Chapter 1 #3
It feels a bit like a dream as Val turns to me and puts his hand on my back.
I feel his muscles as I take his hand. It’s only for a wee while, but I suddenly remember Sinclair and those ceilidh dance classes in the third form.
My friend had surprisingly firm biceps, and for some reason, I couldn’t touch him without getting butterflies in my stomach.
Then Mr. Acevedo nearly had to throw us out because we spent almost every lesson giggling hysterically and getting all the steps wrong.
It hits me like lightning as I look over Val’s shoulder, up toward the entrance, right into Sinclair’s expressionless face.
He’s leaning on the banisters next to the doors.
Emma and Henry have switched to full-on making out; Gideon’s standing next to him and his lips are moving, but Sinclair isn’t even pretending to listen.
He’s looking down at Val and me, and his eyes bore directly into my soul.
“Hey, I’m over here.”
I turn my head back to Val. His smile doesn’t fit his sharp tone. Did he spot Sinclair and the others, or was it meant as a joke? I search his face for any hint that he’s pissed off but see none.
“Sorry.” I smile.
Val pulls me a little closer. “Having fun?” he asks.
I nod. It’s a reflexive action. “Yeah, great.”
“Oh, Tori . . .” He sighs as we move in time with the music. “What am I doing wrong?”
“What do you mean?” I reply at once. “It’s lovely, honestly.”
“Would you rather go back to your wee pals?”
Is it really that obvious? I have to make more of an effort. “No. I’m here with you.”
“Yes, you are,” says Val. Suddenly, he looks me in the eye.
Not just a quick, fleeting glance; it’s real and deep, a look that paralyzes me from the inside out.
Will we kiss now? In books and films, it would be about the time for it.
A tight embrace on the dance floor. Lean in, shut your eyes. Help.
I don’t know if Val senses my panic. He moves back slightly, lifts his arm, and I spin.
When he pulls me in close again, I feel his hand lower down than it was before.
A nervous tingle runs through my body. From the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes.
It’s almost like I’m hyperaware of each of his movements.
The song ends and, of course, it’s like all those dire high-school movies.
A slow dance starts. Val puts both hands on my bum and presses me up to his body.
“Watch it there, pal.”
No idea where she just sprang from, but before I’ve properly grasped what’s happening, Eleanor Attenborough’s adjusting Val’s hands on my back. And by adjusting I mean moving them way up.
“You consider yourself a gentleman, don’t you?” She blows him a kiss as he opens his mouth in outrage. Her eyes meet mine and she studies me for a moment. It’s not a glare; it’s more attentive than intimidating. It’s an are you OK with what’s going on here? look.
I give her an uncertain smile and it’s only then that she turns away and vanishes back into the throng.
“Sheesh, Eleanor,” Val mumbles, imitating her. “Watch it there, pal . . . Shit, jealous much?”
I don’t reply. Val might see things differently, but I don’t really get the impression Eleanor’s pining for him. How long were the two of them even together? Two months, tops—but clearly long enough for everyone at Dunbridge to have been talking about them. But that’s just how it is here.
“If you ask me, she’s not all there.” I don’t have time to react as Val takes my hand and pulls me away. “Whatever. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
My gut tells me it would be unwise to contradict him, so I follow. Val does seem kind of jittery. A minute ago, he wanted to dance and not leave yet. Is it the cocaine? In that case, he shouldn’t be on his own, should he?
There’s no sign of Sinclair, Gideon, Emma, or Henry as we head up the steps to the door. Or Val’s friends in the foyer. He doesn’t look at me, just pulls his phone from his pocket as we step outside.
“Bet they’re behind the gym,” he says. “Are you cold?”
My stomach lurches as he actually pulls off his jacket and hands it to me. Wasn’t so hard. That’s my first thought. My second is, Oh, my God, Valentine Ward’s offering me his jacket. Of course it’s too big for me, and I love that.
“Shall we join the others?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Or would you rather find your friends?”
He asks without that tone of reproach, but his eyes are heavy with expectation as he looks at me. There’s only one correct answer; I know that.
“No.” I shake my head. Besides, I don’t even know where they are now. “Let’s go.”
Val smiles the smile in which only one corner of his mouth twitches. It’s so attractive.
“I knew you’d make the right decision,” he says. We turn the corner and he presses me up against a wall, in his jacket, in the dark. My heart explodes. “Victoria Belhaven-Wynford, you’re way too cool for your lower-sixth pals. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“You’re the first.”
Val grins. “Am I indeed?”
And then he kisses me.
It’s just one single, fluid movement, and I didn’t see it coming. I feel the cold wall through his jacket and my heart beating up against Val’s lips.
Breathe through your nose. Close your eyes.
That’s what all the novels say. God, even the women in books who’re doing this for the first time can manage it.
It’s in their blood. And this isn’t my first kiss.
OK, it is the first proper one, but when I close my eyes, Sinclair’s sitting on that windowsill, his blond hair falling into his eyes as we both move back.
Val puts his hands into my hair and pulls me closer.
He doesn’t ask if this is all right. He just takes ownership of me, as if the only way a woman can survive is to be owned.
Books have taught me that this is romantic, but just now, it feels more threatening.
Like an invitation to something I might not be ready for.
I don’t flinch because I don’t get the chance. And because part of me is enjoying what’s going on. My stomach is tingling and my knees are weak.
I jump as people come closer. Val pays them no attention. He pushes his leg between my knees, and my body responds. Nervous throbbing. I kiss him.
And my best friend watches.
There’s a blank look in Sinclair’s eyes, and it shoots directly into my belly, like a jet of ice-cold water. A split second passes. Then he turns away. Val stops as a suppressed sound escapes me.
His lips glisten; his pupils are wide as he pulls back. It scares me in a thrilling kind of way.
“Am I the first?” he repeats.
I don’t know what he wants to hear. Would he like it to be true? The kiss with Sinclair in the second form doesn’t really count. It was only messing around. I nod. My mouth is dry.