Chapter 11 Eleven Years Earlier #3
“Oh?” I erase the little flower I drew in the top corner of my page before Mr Robson comes over to collect our answers and tells me off again for doodling over my work. “I’ll be there. Waiting for my brother to finish basketball.”
I wasn’t going to say anymore, but the bell rings and desperation tightens my chest. My next words are spoken with a flourish. “I would really love for you to come keep me company.”
With that, I leave my work behind, grab my books and all but fly out of the classroom before he can respond, my cheeks leaving a trail of blazing heat behind me.
I’ve been at the gazebo for a whole fifteen minutes and have all but given up any hope of Zayn coming when I finally hear footsteps.
“You came,” I smile over at Zayn as he approaches, and when he makes it to the gazebo, he swings his bag down next to mine. He sits close enough to me that when I look up into his guarded eyes, I can now see that they’re not black but a deep, dark chocolate brown.
“How could I not?” He asks gruffly, looking away to lean forward and prop his forearms onto his knees. “You asked so nicely.”
I pull the sleeves of my jumper down to cover my goosebumps, even though I know they’re not caused by the cold. I’m not sure the next words out of my mouth are the right ones, but I feel like I need to clear the air anyway.
“About the other afternoon-” I start, but Zayn quickly cuts me off.
“Please, don’t mention it.”
“Okay,” I hesitate. “But I just want to say sorry,” I rush out anyway.
He looks at me with a raised brow. “I said don’t mention it. Besides, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I do. I didn’t defend you.”
“It’s not your job to. You don’t even know me.”
I look down to my lap at my clasped hands. “Maybe I want to.”
I fiddle with a loose thread inside my sleeve.
“Want to what?” He asks slowly, and even though I feel his gaze burning a hole into my cheek, I can’t meet his eyes.
“Know you.”
I’ve never had a boyfriend before. Never even had a crush. My body has never responded to anyone before like it does to Zayn, and all I know is that I don’t want this feeling to end. I like how it feels to be around him.
He intrigues me, and I want to get to know him better, if he’ll let me.
“Gianna,” he starts slowly, and I get the crushing feeling that I’m about to be let down. “I don’t think- ,” He stops, leans forward, runs his fingers through his already messy black hair. “I don’t think that being seen with me is the kind of attention you want.”
I stare at him.
“What?”
“I’m-” He hesitates again, then lets out a resigned sigh and slumps his shoulders. “I’m poor. Like can’t afford lunch, poor. I’m only able to attend this school because I got in on scholarship. My mum’s an addict. My dad isn’t around. You seem to be the only person that doesn’t know this.”
His voice is low, detached, as though he’s speaking about someone else.
My heart sinks for him and the hardships he obviously has to live with every day, but the live current that’s been singeing over my skin since the first moment I laid eyes on him is still as present as ever.
If he thinks his revelation is going to deter me, then he’s wrong about me.
Nothing about his situation is his fault.
None of this makes him a bad person, just a very unlucky one.
“So?” I ask, my voice choking over the lump forming in my throat. “What does that have to do with me getting to know you?”
He glances over at me, emotionless, as his eyes cast over my face.
“Do you want to get to know me?” I then ask shyly, realising that I haven’t actually asked him what he wants.
He glances away, his jaw clenching as he gives me a single nod. The butterflies take flight.
“Then let’s get to know each other.” I reach down for my backpack and pull out a lunchbox, setting it down between us.
“I obviously packed this before your confession,” I say, suddenly very self-conscious about Zayn’s reaction, “so I’m not trying to treat you like a charity case.
” I flinch as Daniel’s words on Tuesday, and Zayn’s hostility when I’d offered him a bag of chips, float through my mind.
“But I made us a snack for while we hang out and I hope you’ll accept it. ”
I take the lid off the lunchbox to reveal the sandwiches I made this morning. “I don’t mean to brag, but even my ass hat brother admits that I make the best sandwiches.”
I offer him a continental, and he hesitates for a moment before taking it.
“Thanks.”
I take one too and, with a big bite, groan in pleasure as I chew.
“Admit it. Best sandwich you’ve ever had.”
His eyes meet mine and I see a flicker of amusement flash through them before he takes a bite, chews and swallows, then says, “I’ve had better.” He glances down at his sandwich. “Too much butter.”
We both erupt into laughter, the ice well and truly broken, and then fall into comfortable conversation about our classes. I answer questions about my family while we finish eating. I’m careful to avoid any topic of Zayn’s home life unless he brings it up, which he doesn’t.
The next hour flies by in what feels like a minute, and before I know it, I hear the faint sound of the horn that signifies the end of basketball training.
I don’t want to leave Zayn yet. In fact, I don’t want to leave this spot with him ever, but if I don’t get my butt back up to the gym Tony will come looking for me.
And I need Tony to tell my parents that I’m meeting some boy behind the gym like I need a hole in the head, that’s for sure.
I rip my bag open, ready to stuff my empty lunchbox back in, when I glimpse the object I tucked away in my bag on Tuesday night.
“Look,” I say slowly to Zayn. He’s sitting back against the step, watching me quietly while I pack my stuff away, in no hurry to leave himself.
I briefly wonder how long he stays out here.
Does he study here to avoid going home? Is it just him and his mum?
Is his mother waiting for him at home with dinner ready like mine is? I stash the thoughts away for later.
“I know we just met, and we’re still getting to know each other. But I’m ready to give you my heart.”
He quirks an amused brow, waiting for me to elaborate.
I pull out my seventh Harry Potter book, worn and weathered from the countless times I’ve read it, and cradle it to my chest. I’d annotated the pages with little pictures and thoughts I’d had while reading it.
Will he think they’re stupid? I guess I’ll find out. I reach out with a shaky hand.
“For you. To borrow.”
I hand it to him and he takes it, not taking his dark eyes away from mine.
“Thanks,” he says slowly, before finally glancing down at the cover. “I’ll look after it for you.”
I didn’t know it then, but one day soon I would offer him my other heart, the one that was beating wildly inside my chest, and he would reach out and take it just as easily.