Page 62 of The Book Swap

“I sort of love how disheveled she is.” I jump out of the car and run toward the library, putting the books front and center. If he’s anything like me, he’ll check first thing in the morning on his way to work, when most other people are way too busy to stop and pick up a book.

“So, that was it,” Georgia comments as I climb back in. “And did you declare your undying love for him yet, or does that come later?”

“No,” I say. “But I did suggest meeting up. Happy birthday to me.”

She looks across at me, mouth wide open. “Yeah, you did!” She shoves me on the arm and I grab it, pretending it’s bruised, so she rolls her eyes and puts the car in Reverse.

“Look, look, look!” She slows down, pointing out a figure as they cross the road toward the library.

I look from them, to Georgia and back again.

“Probably some drunk,” I say, unable to take my eyes off them. It’s a man. Definitely. A man, in a Barbour-type jacket.

He bends down and open the doors, seemingly oblivious to the headlights from the car.

“Surely not,” Georgia says out of the corner of her mouth, as my heart starts racing.

He pulls something out and then stands up, patting the roof of the library in the same way that I always do. As though he’s saying thank you.

Georgia inches the car forward, and I reach over, holding my arm out. “Stop! He’ll see,” I say, lurching forward as she presses the brake.

He turns and squints, staring straight at the car with two books clutched against his chest.

Thrusting myself back against the seat, I feel my chest tighten so much I’m not sure I can breathe.

“Oh my God,” I mutter under my breath at the exact same time as Georgia speaks, her voice shrill with confusion.

“Is that...James Parr?”

24

JAMES

There’s a sense of relief as I see the two spines slotted into the library. Relief that it’s all coming to an end, because when I put my next book in the library, I’m telling her everything. I’ll lose her, but in doing that I’ll set her free. I just need to figure out what the book is. I thought I’d know by now, but each one I choose doesn’t quite say what I want it to.

Holding a hand up over my eyes, I clutch the books to my chest and squint toward the car, blinded, before the passenger door swings open, and the lights switch to low beam.

“I was starting to think I could forgive you.” I recognize the voice, stinging with anger, before I can make out who it is. Erin’s walking toward me, looking so beautiful I can’t look away. Her hair’s falling in smooth waves around her face, and she’s got dark makeup around her eyes so that in the light from the headlamps, they’re sparkling. She’s wearing a long black coat, and her lips, which are bright red, are set in a thin line. Her expression makes the one she had on the bus seem friendly.

“I’d convinced myself that I made it worse in my head. That you would have never intentionally hurt me. I’d even started hoping you might be at the memorial, so that we could talk about it.” She spits the last words.

Swallowing, I look down and back up. The anger falls from her face, as it crumples. “I don’t understand what I’ve done to you,” she says, her words thick with confusion. Her features soft. “I thought we were friends. More than friends, even. But actually, you must hate me. I don’t get why else—”

“I don’t hate you. Of course I don’t.” My stomach lurches as I walk toward her, arms outstretched. How could she think that? “If anything it’s—”

“There’s no other explanation.” She looks around, and I’m trying to think how to correct her, but I know it has to be right. I’ve only got this one chance to explain myself. To finally get her to see me for who I really am. “Do you enjoy it? Building up my feelings, then crushing them? Does it make you feel good? Give you the power you never had over the boys at school?”

I shake my head. “No. I hated hurting you then, and I hate that I’ve hurt you now. It’s the absolute opposite of what I want. How can you not see that?”

“What proof is there?” she shouts, her voice ringing out into the darkening night. “All I see is one bullshit lie after another. Is your name even James? Or is it Edward?”

I flinch, guilt washing over me and rendering me speechless as she rolls her shoulders back, standing taller.

“How long have you known it was me? Have you been following me?” She curls her lip as though I’m someone to be disgusted by. All I want is for her to look at me the way she used to when we were in school. I start talking in a panic.

“Absolutely not. I swear I didn’t know it was you until the bus. I—”

“The bus?”

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