Page 22 of Lesson Learned

In the buffet line, I heap my plate high, my stomach actively looking forward to the task ahead.

“Woah,” Floss says, collapsing in the seat next to me. “Didn’t realise you’d been starving yourself up till now.”

“Don’t comment on her food,” Marnie snaps in a distinctly un-Marnie-like voice. “It’s rude, and that’s how people end up with eating disorders.”

“Sure,” she drawls, raising her eyebrows at me while I shrug. “Didn’t mean to suggest you were a fat pig.”

Instead of laughing at the obvious taunt, Marnie glares, appearing genuinely upset.

“Is your face still hurting?” I ask, the most likely cause but she shakes her head. Her frown eases as Floss leaves to fetch her own breakfast, then reappears as she sits again.

“I’m going to class early,” she announces, abruptly standing and looking at me. “You coming?”

“Yeah, just a sec.” I shove the last few rashers of bacon into a breakfast roll and pull a face at Floss, who offers a tight smile of relief. “Catch you later.”

I walk in step with Marnie, neither of us talking until we reach the classroom. The first ones there, we get our choice of seats, and both choose the first row. A sign of nerdiness so blatant we might as well wear a sign over our heads.

As she reaches to the side to pull her phone from her bag, her blouse rides up a little, revealing some spot bruises above her right hip. Fingertip bruises. Deep enough to have a base of dark purple with tinges of green.

They look fresh.

They look sore.

I stare at the floor, concern making my thoughts whirl in chaotic circles. It doesn’t take a genius to work out James put those marks on her. My previous worries transform into seething rage.

But getting upset won’t extricate my friend. She needs support.

“You know what I love about you?” I ask, the question rhetorical but I still wait for Marnie to glance my way before I continue. “I never feel the need to filter anything around you. You’re the only person in my life who doesn’t judge me.”

She smiles and frowns at the same time, her expression lost.

“I’d never judge you, either,” I add in a softer voice. “No matter what it is you tell me. Even if it’s something you think you should feel ashamed of or guilty about.”

She shakes her head, confusion spreading. I’m not being clear enough, but I don’t want to nudge too hard in case it pushes her away.

She’s my best friend. I love her. I want to help her wrestle whatever problems she’s struggling with the same way she helps me with mine.

But the door slams open and the moment’s gone as three boys walk in, jostling each other, a textbook falling to the ground with a thud and the resulting chatter as they point fingers of blame.

As soon as they take their seats, another couple of students enter, then another pair.

I smile at my friend and hope those dark circles under her eyes are bruising from her injury and not insomnia.

“Swot,” Harrison calls, giving my shoulder a friendly shove as he strolls by, his eyes fixed to Brooke’s arse as she walks ahead of him. “You know when you’re first in class, you’re meant to take a seat in the last row.”

“Thanks so much for your wisdom, Harry. Maybe when you’re off remedial, I’ll take it more seriously.”

Remedial is what Kingswood calls it when a student has fallen below expectations for a term or longer.

Instead of getting angry or defensive, he gives me an enormous wink. “Won’t be there for much longer, doll. My last essay knocked it out of the park.”

I wrinkle my nose, taking the compliment. After sweating over ‘his’ essay for hours, the damn thing had been fantastic. Well worth the praise.

The taunt also prompts him to take his phone out and mine beeps a moment later with a cash transfer.

I’m smiling with satisfaction at the figure when the room goes silent, and quickly stow my phone in my bag before turning to look at our new teacher.

Light brown hair. Grey eyes. A body made for dancing.

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