Anyone (Dunbridge Academy #2)

Anyone

SINCLAIR

Second Form

I wish I could say I’d had to follow Tori out there because she was scared, but the truth is that she follows me outside when I get up twenty-three minutes in. It’s not like I’m chicken. Or like I’m secretly crying. No way. No way at all.

But I am seriously considering not sleeping at school tonight, calling Dad and asking him to pick me up.

On the other hand, then I’d be all on my own at home, in my room.

At least here, up in our dorm, I’ll be able to hear that the others are around: Henry, who sometimes talks in his sleep, and Gideon, who snores when he’s rolled onto his back.

‘Hey.’

I whirl around to face the Tori-shaped figure suddenly standing in front of me in the semi-darkness. She’s a world champion at creeping up on people. I should know that by now.

‘Hey.’ I stiffen my shoulders. ‘You all right?’

‘Are you?’ she asks, the little glimmer from the light on the stairwell reflecting in her eyes.

A gust makes the curtains fly in and ruffles her hair.

Tori looks different with it down, tumbling over her back.

Girls have to wear their hair up in class, so it’s always plaited or in a ponytail.

The floorboards creak as she takes a step towards me.

‘Yes, I . . . I just realized I forgot to . . .’ What, then? ‘Doesn’t matter.’ I gulp. Why the hell can’t I think first and speak later?

‘I hate horror films too,’ she says.

I tense. Too . . . What does she mean by too?

Who says I hate them? I love horror films. They don’t bother me.

But why am I not saying anything? All I can do is keep sitting on this windowsill, holding my breath.

Tori’s standing there, not moving either.

Her eyes, which are actually brown, look almost black.

My heart skips as she comes closer. She’s-standing-between-my-knees-close.

I-can-smell-her-peachy-shampoo-close. She’s-leaning-in-and-kissing-me-close.

She’s kissing me.

Quick, short, kind of awkward. Just the blink of an eye, a split second. It’s over so quickly that I can’t even tell if her lips are soft. If they’re like I imagined them. I’d seriously doubt whether it even happened, except that my racing pulse seems fairly certain of it.

Tori pulls back as I lift my hand to touch my mouth.

My heart is pounding loudly in my ears and I want her to do it again.

I want to grab her wrist and pull her to me.

But I don’t dare. Because she’s my friend.

My best friend, who I want to kiss, and .

. . Oh, shit. I want to kiss her. I want to.

I don’t want to be just anyone to her, I want to be everything.

I stand up to reach out to her, but at that exact moment, muffled screams and laughter come from the TV room. We jump. Another gust rattles the windowpane beside me and, somewhere, a door slams.

The next time I glance at Tori, she’s looking a bit like a pale ghost. Her eyes are huge and startled. She bites her bottom lip, then starts to speak. ‘Sorry, I—’

‘No,’ I say hastily, stepping towards her. Does she regret it? Is it because I didn’t react, let alone kiss her back? I should . . .

‘Hey!’ I spin around at the sound of Valentine Ward’s voice. He’s coming from the direction of the loos. ‘You two winching out there?’

Tori’s eyes flit over me and it stings like a slap in the face. Then she turns away and gives a bitter, nervous laugh. ‘Er, no? Sinclair’s just scared.’

Of course. Charles Sinclair, never has the guts, always gets everything wrong.

‘I’m not scared,’ I say, following her.

And how was I to know that that would be the first of so many lies we’d keep telling each other?