Page 46 of The Book Swap

Does she remember the party? Walking in on us in Isla’s bathroom? It felt the same, just now, sitting beside him again—the closeness, the messiness, the nerves. I need to forget the feeling. Get rid of it somehow.

Bonnie puts her book down and watches me. “How weird though. To see him now. In London.”

“I know.”

“On the same bus.”

“Yup.”

“Side by side.”

“Yes.” I reach for my tracksuit bottoms and pull them on, picking up Callum’s The Sea Isn’t Real T-shirt, which has somehow become mine.

“Don’t you think that means something? Like, of all of the people in the world? It’s like a message from the universe to deal with your past.”

I shake my head, swearing as I struggle to get my arm through the sleeve.

“Absolutely not. When the past comes knocking, don’t answer.”

“I think that’s only in horror movies.”

I finally get the T-shirt on and pull it down. “I’ll never forgive him.”

Bonnie shrugs. Locks eyes with me. “Then neither will I.”

His blue eyes were so warm for that split second before I looked away. His hair was all messed up by the rain. A wave of sadness flooded his face as I moved away from him.

There’s a knock at my bedroom door. It swings open, banging against the wall behind it. Callum’s standing there, bleary eyed, swaying slightly.

“Oh. You look like you need cheering up,” he says, walking toward me wearing just his boxers. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed before how skinny his legs are. I almost let out a laugh at the realization. They’re so pale, and popping out of his pants like two little matchsticks—but I do want a distraction from what’s just happened. It’s like he senses it. He stumbles slightly and I shift upward in bed. I catch sight of Middlemarch on the table next to me, and my heart thumps in my chest. I have more fun hanging out with Mystery Man than I ever have with Callum. We actually have things to say to each other.

“I know just the trick,” Callum says, the word “just” coming out as though it has a few too many s’s in it. He reeks of beer. Normally I don’t care. I want it to happen. But now I can’t stop looking at Middlemarch, thinking about the questions that lie waiting in the back of it. I’m ready to answer them.

I involuntarily screw my nose up as Callum gets closer, pushing his boxers down to the ground, to reveal a penis as noticeably skinny as his legs. What the fuck have I been doing?

“I’m seeing someone,” I blurt out and he stops, stumbling backward, his chin landing against his chest.

“Nah, mate. I’d know.” My revelation only slows him momentarily. Why would he be deterred by such a statement, when he’s pissed and wants to have sex with me? He needs more.

“I don’t want to,” I shout, pulling the duvet up around me and backing up against the farthest wall.

“You know what you are?” he says, pointing his finger at me. “You’re a fucking prick tease.”

“If you can call that a prick,” I say furiously, flinging my hand against my mouth after I say it. I didn’t mean to get nasty; I just want him to leave. I want to be alone with Mystery Man.

He spins and storms out of my bedroom, slamming the door behind him and leaving his skid-marked boxers on my bedroom floor. Jumping up, I pincer them between my thumb and forefinger and chuck them out of the door, shutting it firmly behind me. I pick up Middlemarch.

I’ve finally finished it and I definitely didn’t give it my full attention. I just wanted it to end so I could reread Beloved, answer his questions and ask him some more. I wish we’d chosen poems so we could do this every day. As much as I want to deny it, this isn’t really about the books any more; it’s becoming only about learning more about him. I don’t know how or when that happened.

While my responses to his most recent questions have been taking shape inside my head for the last couple of weeks, I’ve yet to answer them, and now it feels like the only thing that will get me through what just happened—the run-in with James. Then I read the first question again, and I don’t know if I can do it. I glance toward the chair that Bonnie’s no longer in, and back to the book. I can’t answer the first question yet. It hurts too much. I skip straight to question twelve.

11. What’s your greatest regret? (You can thank Gatsby for that one!)

12. What’s your dream job?

You got me thinking about that, with your answer about what you’re doing with your life. If the author thing doesn’t work out, you should consider being a life coach! In the future, I see myself helping people to fall in love with books. I want to be a teacher. You’re the first person I’ve admitted that to.

13. What makes you happiest?

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