As soon as fourth period is over – a boring physics lesson I had no hope of following – I rush to the head’s office, bag banging against my hip as I ask people for directions. I get lost twice before I stumble into a reception area with four closed blue doors and matching blue carpet. There’s a row of three blue chairs and Jake’s sitting in one of them, his head resting against the wall as he gazes at the ceiling.
‘Tell me you haven’t seen the head yet,’ I blurt.
He tips his head forward and his odd-coloured eyes flicker as they move over me. I touch my pale hair self-consciously when his gaze lands on the length of it hanging down a few inches past my shoulders.
‘It’s still so light, almost silvery,’ he muses.
‘You remember me then?’
‘Of course I do.’ An odd smile plays on his mouth. When he sees me looking, he lifts a hand and rubs the scar like it’s aching.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter, ‘I didn’t mean to stare.’ Sighing, I step closer. ‘So, have you seen the head? I need to speak to him, her, whoever. I need to explain it was me who threw the book.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t just the book – it was the stuff I said. They’re used to it from me.’ From the expression on his face, he doesn’t much care.
‘But if I hadn’t thrown it,’ I insist, ‘you wouldn’t have made the comments to cover for me.’
‘I would. He was pissing me off. He deserved it.’
‘It’s still not up to you to take the blame, Jake.’ Studying his apparent indifference, relaxed body language, and thinking back to the way he spoke to Mr Strickland, I tilt my head. ‘You’re pretty cocky now, aren’t you?’
‘If you say so. Why –’ he grins ‘– do you like cocky?’
‘Hardly,’ I scoff.
‘Shame.’ He sucks his cheeks in, studying me.
‘What happened to you?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. Why, what happened to you?’
It’s a deflection and we both know it, and his slight rudeness makes me blush. I settle into the chair at the other end of the row, so there’s an empty one between us. ‘You don’t need to cover for me, Jake. I appreciate what you did, but I can take care of myself. I know it’ll probably only be a couple of days of detention or maybe a suspension.’
‘I’ve already seen the head, and she’s expelling me. It was my last strike. It’s too late.’
I shoot out of my seat. ‘What?’ My eyes well up with tears. ‘Why didn’t you say something? I’ve got to go in and see her. That’s not right.’
Getting up, he blocks my path, holding me back from a door with an etched sign on it. Head teacher, Mrs Grace Irving. ‘Don’t.’
Despite the fact he’s a few inches shorter than me and skinny, he’s pretty strong. ‘You have to let me,’ I insist. ‘It’s not fair on you.’
‘No.’ He shifts to the left when I try to side-step him. ‘Listen! It’s too late for me here. It was going to happen sooner or later. I’m no good at keeping out of trouble. And if you hadn’t thrown that book then I would have done something else. Maybe something worse.’ He shakes his head, tufty black hair sticking out at all angles. ‘Mr Strickland’s a sexist twat. But you can have a fresh start. Forget what happened today. Begin again. It’s all right here, this school. Most of the teachers are cool.’
‘But—’
‘What’s the point of you owning up and getting in trouble, when I’ll probably end up getting expelled for something else tomorrow?’
I go to protest again, when he pushes me gently away and stares at me beseechingly. ‘Please, Jones.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ I realise there’s something else going on here and am taken aback at the way he uses my surname. We were only ever on first-name terms.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He shakes his head, looking anxious. ‘Just go along with it?’
Pausing, I bite my lip. This is more like the boy I knew, and the expression on his face reminds me of the way he used to look when it was time to go home from the park. It still doesn’t feel right to let him take the blame, but I’m at a complete loss and have tried my best, so after taking a deep breath and tucking away the guilt, I nod. ‘Okay. Thank you.’ I shuffle from one foot to another. ‘But are you going to be okay? Isn’t your dad going to kill you?’
The bored expression is back on his face. He loosens the knot in his school tie and yanks the loop over his head, making his hair even messier. ‘I’ll be fine. Go.’
‘I will, but … why take the blame for me?’
He pauses, and then says quietly, ‘I met you before I met you, and what I saw, I liked. I knew you were a good person.’
‘Well, that’s cryptic. What are you talking about? We met outside our houses on the day you moved in, and then spent the next five days together.’
Delving in his pocket, he unwraps a Polo, biting down on it with a distinct crunch. The smell of mint drifts over me. ‘I’ll tell you one day, when it’s right,’ he says with a shrug, before clearing his throat. He touches a finger to the heart-shaped clasp on my bracelet. ‘You still have it.’
‘Of course. It’s important to me. Mum never came back, but at least I know she thinks of me occasionally.’
His thick eyebrows give him an air of intensity that makes me jittery. It’s weird being with him again.
‘Jones, I need to—’
As he’s speaking, his dad flings his way into reception, curse words filling the air along with the stink of alcohol, and whatever Jake was about to say gets lost in the moment.
***
When the final bell rings, I dive out of last period before grabbing everything I need from my locker and taking a shortcut from the school grounds. I’ve had enough for my first day and am still unsettled by the scene I witnessed outside the head’s office when Jake’s dad turned up. He really is a horrible man. The only highlight of the day was running into Eloise, and after a warm hug, her introducing me to some nice girls she’s friends with.
On the walk home, I stop to study a view which catches my eye. I take out my sketchpad and a piece of charcoal. There’s an alleyway running between two houses, trees and bushes lining it to form an archway of foliage. The shape of the leaves and branches melding in the middle – with rays of sunshine streaming through them to make a dappled shadowy effect on the dirt path – is exquisite. I lose half an hour sketching, while leaning up against a concrete post. It’s only when the light changes I realise I’ve drifted again, and lost time. Crap. Shoving my stuff in my bag, I run the rest of the way home.
‘Sorry,’ I gasp, stumbling through the front door. Moving along the dim flock-papered hallway, I flip off my shoes. The carpet is thick and frayed under my feet and has an ugly red and yellow swirly pattern.
Dad steps out of the lounge, his face strained. ‘You’re late. Where’ve you been? I left work early to be here.’
Stiffening, I try to keep my voice even. ‘Sorry. Something caught my eye on the way home and I stopped to sketch it.’
‘You’re okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
His face softens and he steps forward, putting his large hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently. ‘Leila, we agreed. You can’t keep wandering off. People worry.’
Sliding out from beneath his touch, I walk into the lounge. ‘I told you, I was just sketching.’