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Arabella doesn’t receive an A+.
We’ve been split up for a while now, my desk to her left, but I still witness the moment Moncrieff hands over her essay without comment. I capture, forever in my mind, the instant her natural smugness gives way to shock as she glances down at the red encircled letter. It’s a B-, something I’d have killed for in months gone by, but Arabella looks like she’s about to cry. She gazes at Moncrieff with hurt in her furiously blinking, disbelieving eyes, but he pays her no heed. Her head rotates, owl-like, around the adjacent desks, craning to peer at other people’s papers, her mouth parted in defiance, like a mistake must have been made somewhere down the line.
“What?” Rory growls when he notices Arabella looking at him.
She grabs the frazzled end of her plait, the usual tightness of which has already come undone like a fraying rope. “How didyouget an A? You’ve been doing terribly.”
“How could younot?” Rory fires back, and then, to rub it in, “It was the easiest essay we’ve ever had.”
By design, his words don’t console Arabella at all. Her attention then falls to me, as if for an easy boost in self-esteem. But when Arabella sees the large A+ and ‘Good job!’ written on my paper, she releases a small noise of dismay. I keep my face perfectly still, but inside — well, I may be cackling.
“God, Belly,” Rory adds in a low voice, his laughter dark as he tilts his head in disbelief at the B- on her paper. She tugs it into her chest automatically, shielding it from view, but it’s too late. Rory is full of glee. “You let him fuck you for a B-? Have you considered raising your standards?”
Arabella flushes scarlet. When Rory puts it like that, a B- is a sad indictment of Arabella’s skills indeed. I know I should feel at least a tiny bit sorry for her. But ever since I’ve known Arabella, she’s swanned around with her nose in the air, safe in the knowledge of her supposedly enormous intellect. Not to mention indulging in questionable relations with one of the staff, lording it over literally everyone else, being protected by her headmistress aunt, and having her behavior endorsed by the shiny gold badge on her lapel. Arabella with a B- is something I’d never dared to dream, and yes, it’s low of me, and I can be better than this, but by God, her humbling in real-time is as cathartic as it is entertaining.
Naturally, Arabella accosts Dr. Moncrieff at the end of class. All I hear as she — not Moncrieff — slams the door behind us all, is Moncrieff’s patient tone explaining that a B- was an honest reflection of her efforts and that she’s seemed otherwise distracted lately. Arabella’s answering screams are heard halfway down the hall, followed by the sound of everyone else’s laughter.
When three o’clock eventually rolls around, Danny’s already waiting at the library. I quickly scope it out. It’s mercifully quiet, with only a handful of students in the study area. A member of staff mechanically catalogs a stack of books by the main desk. I smile at the section Danny’s leaning against — the one on British royalty — and watch for a long, satisfied moment as he reads one of the books, engrossed, his head cocked to the side in interest.
“Hey,” I whisper between shelves. It’s as if we’re two espionage agents, as Danny meets my gaze between old reference texts in happy surprise. Already it feels too dangerous — we’re the only ones speaking together in the library, the rest of the place filled with the sounds of diligent page-turning and scratching pencils. But I can’t deny the way his brown eyes light with warmth as he looks at me, and I can’t deny the way my heart swells with the dearest form of love when I look at him.
“Hey.” Danny slides his book back onto the shelf, widening the gap for us to talk. I see brown eyes and gentle freckles and the edge of his mousy brown hair. He feeds his hand through the gap, and I copy him in an instant, entwining our fingers together. He looks down at our joined hands and asks, “Has she hurt you today?”
I shake my head.
“Me neither. But I heard she pulled Fin out of maths.”
“Forwhat?”
“I don’t know. No one caught us last night so it can’t be that.” His voice is achingly soft and light. He lifts my palm and presses a delicate kiss to my life line. The tip of his tongue peeps out, tracing the deep grooves on my palm and kissing soundly at the heel of my hand. When he kisses his way up to the thin stretch of skin joining index finger to thumb, he seals his mouth around my thumb, his eyes intent and watching for my reaction.
“God, Danny…”
I reach through the gap, caressing his soft brown hair, needing him, wanting him. Danny leans his forehead against me, slowly releasing my thumb from his mouth. My skin is damp as I trace his lush pink lips.
“I read Luke’s speech, by the way. In the papers.” Danny’s eyes are troubled. “Is it true, what he said about his mother…?”
At a loss, I shake my head. “I don’t think anyone knows.”
Danny strokes his thumb across the back of my hand, tracing the peaks of my knuckles as though it brings him immense comfort. “Surely anyone reading it would know that’s not right?” His voice rises slightly. “Surely they’dknownot to support this?”
“Someone’s coming,” I hiss, hearing footsteps approach, and Danny instantly severs our connection. I turn my back on the shelves and find myself looking instead at chunky books on the history of the Middle East.
But I recognize the assuredness of those footsteps, and sure enough, I peep the glimmer of Rory’s dark blond hair at the opposite end of the aisle. He pretends not to notice me, but he forgets I know him all too well. There’s the ghost of an irresistible smirk on his face as he picks out a book at random, fluttering the pages halfway. Ever so slowly, he walks, practically glides, over to one of the individual study tables, all of his focus on the book in front of his nose, as he pulls out a chair and plonks himself down, sitting, deliberately, opposite me.
I turn back to the gap in the bookshelf, where Danny’s eyes, framed by books, are just as intrigued as mine.
Rory waits for a moment before raising the book aloft. Knowing I’m watching him, and in front of the cover ofThe Great Wall: Chinese Dynasties Through The Ages,Rory curls his finger at me, all while appearing deeply absorbed in the text.
I shoot a confused glance through the shelves at Danny, who merely shrugs. Slowly, I approach Rory’s table. With every step, the library seems to flare with heat, each one its ownfuck youto Baxter. Breaking Lochkelvin rules feels like a small, semi-public revolution, a reminder of the secret games we’re forced to play just to be together. Eventually, I find myself standing opposite Rory, someone I’m not allowed to be in the same room with outside of class. With a slow rise of his dark blond head, he glances up at me with mischief glittering in his deep gray eyes. He looks like he’s trying very hard to suppress a grin.
But at that moment, Arabella’s voice trumpets loudly in the library. She storms into the room, her face flushed with anger, completely oblivious to our presence. “I just can’t believe he’d do this to me!” she exclaims, her voice filled with despair. “I workedsohard on that assignment, Li. It’s so unfair!”
“I know,” Li mutters beside her, not sounding particularly consoling. “You said.”
Nevertheless, Arabella continues talking at a more upset volume than normal, with Li by her side making vague, half-hearted attempts at the correct noises. Meanwhile, my feet have turned to lead. A surge of panic courses through me as I exchange a glance with Rory. If anyone would have it in for us, it’s Arabella. Especially today.
Rory still holds his book aloft but his face is impassive, and his playful smirk has vanished. Already we’re far too close to each other. He jabs downward, his fingertip tapping silently, urgently, at the wooden surface of the table. With a sinking heart, I know that it’s my only option as a scorned Arabella rampages throughout the library like a raging typhoon.
