Chapter 6
It was painful waiting for the weekend to arrive. Sammy had made it clear she hated the way Jeremy treated me and that I shouldn’t put up with it. She was right, but I just wanted to see if things would change — take it at his speed.
So far, there had been no sign of any other girls — no parties or rumours that he hooked up with anyone. He was the same Jeremy to everyone. Grumpy and moody at the heart of it, but he seemed to make it work, casting himself as Mr Moody and Desirable.
Sammy walked home with me on Friday. I could tell she wanted to say something. Probably to warn me about Saturday, but she didn’t. Her excitement from when he first told me he had my number was long forgotten, and I hated that.
She didn’t stay over, and even Mum shot me a few questioning glances over dinner. I raised my shoulders in reply.
“I’ll let you know how things go?” I ask at the door, as right now, I’m not sure if she is happy to have the run down or not.
“Yeah, of course.” She gives me a sad attempt at a smile. We say goodbye, and I close the door.
“What was all that about? Did you guys have a fight?” Mum asks.
“No. Not that I remember. I just… I think she’s just watching out for me. She doesn’t like how Jeremy treats me.”
“How does he treat you?”
I’d been a little sparing on the details with Mum. He’s never been over before, and I’ve not said that we’re going out, just that we’re friends, but she knows I’ve been a goner over him since the summer.
“We’re friends, that’s all. But I’m excited for tomorrow. Did you get the ice cream?”
“Do you even have to ask?” she responds. I guess not. Mum has the freezer permanently stocked — something I love about her.
“Thank you. I’m going to go and tidy my room.”
“Good idea. And remember, door open.” She points at me before retreating into her workshop. Since being back, she’s been super busy and spending more and more time there, which I’m pleased about, especially for tomorrow.
Saturday morning might hold the record for the slowest passage of time ever. The seconds labour each tick on the clock like they’re too tired to care. Concentrating on the words in front of me is hard, but I attempt to go over some of the topics I’m weaker in. Jeremy seems to have no problem in class, but I have to work for it. Maybe he can unlock his secret today.
My stack of flashcards is ready, and I’ve placed colour markers and textbooks on the desk. My wardrobe hides all signs of clothes or anything else embarrassing.
I’ve never had a boy in my bedroom before, and my stomach is tied in knots with nerves.
The doorbell rings, a little later than I’d hoped, but I dash to the door, pause, take a breath, and then open it.
He’s standing there with his bag over his shoulder. He’s wearing a big sweater with his shirt collar up.
“Come in.” I nod and close the door behind him.
He looks around the little hallway.
“Mum, Jeremy’s here. We’ll be studying upstairs,” I call.
“Did you want a drink first?”
“I’m good.” He looks up at the stairs. “Lead the way.”
I squeeze past him and climb the stairs, suddenly conscious that he has a direct view of my arse. I push the thought out of my head and turn at the top into my room.
“This is me.” I look around my space with a double bed on one side and a big desk on the other. In the corner, I have a bean bag chair and a wardrobe with a small, narrow bookcase standing up next to it.
It’s not much, but it’s mine. It’s light and airy, with a few plants on the windowsill and small fairy lights around the picture rail.
He takes a moment to look it over, and I think about what his room must be like.
“Cool.” He walks in, sits at the desk, and pulls out his own books. Grabbing the beanbag chair, I sit at the side of the desk.
“You look organised,” he comments.
“Yes. You thought I wouldn’t be?”
“Well, no. I guess.”
“What do you want to cover? I’ve got a list.” I slide it over to him.
He shakes his head as he starts reading down it.
“Stop, Jeremy, seriously, these will all be on the test.”
He scrunches up his nose and runs his hand through his hair. It’s a little messier than usual today with more curl to it. It suits him. “Okay, inheritance and variation,” I say.
“Urgh, no.”
“Come on. We’ve got to start somewhere.” I nudge his shoulder.
“Fine.” He looks up at me and flicks through the stack of cards I give him.
“What’s an example of abiotic and biotic factors that can affect earthworm populations?”
We quiz each other for the next hour. He gets everything right, and I can’t think straight, but we have fun — we both laugh at some of the made-up questions Jeremy asks.
“I’ll go and grab us a drink. Want anything else?”
“Nah, I’m good. It will ruin the pizza.” He raises his eyebrows and smiles.
I wish everyone could see this side of him: carefree and happy. It’s a mile away from the version he gives at school. But I also love that it’s only mine to see, nobody else’s.
I grab a tube of crisps and a couple of cans of Coke. We carry on studying, and if I could, I’d do this every week, even the studying.
Finally, when the lists I’ve made are exhausted and my head feels fried, Jeremy changes the subject.
“Ready for that pizza?”
“Hungry? You should have taken the snacks when they were offered,” I joke, but we head downstairs. “Okay, okay, the most important question of the night. Ready for it?” He looks at me quizzically. “Pineapple on pizza. Yes or no?”
“Um, hell yeah. Why not,” he answers.
“Oh, phew. I thought I’d have to kick you out and never speak to you again.” I shove him, wanting to have those little moments of physical contact, and then walk into the front room. I take a seat on the sofa and grab the menu I left on the coffee table.
“Is your mum joining us?”
“She’s working.”
“Oh, I thought she was here?” He looks around.
“Mum!” I call. “Come and meet Jeremy.”
A moment later, she comes in, wearing her thick apron, her fingers stained grey from the polish.
“Hey, Jeremy. I’m Becca.” After a brief discussion about pizza, she asks us to order her a pepperoni before she leaves us to it.
“She seems cool.”
“She is. Have you chosen?” My stomach tells me I want garlic dough balls, but is garlic a good idea? I’m getting way ahead of myself, but do I want our second kiss to poison him with my bad breath?
“Yeah, here. I have an app. I’ll get these.”
“No, it’s fine,” I protest, but he just shakes his head.
“Seriously, Anna. Let me. What do you want?”
“I’ll get a veggie deluxe with extra pineapple. And do you want to split the dough balls?”
“Got it. Yeah. Sounds good. Drinks?”
“We have soda.”
“Okay. And done.” He puts his phone on the table, sits back on the sofa, and twists towards me. I mirror his position.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You don’t need to worry about the test. You’ll ace it.”
I hope so.
We spend the time waiting for the pizza to decide on a film. “Anything but horror. Sammy always chooses the horror ones, and they all suck.”
“Okay, well, if you’re knocking those out, no romcoms. I can’t stand them.”
“Action? Marvel or any other blockbuster?” I offer.
“I didn’t realise Marvel was a genre of film.”
“Might as well be. They have their own channel.” I lean for the remote and start flicking through the options.
“What about a classic? Shawshank?” he asks.
“Haven’t seen it.”
“Oh, well, that’s it then. Settled. It’s a masterpiece.” He snatches the remote from my hand and proceeds to sign out of my account, load up his, and skip through the screens to rent the movie. “Done.” He looks smug.
It’s not too long before the pizzas arrive, and we set ours out in front of us in the front room.
Mum eats in the kitchen before hiding away in her studio again.
We start the film, and I try eating the pizza as delicately as possible, but stringy cheese never seems to cooperate when you need it to.
Luckily, the film is good and distracts me from the boy sitting next to me. He looks relaxed — I think — I hope — like he’s happy to be here. I keep my eyes on the screen, determined not to stare at him or be caught watching him instead of the film.
When Brooks starts carving his name, I get up. “Ice cream?”
“I’ll pause it.”
“No, it’s okay.” I swallow the emotion, desperate not to choke up in front of him. I grab the tub of chocolate fudge and two spoons and hover at the door, hoping to have missed the part I could see coming.
“Here.” I hand him a spoon. “I’m not that into ice cream,” he says guiltily.
“Non-negotiable. Ice cream is a must.” I nod and hand him the tub.
“We can’t eat all of this.”
“Fine. “I get back up, grab a couple of bowls from the kitchen, and scoop out a few dollops for him. I curb the amount I would have normally served myself, take the remaining third back to the freezer, and then set about enjoying the dessert. It’s needed, given how sad the film is.
“Here.” I reach out for his bowl when he’s finished and leave them both on the table to clear later.
“Did your mum make that for you? He picks up my hand and turns my wrist around, looking at my bracelet.
“No. We got it in the summer when we were in Cornwall.”
“It’s nice. Pretty.” He seems to be thinking about something, but I don’t press him.
He keeps my hand in his, and I don’t pull it away.
And I enjoy watching the rest of the film — a film about patience and friendship.
Jeremy
Merry Christmas
Anna
You too. Are you having fun?
Jeremy
Kind of. There’s a lot going on.
In my fantasy world, where Jeremy and I are dating and not just involved in this weird friendship, he sends me a thoughtful gift for Christmas. Something small and sweet that tells me he knows me. But that’s not reality. Besides, he’s away skiing in some Swiss resort with his family.
Anna
Send me photos of the snow. It’s just grey here.
And he does, beautiful photos of white, tree-lined mountains, pretty blue skies, and even a selfie of him in his goggles.
Jeremy
Not quite the science glasses LOL
We continue to text through the holidays, and I’m excited to go back to school. I’m sure, after the study session, and now Christmas, that things will change. They have to.
But they don’t.
He’s his usual self in the classroom, but outside, he’s a jerk. He doesn’t smile or acknowledge me.
Our game is getting old. And no matter how much I wished he’d change, it’s growing clear he won’t. He doesn’t have a problem with what he is doing. He gets to live both lives how he wants, but it’s not fair that everything is on his terms.
As a test, I work up the courage to pass him my biology test paper in the hall — the one he helped me revise for. He looks at me like he’s always done at school — as though he doesn’t know what I’m doing talking to him outside of a science class. No sign of the boy who held my hand through the end of Shawshank Redemption.
It’s hard on my heart, but the worst thing is I don’t know why he is being so cruel. So what if he gets stick from friends at school? If they are real friends, they won’t care that we are friends. And I’m not even asking him out. It’s pretty messed up.
He’s not been with anyone else publicly at school, and we still text all the time, so I’m pretty confident he doesn’t have another girlfriend. The rumours have even shifted towards — no doubt from some disgruntled girl — him thinking himself too good for any of the people at St Clare’s.
So, I form a new plan, one that distances myself. I don’t return the text messages so quickly. I feign a smile or two in class and leave before he can ask what’s wrong. And it kills me inside.
It takes a few weeks for him to catch up to my mood — five weeks after coming back from the Christmas break, in fact. But I’m not quite ready to give up — not completely. So, I send him a text, asking if he wants to come over at the weekend. He doesn’t respond.
And he doesn’t text me again for the rest of the week.
Maybe he’s fed up. Moved on. Whatever the reason, it hurts.
On Friday, I go up to him in the common room at break time, with all his friends around him. This is the ultimate test. The last time.
“Are you coming over tomorrow?” I ask out loud and cross my arms.
The guys around him start to laugh.
“And why would he do that, Little Miss Anna?” Derek chips in.
“Because we’re friends, and we hang out,” I state.
“Anna—” he starts, but I don’t want to hear it. I can tell from his tone that I’m going to be disappointed.
“No. Simple question. Simple answer. Yes or no?”
I hold his gaze, as I hold my breath, desperate for something, some sign that he’s not going to do this. But he just shakes his head and walks off. No answer, no explanation. But the guys don’t lay into mocking me as they would have in the past. They look confused.
And so am I. What’s the big deal about him spending time with me? Is his reputation that important to him? At least I know where I stand now. Absolutely nowhere when it comes to Jeremy Archer.
“Are you okay?” Sammy asks. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
I hadn’t told her my plan, but I know she will approve.
“No. But I was sick of his BS.”
She walked me home that evening, and we commiserated over a tub of chocolate fudge and my pick of films.
Halfway through, there’s a knock at the door. I get up and open it to see Jeremy on the doorstep.
“What do you want?” I gruff at him.
“To talk?”
“Oh, you’ll acknowledge me now? How nice.” I do step back and let him in despite myself.
“Cut it out, Anna. You’re not a bitch.”
“I know. But you are. You treat me like shit, and I’m done with it.”
“Um, shall I pause the film!” Sammy calls from the other room.
Jeremy’s eyes narrow at me, and he takes my hand and all but drags me upstairs, his grip tight; I’m sure he could feel my pulse beating beneath his fingers.
If I were in a better mood, this would certainly be in one of my dreams about Jeremy — being dragged up to my room.
“You don’t understand, Anna,” he starts.
“No, I don’t.” I tear my wrist back. “I thought things would change, that you needed space or whatever. But you just seem to think it’s okay to treat me like I should be thankful for any attention you give me. That’s not friendship, Jeremy.” He paces around the room and shoves his hand through his hair, messing it up.
“Look, if I come out — if I say how I really feel about you, do you think things will stay the same? Do you think people will leave you alone?”
My heart starts beating at his words. Maybe I got this wrong?
“The guys will be hounding me and us. You’ll be a source of gossip at school, and that’s before my parents get involved. They’ll have expectations to come to family events and parade you around like a new toy. I don’t want that.”
The pounding in my chest is distracting, but I won’t just fall at his feet. “I don’t particularly want that either — but I’m not asking to be your girlfriend. I want you to acknowledge me as your friend instead of treating me like a dark little secret. You ignore me in front of your friends. You’re mean, and I don’t like that or deserve it. Plus, who said all of those things will happen? Surely, you’re overreacting. And, lastly,” I point at him. “That’s a shit excuse as to how you’ve been acting since summer.”
Our eyes storm at one another, the tension thick and suffocating.
“Fine. Think what you like.” He crosses his arms.
“You might be used to getting everything you want, but I’m done. You can’t pick and choose when we’re friends. You either treat me with the respect I deserve, or we can just pretend not to know each other at all like it was before the summer.”
“What about in science class? We have to talk to each other.”
“We can talk about science. We don’t have to be friends.”
“You’d go this far?” I can see the flinch on his face. He’s hurt. But tough. He’s been hurting me for months.
“You really think treating me the way you have been is okay?” I fire back at him.
He shakes his head. Moody and angry do look good on him. Annoyingly.
He leaves without another word, slamming the front door behind him.
My pulse is racing, and my emotions feel wobbly. It’s for the best. I deserve better than the scraps of friendship he gives.
“We’re going to need more ice cream,” I announce as I come downstairs.
“I heard. Sorry. I didn’t mean to listen in.”
“It’s okay,” I say, but tears are already misting in my eyes.
I thought he’d be mine. I thought things would change. But I was wrong.
We both keep to our word. We go back to how things were before the summer — before our kiss.
We’re civil in science. No conversation other than what’s needed for the lesson.
And it kills me. Every word said is like a nail digging into my heart, slowly making me bleed.
At night, my phone is empty of messages, and I miss them. I miss him.
And I can’t tell if Jeremy looks worse than before — he’s got his broody image as his armour, and right now, it’s pristine. Maybe he regrets it. Maybe he doesn’t, and it was all a game for him. A cruel experiment like so many teen romcoms are about — tricking the nerdy girl and then actually falling in love. But if that was the idea, why hasn’t he changed his mind?
At least our mock exams loom — they give me a purpose and a good distraction from a broken heart.
And, after a few weeks, it’s easier to forget about what it was like with him in my life, especially as he was only half in.
It’s the first day of mocks. Even though they don’t really count, I’m still nervous — I have to do well next year if I intend to go to university.
We all gather outside the hall and wait to go in, find our seats, and hopefully, not forget everything we’ve been cramming for the last few weeks.
I see Jeremy, but I don’t keep my eyes on him. I’ve become adept at ignoring him. Of course, everyone else still notices him. He still turns girls down like it is a hobby. But instead of wondering why now, I just feel a little sad.
“Good luck.” Sammy grabs my hand and squeezes before we file inside in silence.
She’s sitting two rows over from me. Jeremy is right near the front as we are alphabetically seated.
The energy and nerves thrum through my system, and I can’t help but tap my foot on the floor, bouncing it up and down.
“You may begin.”
Ninety minutes later, and we’re free.
“Oh, that was awful. I hated every minute.”
“Me too. One down, though. Come on. What are you doing?—”
“Anna!” I hear my name in the crowd, and we both turn.
Jeremy is pushing his way through the rest of us. I should move and keep walking, but my feet stay glued to the floor.
“Come on.” Sammy tries to steer me away, but I can’t. I need to know what he wants to say.
He arrives and stands in front of me. The sun beams down, making his eyes bright and beautiful.
I’ve missed tilting up to see his face. And then he leans in and kisses me. No words, no explanation — he just brushes his lips against mine until he deepens the kiss, just like our first time. I stand on tiptoes and fling my arms around his neck, desperate to hold on to him. He wraps his arm around me as he keeps kissing me.
I’m vaguely aware of where we are and of the people around us, but I don’t care.
He’s finally made his choice, and I’m it.