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“What were you listening to?”
Lucie blushed but offered him one of the ear buds and pressed play on her MP3 player. Maybe music would make the moment less awkward.
“High and Dry” by Radiohead played.
“Cool,” Chris mumbled.
As if suddenly aware of himself, Chris shifted in the sand. “How come your sister knows me?”
“My sister and her friend don’t really know you, but they’ve seen you around back home. They said something about a party you were at last night,” Lucie said so quietly she was surprised he could hear her over the waves.
“Oh, right. I don’t remember much about that party,” he replied with a shrug.
“You were drunk and jumped into a pool from high up after you and your girlfriend broke up, and then you said you were going to get fireworks… apparently,” she added, realising she’d remembered way too much.
“Oh yeah. It was a weird night. Maybe I should have said I don’t want to remember.” He laughed without mirth.
“I shouldn’t have said anything. I won’t mention it again.”
Suddenly the first few bars of a song by S Club 7 played, and Lucie snatched the earphones back. “I don’t know how that one got on the playlist.” Chris gave her a wary stare. Although her stomach was fluttering and she was conscious of the heat on the back of her neck, she didn’t want him to go. “I’m Lucie Smith.”
She held out her hand and regretted it instantly. They were strangers sitting on the sand; she wasn’t interviewing him for a Saturday job at Superdrug. But before she could pull it back, he shook it enthusiastically. His skin was warm and a bit clammy. It was rough and smooth in different places. She wanted to study his hands so she could draw them, but instead, she pulled her hand back as quickly as he released it. Maybe she should go before he worked out how odd she was.
“I’m Chris Jones. How ridiculous is that? Our names are so forgettable. Chris Jones and Lucie Smith.”
Chris Jones. She’d never forget his name, and she’d never forget him.
“What are you doing in your notebook?” he asked with a nod in the direction of her pad.
Was the sun getting hotter? She picked at her shorts before grabbing her ponytail and letting it fall through her hand until she was pulling at the end of it. The sun glinted off the water.
Oh no, please don’t let him see that I’m sweating.
She fought the temptation to lift her arms and check. She squeezed her arms against her body in the hope that none of the possible smells would get out. Emma would have told her if she was someone who smelt bad all the time.
Lucie turned slightly in his direction but refused to acknowledge the art pad or look directly at him. “Nothing. It’s just a bit of drawing,” she replied, struggling to swallow past her tongue, which seemed five times bigger than it was when they left home earlier that day. Maybe she was getting ill? That couldn’t happen. She was supposed to be back at school on Tuesday, and her dad wouldn’t tolerate illness.
“Drawing?” His dimples returned. She caught his eye. His smile was wide, and instantly heat filled her cheeks. She took the opportunity to distract herself with the pad and hide her face. “You draw? I am so jealous. I wish I could draw. Please show me.”
Her tongue was thicker now. She gave her hair another yank to avoid making eye contact. “No, no. I don’t show anyone what I draw. It’s rubbish anyway. I’m crap at drawing.”
“Tell me three positive things about yourself,” he said suddenly.
She did look at him then. His sunglasses reflected her face, and she fought the temptation to lean in closer to try and get a glimpse of his eyes beneath the lenses. “What?”
Chapter Eight
Chris, one of the hottest guys she’d ever met, wanted her to name three positives about herself. What was wrong with him? Sickness filled her belly as he stared at her. Lucie fumbled with her bag.
“Three positives about you. Come on.”
“I don’t know,” Lucie stammered.
“I had to go to therapy when I was younger because of my mum. The therapist talked to me about reprogramming my brain. Every time you think or say something negative about yourself, you have to say three positive things. It makes you see yourself differently. So, go on, three positives,” Chris said. She wanted to ask more questions about his revelation. No one had told her they’d been to therapy before, although there were rumours about girls at school. Fern, the most popular girl in her year, said Preena’s counselling for her craziness “clearly wasn’t working well” when she’d got teary in class. Although Preena’s parents were in the midst of a messy divorce, it was Fern’s snide remarks and ongoing bullying that made her teary.
“I can’t think of anything. Is it meant to be this hard?” Lucie confessed with a sigh after a minute of silence.
Chris’s dimples returned, and he lifted his glasses. She held her breath. “Yeah, at first anyway.” His green eyes twinkled in the sunlight, and she couldn’t stop staring at them. The green contained flecks of grey in them near the pupil. It was like staring into a green glass paperweight where different colours swirled depending on which part you were looking at and in what light. Her belly flipped, and sparks filled her limbs. “Can I suggest a positive for you?”
