Page 34 of Lesson Learned

His eyes catch my gaze again, gleaming like shiny silver buttons. “I’m sure that’s not true.” He sits fully upright again, his fingertips nudging against the side of my hand, sending a firestorm of embers dancing, reigniting burns on their way. “You’re keeping a secret for me, aren’t you?”

And even if I hadn’t been, I would. I’d keep it through a month of torture just to see that light play across his eyes.

You’re not that girl anymore. And even if you are, he’s off limits.

I snap my concentration back to my folder, feeling rather like I’m being tortured right now. Why would somebody this gorgeous, this perfect, come into my life when I’m not allowed to have him?

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Not likely.

Say something nice. Something normal. Something so he doesn’t know you’re a collection of raging hormones and disastrous decision-making skills. “You’re an excellent teacher.”

“I’m an atrocious teacher,” he says and there’s something sad lurking in the twist of his mouth. Something that makes me want to curl up with him, hug him, whisper to him all the magic words that would make him better. “Luckily, it’s my first week so nobody’s really paying attention.”

“That’s not true.” I frown at the table, casting my mind back over every English lesson I’ve had this week, trying to find evidence to the contrary.

All I stumble across are my wicked thoughts.

When I glance up at him, he’s staring at my food, and I push the tray towards him. “You can steal another chip if you like.”

“Why come to the food court if you weren’t going to eat?”

I nibble on the side of my thumb, a nervous habit from way back that I can’t seem to shake. “My best friend keeps inviting her boyfriend to our table for meals.”

“You’re not a fan?”

“No.”

“Want me to fail him in English?”

I smile with glee before I can catch myself, then reverse traction halfway through, shaking my head. “James isn’t in our class. He’s with Mr Lanchard.”

“James Malloch?”

The sharpness of his voice surprises me and I glance up at him, frowning. “Yes.”

He shakes his head, looks like he wants to say something, then clamps his mouth shut.

“What is it?”

“I…” He shifts in his seat, looking uneasy. “He’s a nasty piece of work. You’re right to steer clear.”

The same fear that always dances in my head regarding Marnie surges. “What’s he done?”

“It’s not…” He glances to the side, then checks over his shoulder. “His family is involved with organised crime. It’s not the greatest environment to grow up in.”

“Oh.” I look back down at my notes. “Do you always judge people by their families?”

“If you’re asking in general, yes. I’m as open to stereotypes as the next bloke.” Then his fingertip brushes against my hand again. “If you’re asking what I think of you, I couldn’t give a shit who your family is.” He stops teasing, moving so his hand rests atop mine. Encapsulating it in its warmth. His voice drops to a whisper, “I think you’re wonderful.”

I stare into his eyes, scared to move, never wanting the moment to end. Then someone drops a tray and Mr Bradley springs back, jerking his hand away and fisting it on top of his thigh, turning to look around him with an air of confusion.

“Why are you at the mall?” I ask to recapture his attention.

He shrugs. “I thought about watching a movie.”

“Oh, which one? The new Taika movie started yesterday.”

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