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As I looked at him, my stomach flipped. It did that a lot during high school, and I chalked it up to a fear response. The way my heartbeat picked up was fight or flight. But today, he was smiling — more than that, he was smiling at me. Maybe it wasn’t a fear response, but that didn’t make my reaction any less horrible.
I felt resigned. Lucas might smile at me like that a few times in my life, but it’d only be that — a rare occasion. And it hurt, because I knew it’d be something I wouldn’t have.
It was like when I was a kid, and I’d spent one summer obsessed with a pirate theme park in America. It had everything I wanted — pirate ship rides, a mountain drop, a mermaid lake, rollercoasters that shot through a fake rainforest.
For a few days, I was convinced I’d be able to go to the theme park. I begged my parents, and when they said they couldn’t afford it, I decided I’d pay for it myself. It was only later when I realised that it didn’t matter if I made a lemonade stand or offered to mow my neighbour’s lawns or do all of the chores in the house — I’d never be able to afford that theme park.
In the end, I stopped looking at photos of the theme park. Because it hurt looking at something I couldn’t have.
As I stared at Lucas, lost in thought, he said we should get into the ocean, and there he splashed me and tossed me around. At first, I wondered if he was trying to hurt me again, but I quickly realised he was only having fun.
An hour later, we lay on our towels on the sand. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud, so it wasn’t blistering hot anymore. I closed my eyes. Only the sound of a phone camera made me open them.
Lucas was standing in front of me.
“What?” I asked. “What are you — are you taking a photo?”
He laughed. “You look like a pin-up model.”
I was lying on my towel with an arm under my head and my legs up. I didn’t think I looked very pin-up model-y, but I was distracted by the delight on Lucas’s face.
Weak, I’d thought. I’m just like everyone else. Distracted by a smile on a good-looking boy. Weak, weak, weak.
CHAPTER NINE
Now
“Soooooo,” Gilly sing-songs, nudging his shoulders against mine. “How’s it going with the missus?”
“Fine,” I say, keeping my eyes on my computer screen.
The four of us — me, Gilly, Hugo and Lucas — are sitting at a table on the bottom floor of the Arts library, which is the biggest library on campus. It’s the kind of old-fashioned library you’d see in movies — dark-stained wooden shelves, plush red carpet, emerald green lamps. This floor allows talking, so there’s a hum of voices in the air, although from the way Lucas’s frown deepens, I bet he wishes we were sitting in a silent area.
“Oh, come on,” Gilly says. “You gotta elaborate on that.”
“I will, I will,” I promise, “but I don’t want to distract you all from studying.”
Hugo pushes his laptop away from him. “We’ve been studying for a good hour,” he says. “I think it’s time for a break.”
“Exactly!” Gilly says, pointing at him. “Research says if you work too hard without breaks, the quality of your work goes down.”
“But we don’t have to talk about your relationship if you don’t want to, Charlie,” Hugo says.
“I don’t mind,” I say. “I just don’t want to bore you all.”
Gilly rolls his eyes. “Come on! Talking about women is, like, my favourite hobby.”
“It’s all you talk about,” Hugo tells him. “If there were a reverse Bechdel test, you’d fail immediately.”
Gilly’s brow creases. “What the hell is a Bechdel test?”
“I’m surprised you’re even studying with us,” Lucas says suddenly, closing his laptop. His eyes meet mine, and my heart jolts.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hugo asks.
“For the last week, he’s been studying nonstop with Claire.”
“Cleo,” I correct.
