, and I’m still not sure if I should even ask them.

  Harry frowns and says, “See you at seven.”

  Noah and I walk home. He’s not very chatty, so I’m able to clear my head. I take in a deep breath, holding it before letting it out. I let go of my questions and thoughts. I let go of everything and focus on one thing.

  On something happy.

  On something I’m sure about.

  Noah throws his arm over my shoulders, taking me by surprise. “Give me your backpack.”

  “What?” I ask, trying to figure out why his arm is wrapped around me.

  “Just give it to me.”

  He takes his arm away, and I remove my backpack, stopping to hold it out for him.

  “See, I knew you were in a bad mood.” He laughs as he throws my backpack over one shoulder. “Because if you felt like yourself, you would have thrown a fit. Wanting to know why I wanted it. What my intentions were. But, today, you just handed it over.”

  “You’re very observant,” I say, walking faster and brushing past him.

  But he stays right next to me, his long strides easily matching mine.

  “Race you home,” Noah says, turning now so he’s walking backward in front of me.

  “Seriously?” I ask, shaking my head at him.

  “Yeah, come on. I’ve got the extra weight of your bag, plus mine,” he says, pretending to struggle. He lets them hang off his shoulders and walks with them drooping down.

  “You’re ridiculous.” I narrow my eyes at him.

  “And your only chance at a head start is if you go now,” he sasses back.

  I want to yell at him that I don’t need the head start. That maybe, if he’d added in the morning runs earlier than a few days ago, I might actually need it. But instead, I decided to just run.

  I take off down the sidewalk, weaving my way around people walking. I hear Noah’s feet pounding on the pavement behind me, the sound pushing me further.

  Something about running distracts you. It makes you stop thinking and start feeling.

  All of my attention is brought into my body. My legs, my breath.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Noah grins, easily running alongside me.

  “It does.” I smile back.

  It only takes us a few minutes to get to the house at this speed, but by the time we make it up the steps, we’re both panting.

  “I think I won,” Noah says, putting his hands onto his knees, sucking in air.

  “You wish.” I laugh at him, going into the house.

  “What on earth?” Helen says as we race into the kitchen, Noah pouring us both big glasses of water.

  “Mallory decided she just had to have a run after school,” Noah tells her with a twinkle in his eye before taking a big gulp. “I tried to tell her we’d get all sweaty, but I’m not sure what to say, Mum; the girl doesn’t like to listen.”

  I grin at him, biting my lip. What a little liar. “I’m not sure that’s exactl
y what happened,” I tell her, trying to correct the story.

  “I’m going to go have a shower,” Noah says, giving Helen a kiss on the cheek as he moves to go upstairs.

  “One minute,” Helen says, motioning with her finger for him to come back into the kitchen. “I want you to make sure you get your coursework done before this party stuff tonight.” She sternly eyes us both. “Just because Naomi Fleming decides her birthday party has to be on a school night doesn’t mean the two of you can get out of doing your schoolwork.”

  “Mum,” Noah pleads.

  “What do you have due?” she asks, not giving in.

  I’m just sitting here, enjoying their banter. I also notice the resemblance between Noah and his mom. They have the same dark hair and striking cheekbones. His eyes are warm like hers, and she has his rounded lips. But he has parts of his dad, too, like his height, long nose, and creamy complexion.

  One of Noah’s most unique features though is his smile, but it doesn’t match either of his parents’. But that isn’t really all that surprising.

  It’s almost in a category all on its own.

  “Mallory?” Helen says, turning toward me.

  I heard Noah say something about Chemistry, and I’m hoping Helen is just asking me the same question because I really wasn’t paying attention.

  “Uh, I just have a statistics project due on Monday and a Latin test later in the week.”

  “It isn’t a bother to me what you work on, but I want to make sure you are working on something,” she states.

  “Okay.” I nod at her, understanding.

  I’m not sure where this mom thing is coming from, but she seems overly concerned that we work on our homework today.

  She smiles to herself. “Your father will be at his book club tonight, so I’m having a few girlfriends over for dinner. Can you two manage food on your own? I’m assuming the girls will have something for you,” Helen says to me.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” I’m hoping she can’t tell I’m lying and have no idea.

  She nods at me and then pulls out a skillet and starts shredding a brick of cheese.

  “It’s fondue night,” Noah says with a grin as we walk up the stairs.

  “Oh, I love chocolate fondue. It’s so nice with strawberries dipped in it,” I say, biting my lip, just thinking about the heavenly taste of warm, gooey chocolate mixed with a juicy strawberry.

  Noah’s eyes move across my face, down to my lip, and then back up to my eyes.

  “Once a month, Dad has book club while Mum has the girls over,” he says. “She always makes fondue because she says it’s women’s food. Dad never feels full from it, and he always ends up complaining.”

  “Really? I think every time I’ve eaten it, I’ve ended up feeling stuffed.”

  Noah grins at me. “I like it too. But it’s part of her gossip-and-drink-wine night.”

  “Your mom is partying tonight, just like us.” I smile, pushing open the door to Mia’s room, and set my bag down on her chair.

  “Apparently,” Noah replies before moving out of the hallway and into his room.

  I plop down onto the bed, curling myself up.

  I play out the day in my head.

  Remembering Noah’s apology this morning.

  How Harry blew off losing his virginity.

  Hearing Mohammad’s story.

  It scares me to admit to them that I’m a virgin. Not because I’m embarrassed of it, but because bringing it up means that it’s on my mind. And it isn’t.

  Well, it wasn’t. At least, not until today.

  I didn’t love the way that Harry and Mohammad viewed it; it felt so cold and detached.

  At least Noah recognizes its importance, but I think he sees it as an even bigger deal than I do. All his talk about energy and exchange makes it seem like liking them and being attracted to them isn’t enough.

  And, really, Mohammad is still a virgin, but I guess he can get credit if that’s what he wants. Even though Mohammad’s non-virginity surprised me, I think I’m more surprised by the fact that he’s single. Between his warm chestnut skin and square jawline, he’s just as beautiful as Noah and Harry. And with his contagious personality and his apparent attention to detail, he’s kind of a catch.

  I push everything else aside, deciding I should probably get started on that statistics problem.

  A half an hour later, I’ve officially gotten nowhere, and I slam my statistics book shut. Of all the classes. I decide to pick out my outfit for tonight, laying out a few different dresses on my bed. I grab my phone, opening up a message to my mom.

  Me: Have a birthday party tonight. Host family approved. Any suggestions?

  I throw in the part about it being approved, so hopefully, we can skip over the part where she questions me before just answering my question.

  Mom: I like the blue.

  Mom: Are you having a good time?

  I’m surprised when she doesn’t interrogate me, but I decide not to push my luck by poking at her about it.

  Me: Yeah. They enrolled me in Latin. And Statistics. Kind of a bust. But I’ll do fine.

  Mom: Your father is home for lunch. He says hello. Will you call tomorrow and let us know how it’s going?

  Me: I will.

  I finish replying and then throw my phone onto the bed, feeling guilty. I haven’t called them since I got here. At first, I wanted to make them suffer. To feel guilty for sending me.

  But now, it just seems inconsiderate.

  I decide when I call them tomorrow, I will give them a full update.

  I run downstairs, finding Helen still in the kitchen. She’s chopping up apples, and the house is starting to smell like warm cheese. Yum.

  “I was thinking about this dress,” I say, holding it up. “I thought maybe I could get your opinion on accessories?”

  Helen turns to me, taking in the dress. Her face instantly lights up, and she sets down her knife, beaming at me.

  “That’s beautiful.” She wipes her hands on her apron, moving closer to inspect the dress.

  “Thank you. I think it’s fun without being too much of a club dress.”

  “Yes,” she confirms, her eyes still moving over the material. “My daughter, she isn’t into clothes or shopping, but I have a passion for it. She’s a bit more artsy, and … well, we come together over books.”

  I grin at her, wondering what it would be like to meet Mia. “Well, despite the fact that I have to wear a uniform to school, I absolutely love clothes. My mom’s a big shopper. Our styles are totally different, but sometimes, that’s what makes shopping together fun.”

  Helen listens to me speak, her eyes softening when I bring up my mom.

  “If you’re interested, one of the weekends you’re here, we can go out shopping.”

  “I would love that.” I grin at her.

  Her cheeks rise, pulling her lips up into a smile. “Now, for accessories,” she says, putting her hand on my back, leading me up to my room.

  By the time I get packed and do my makeup, Noah is already at my door, peeking his head in.

  “You ready yet?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I nod, grabbing the duffel off of my bed.

  When I turn back to face Noah, I can’t help but stare at his dark jeans and fitted black dress shirt. He’s got the shirt buttoned all the way to his neck, causing it to pull tight across his chest. The color seems to make his skin look even creamier, and it brings out his dark eyebrows and gorgeous hair.

  He looks almost too beautiful.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” he asks, eyeing my outfit.

  My former appreciation of him vanishes with his rude comment.

  “Just to Harry’s,” I say, holding up my duffel, bringing it into focus.

  Noah nods. He looks around the room and moves in front of the dresser. He picks up a few knickknacks before moving his fingers across my stack of notebooks on the desk.

  “What’s that smell?” he asks, connecting his gaze back
to mine.

  “My perfume? It’s vanilla.”

  “Huh,” he says, taking the duffel from my hand and pulling it over his shoulder.

  “Is it too much?” I ask, wondering if I should wash some of it off my wrists. I’m hoping I don’t have to, but I also don’t want to be that girl who suffocates everyone around her with overdone perfume.

  “No. It’s nice,” he states. “Just enough.”

  I follow Noah down the stairs, stopping to give Helen a hug before we leave.

  “We need to make a quick stop first,” I say to Noah as he hails a taxi.

  Being in my bed tonight.

  6:30pm

  When we get to Harry’s, Noah pushes open the front door, and we head up to the billiards room. We find Mohammad spread out across the couch and Harry with a cue stick in one hand, a bottle in the other. His face rises from the table when he hears us come through the door, and when his eyes connect to mine, I can immediately tell he wants to talk. In fact, he almost seems relieved that I’m there.

  “I’m going to drop my stuff in Harry’s room,” I announce before turning around and going out of the door.

  Noah and Mohammad barely acknowledge me, but Harry follows me into his room. I set my duffel onto his bed, unzip it and pull out my dress.

  Harry takes my waist in his hands, spinning me around.

  “What was going on earlier?” he asks sincerely, those blue eyes sweetly looking at me.

  I’m still not ready for this conversation. “I just … I don’t know. I think lunch took me by surprise.”

  Harry searches my face, trying to understand. His fingers tightening at my waist.

  “Obviously, you’ve had sex, with someone older. And with Olivia,” I guess.

  “Yeah, I have. And?”

  “I guess it just wasn’t fun for me to hear about. And the fact that you seemed so fine about how your first time happened,” I say, looking down at the floor.