Page 119 of You Float My Boat

Sorry, wrong thread.

Fuck.

My heart gave a nervous thump, while my belly flipped in relief that I hadn’t sent something less easily explainable to Brooks, and I slipped my phone into my pocket before I did it again.

Thankfully, it had been innocuous enough that he’d likely have forgotten about it the second he shut his phone. It wasn’t like I’d asked him to send a picture ofboobs nestled in the green bra to get me through the next few hours.

Because that would have had disaster written all over it.

I’d have fallen at the final hurdle, before I’d even managed to tell him about Violet.

It was today’s plan. Tell Brooks. It was literally all I had on my list.

If I left it any longer I’d be mainlining Alka Seltzer for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

My mind was still flipping between thoughts of Violet’s boobs and how I was going to break the news to Brooks when I almost tripped over a large pile of books. A pile of books along with a girl in a giant beanie who appeared to be crying, based on the volume of the sobbing.

‘Shit, are you okay?’ I bent down to help, only to stand back up when I saw who exactly was crying.

What were the goddamn chances? I mean, seriously. What were they?

Looking around, I’d never seen it so quiet on the path leading along the side of the physics building. I’m sure it was usually much busier. Nearly everyone used it as a cut through between buildings. Surely there was someone else around who could help.

There had to be.

Of all the people who attended Oxford, lived in Oxford, walked down the streetsin Oxford, why did I have to be the one to stumble upon her, and crying of all things.

Another loud sob and I tried hard not to roll my eyes.Tried.

I’d had experience with this particular brand of crying. It was usually of the crocodile variety, though from this close up and the angle I was standing, they did look kind of real. Which was unusual.

‘Charlie?’ Evie wailed. ‘Are you just going to stand there?’

I sighed, though I stopped myself from telling her I’d rather walk off, because my mother had always drilled it into me to behave like a gentleman, and she did genuinely look in some kind of pain, so I bent down.

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know,’ she sniffed. ‘I was walking and then I must have rolled on something and my ankle gave way. I think it’s broken.’

I glanced to where her ankle was stuck under her other leg. It didn’t look broken, and I’d broken bones before. She’d be inwaymore pain.

‘You’ve probably just twisted it.’

‘It hurts so much.’

Again, I tried hard not to roll my eyes because one thing I remembered about Evie was her flare for the dramatic. Spider –scream– any type of creepy crawly– scream– one time I’d suggested we go camping by a lake near to my parents’ house. I never made that mistake again.

‘Can you feel and check?’ she sniffedagain, uncurling her leg and sticking it out to me.

I didn’t need to feel it to know it wasn’t broken. It didn’t even look swollen in the short black socks and those thin flat shoes girls wore.

‘It’s just twisted, Evie. Get some ice and compression on it, tomorrow you’ll be right as rain.’

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