Popping The Cherry. Aurelia Rowl B.

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СКАЧАТЬ allowance already. I don’t know where you put it all.’ Gemma checked her watch, then pulled me into another hug. ‘Right, I’d better get back inside before the bell goes. Talk to you later, yeah?’

      ‘Will do. Go on, you’d better run,’ I said, shooing her towards the main building. The bell rang right on cue. ‘Bye,’ I called out to her hastily retreating back. She tossed her hand up as a wave and carried on power-walking.

      Idiot that I was, I didn’t think to dump my text books before I left college. I envied Gemma’s speed and agility when the walk to the baker’s took longer than usual, thanks to the weight of my bag. My shoulder throbbed and sharp, stabbing twinges kept shooting up my spine in addition to the rapidly worsening tension headache. At least I’d had enough sense to bring my painkillers with me.

      I fell onto the shiny silver bistro chair as if it was my new best friend—my long-lost brother even—and the old woman behind the counter shot me a sympathetic smile. She came to the table to take my order, which the staff weren’t supposed to do, so I must have looked as much of a wreck from the outside as I felt on the inside. I winced as I lifted my heavy bag onto my lap. Damned if I could find the stupid pills, though. My bag had turned into Mary Poppins’s carpet bag somewhere on the walk and I spent forever rummaging through the crumbs and hair bobbles. Man, I needed to clean out my bag more often!

      OK, so it would have helped if I’d remembered putting them in the zip pocket on the front at the outset, but I figured it out in the end. Triumphant, I tossed the white plastic packet onto the table and nearly knocked the tray out of the woman’s hands.

      ‘Omigod! I’m so sorry,’ I said.

       What a klutz!

      If I kept this up, I’d do someone an injury. Maybe I should be using my free period to draw up a poster? A warning to everyone to stay away from me for their own safety. For an old lady, she had better reactions than I had. She managed to save my huge mug of mocha, extra sugar, and my pain-au-chocolat from hitting the deck.

      ‘No harm done,’ she said kindly.

      Sure enough, the only evidence of my stupidity was the big slop of cream sliding down the side of mug. And it was getting away. I lunged forward to ‘save’ it—which makes it sound as if I actually had a choice in the matter—and blocked its path with my finger. The cream with its dusting of cocoa settled along the length of my finger. I had it now. Dipping my head to meet my finger halfway, I shoved the gooey spoils into my mouth and moaned as my taste buds took over.

      The woman laughed and said, ‘I’d have done exactly the same.’

       Oops!

      I’d forgotten I had an audience. I offered her a feeble smile, my cheeks warming rapidly. She patted my shoulder, then turned and walked away, but I’d barely managed one bite of my pain-au-chocolat before she was back.

      ‘Get those down you,’ she said, indicating the painkillers and plonking a glass of water in front of me.

      Man, I must look bad.

      I half expected her to watch me take the tablets, as my mum used to do when I was little, but she shuffled back behind the counter and left me to it. Only when I was certain she wasn’t about to pop up over my shoulder again did I risk getting the crumpled sheet of paper out of my bag. Even then, I kept it out of sight beneath the table, too ashamed to be caught with it. I grabbed my phone out, too, and checked for messages. Nothing. Good. So I put it on the table next to my mug.

      After another quick scan of the baker’s-stroke-café, I was satisfied no one was watching me. A tingle of excitement buzzed in my fingertips as I spread the page across my thigh, pressing it firmly with both hands to ease out most of the creases. Time to check out the nominated ‘candidates’ and also try to come up with a few of my own. I’d read only halfway down the list when the door opened, drawing my attention, and in walked one of the guys from college. I knew that only because I’d seen him on the same bus as I’d been on nearly every weekday since September, the mysterious emo guy who always sat at the back with his headphones in his ears and his eyes closed.

      Fascinated to see him with his eyes open and actually moving, I watched him stride over to the counter to place his order. His body language and his voice exuded a level of confidence that made me pay close attention whether I wanted to or not. He was dressed all in black, his skinny jeans and black T-shirt a complete contrast to his pale, angular face. His long, midnight-black hair fell loose over his shoulders, easily as long as mine, reaching past his shoulder blades. When he turned to look around for somewhere to sit, his bright green eyes met mine.

       Who is he?

      Instead of being embarrassed, caught staring, there was something hypnotic about him that stopped me from averting my gaze. One side of his mouth cocked into a half-smile and he gave me a single nod by way of greeting, breaking eye contact only when a hand tapped him on the shoulder. His order ready, he turned his back to me and—just like that—the spell was broken, releasing me. I reached for my latte, drinking deeply with my eyes closed, gripping the mug to stave off the sudden chills.

      Sensing movement near me, I opened my eyes. A tall, dark figure appeared in my peripheral vision and my heart fluttered. Emo Guy was already halfway across the room, mug in hand, and the list was spread out on my lap. Lunging for my bag would be too obvious. I had to think fast. The fluttering sensation turned into a hammering but my fingers still worked. Keeping my movements small, I folded the list in half, then discreetly slid it between my thighs and crossed my legs to hide it.

      Close up, he seemed even more vampire-like—in true Gothic style—and I half expected to see fangs when he opened his mouth. Emo Guy wasn’t my usual type at all, but he was definitely hot in his own kind of way.

      ‘Hi, Lena isn’t it?’ he asked.

      The words for my planned introduction dried up in my mouth—he already knew my name—so I gawked up at him and nodded like an idiot.

      ‘Mind if I join you?’

      This time I shook my head, still scrambling to find my voice.

      ‘Thanks.’ Emo Guy cocked another grin, as if pleased with the effect he’d had on me. I’m glad it pleased somebody, because it was doing my head in. He put his mug of steaming black coffee onto my table, then nimbly eased into the seat opposite. ‘My name’s Hayden.’

      Hayden.

      Why did his name sound familiar?

      Hayden did most of the talking—the usual small talk—and the next half an hour flew by. I wasn’t at all surprised to learn he was a musician—it was either that or acting. After two failed attempts at eating my pain-au-chocolat without making a mess, I gave up and wrapped it in my napkin, but it gave me the excuse I needed to grab my bag. I stowed the shortlist at the same time as the pastry.

      Phew.

      The alarm on my phone sounded, signalling that my free period almost over. I had to get going: I couldn’t afford to miss another English lit class, but I didn’t want to appear too keen by asking to exchange numbers. Hayden followed my cue, though, and walked back to college with me; he even carried my bag. As we went our separate ways to get to class, I hoped I’d see him again, especially once I realised why his name was familiar.

      I didn’t have to wait long. Hayden sought me out on the bus home and plonked himself into СКАЧАТЬ