Chapter 21
Emma
All I can think of is Henry and that horrible moment when he pulled back.
We don’t meet all weekend, which is fine by me.
I skip the dining room and go to Irvine’s for pasta and tomato sauce, which I cook in the kitchen for our wing.
Anything’s better than bumping into Henry.
Or Olive, who keeps giving me the kind of look I’d give anyone who wanted to pinch my best friend’s boyfriend.
And it’s not even true. I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to fall in love with Henry.
I wanted a quiet life, but he had to go and turn up and be drop-dead gorgeous, like I’d been begging for it.
I don’t want to see Henry or Grace, Olive, or anyone else.
But I don’t want to think about Glasgow or my dad either.
I have to push it all down, so I run. Two and a half hours on Saturday, cross-country, until I end up in some forest with no idea where I am and get scared that I’ll never find my way back to school.
I do get back though, by which time I can’t feel my feet, and I have a long, hot shower.
And then I lie motionless on my bed. Henry and I almost kissed.
And I wanted to. I wanted him to. I didn’t want him to pull away.
I wanted him to put his hand behind my head and push me up against a wall, with his whole sinewy body and the unrestrained desire that was in his eyes for just one second.
He can’t sleep next to me and wake up with a hard-on, then expect me not to think stuff like this.
He can’t ask me how I am, listen to everything, always, go to Glasgow with me and follow me through the city.
It’s not OK. I hate him. I hate Henry Bennington.
I hate Noah Friedrich. I hate Jacob Wiley.
I hate every fucking man on this planet. And most of all, I hate myself.
I press the balls of my thumbs against my closed eyes as the tears sting them.
It’s not fair. I thought I’d feel better if I came here. But I feel worse. I’ve found my dad, and I wish I could have my naive ignorance back.
I can’t think about it. All of it is driving me crazy. I should be studying, reading the novel we’ve been set for English, doing my prep, using my time here wisely, but I’m not doing any of it. I’m lying motionless on this mattress, hoping that eventually I’ll fall asleep.
I don’t see Henry on Monday either. Not at morning assembly or in the dining room, as he seems to be skipping breakfast.
I only feel Sinclair’s eyes resting heavily on me, then Olive’s as I pass her and Grace on the way to lessons. Grace’s eyes are red and swollen, and I can’t breathe. Has he told her everything? Did they fight? Over me? Did she find out for herself? Has she forgiven him?
I don’t know, and it’s none of my business. I can’t concentrate on PSHE. Not with Olive and Grace staring at my back. I want to get out of here.
I have a free period now before English, but instead of going to the library, like normal, I’m heading for my room. Or that’s the plan as I make for the west wing after class. I’m probably imagining it, but it feels like every pupil in this entire school is watching me. And that’s not possible.
All the same, I keep my head down. At least until I pass a little group of people and hear someone say, “No, they split up, seriously. Come on, you could see she’d been crying.”
My first impulse is to stop, turn back and ask who they’re talking about. It could be any random couple, but somehow, I’m absolutely certain.
“That’s wild,” says one of the girls. “Grace and Henry were so perfect together.”
My heart starts racing, and the thoughts are whirling in my mind.
They split up?
They fucking split up?
Are they crazy?
I force myself to walk on when I feel the girls staring at me. Whispers behind hands. Nods in my direction.
“Congratulations.” I jump as I hear Olive’s voice. “Satisfied now?”
My blood runs cold as she walks past me.
“Livy,” murmurs Grace. “Stop it.”
“Does she think she can come here and just push her way in between everybody? First Tori, then you and Henry. I’m sick of it. Everything’s changed since she started.”
“Well, that’s down to you.” I don’t know where Tori sprang from, but her voice has never sounded as chilly as it does now, as she steps to my side. “I am quite capable of deciding for myself whom I want to spend time with, and I guess Henry is too.”
Olive exhales, and Grace tries to pull her away.
“And yeah, breakups are shit, but there wouldn’t be the tiniest problem between us two if you didn’t keep turning everything into one.”
“Wow, good to know it’s all my fault,” Olive hisses, vanishing into the crowd. Grace follows her after a brief glance in our direction.
“Sorry.” Tori sighs. “But you shouldn’t take it personally.”
“I didn’t want this,” I blurt. “I didn’t want to come between you, and I didn’t want Henry and Grace to . . .”
“Emma, there are two sides to everything.” Tori glares warningly at a bunch of younger kids, who actually walk away now. Even so, I still feel like the entire corridor’s looking at me. “Come on.”
She takes my wrist and pulls me after her. I want to cry as I follow her, despite the drizzle, into the inner courtyard. The air is chilly and heavy with rain, and I force myself to take some deep breaths as I stand with Tori under the narrow eaves, which shelter us from the wet.
“So it’s true then?” I ask her. “They broke up?”
Tori nods. “Henry finished with her. On Saturday. Sinclair told me so.”
Saturday . . . So the day after we were in Glasgow. I shiver. Henry’s face right next to mine, his warm breath on my lips; I can still feel it.
“You went out together on Friday, didn’t you?” says Tori.
I don’t answer, stare into space. The dark cobbles are damp and glistening. A couple of hyperactive juniors run through the rain in their blue Dunbridge jackets. “Yes,” I admit. “We were in Glasgow. We almost kissed.”
To my surprise, I don’t hear a shocked intake of breath from Tori. In fact, I don’t hear anything. When I turn to her, there’s just a slight smile on her lips.
“But he pulled away before anything could happen.” Everything in me is fighting not to say the words out loud. Because it’s so damn humiliating.
“He’s Henry. He always has to do everything right,” Tori remarks, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “He’s the most Cancery Cancer I’ve ever met.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I mutter. “It was horrible. We didn’t say a word to each other after that. I know he regrets it.”
“Emma, the guy’s crazy about you. Sinclair says the same. And we’ve known him forever, so trust me.”
All the same, I don’t dare believe what she’s saying. I can’t allow myself to hope. It would hurt too much.
“Have you seen each other since?” Tori asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Maybe you should talk.”
I say nothing, but just the idea almost turns my stomach. I can’t talk to Henry. I smashed up his relationship. I came to this school and caused nothing but chaos.
“You have to talk,” Tori repeats.
I nod to keep her happy, because what have I got to say to Henry? That he’s made the wrong choice and ought to ask Grace to take him back. They’re made for each other. They’re the perfect couple; everybody knows that.
But my heart keeps racing. I’m weak at the knees. Henry and Grace have split up.
The bell goes for the next lesson. I follow Tori back inside, dodging running juniors, and pray not to bump into Henry.
Henry
The news got around quicker than I’d have liked, but I’m not surprised.
Gossip in this school travels at a speed that would be the envy of any news agency.
I could spend time puzzling over who leaked the information that we’ve split up, but I don’t care.
Everyone was sure to hear about it sooner or later.
And I haven’t the energy to worry about it.
I’m empty. Since being at Grace’s on Saturday, then waking up with a pounding skull after my evening with Sinclair, I’ve been empty.
I couldn’t cry any more or speak to anyone; it wasn’t possible.
I might have called Maeve if she weren’t in Kenya right now, where she’s sure to have more important things to do than listen to her kid brother’s love woes.
So I spent the whole of Sunday in my room, only leaving my bed to go to the bathroom or get the minimum of nutrition into my body.
Sinclair came around—without alcohol this time—and we watched some Netflix series that I can’t remember anything about, and I guess I must have fallen asleep, because suddenly, he was gone.
And then Monday came and I couldn’t hide any longer. It was awful to walk down the corridors this morning and pass little whispering gaggles. Yet that’s nothing to the pain I feel when I remember Grace’s red eyes, which show me that it must be way harder still for her.
We didn’t blank each other; we gave each other tense smiles and said hello. We’re so fucking sensible and grown-up, and I hate it. Because it hurts all the same.
No idea if Emma’s got wind of our breakup, but I’d be surprised if she hasn’t. But what was I expecting? That she’d come to me and we’d be able to pick up where we left off with that almost-kiss last week? That’s bollocks.
I see her again for the first time in English. Head down, no eye contact as I pass her desk. She’s staring at a blank page in her diary, and I don’t have the guts to say anything to her. Not here, in front of everybody else, let alone Mr. Ward, who appears on the dot, as always.
I can’t concentrate on anything, and I’m sure Emma’s the same. Mr. Ward’s still got it in for her. And today, his questions catch me out too because obviously I spent the whole weekend doing anything but my damn prep.