Page 10 of Still Falling for You

John’s comment unnerves me because my fashion choices had always been a sore point between me and Aaron, who stated once that I dressed like a French schoolgirl mixed with Lolita. I was astonished he managed to come up with a literary reference of any sort because Aaron has always been a bibliophobe. As a result of our opposing opinions on fashion, he constantly treated me to overpriced black dresses that I detested and he couldn’t afford.

I take a bite of the cookie, and it dissolves on my tongue like spun sugar. I must moan out loud because John chuckles. ‘That good?’ I nod with embarrassment. ‘Oh man, I wish I still enjoyed eating crap like this.’ He checks the corridor when he swears, but the school seems abandoned. ‘Ever since I did a nutrition course a few years back and learnt what this does to your arteries, I can’t enjoy the simple pleasures of life. Luckily, there are other pleasures to enjoy.’ He winks at me, and I laugh out loud at his attempt to be seductive.

I don’t take his suggestive tone personally because I’m starting to gather that that’s his way of communication. Despite this, Lydia’s words creep into my head.Would it be so bad to have a quick romp with Mr PE Teacher to do a bit of unnecessary exorcism to rid you of Aaron?I shake my head to clear the invasive thought. I’m done with men. Plus, John doesn’t really do it for me.

I’m still grinning at John’s goofiness when I hear a cough. In sync, we turn our heads around to witness Alex exiting his office. A deep scowl working onto his face, he nods in acknowledgement as he breezes past us. My nose registers the woody fragrance of his expensive aftershave, and all of a sudden, my heart has swelled to twice its original size and feels too big for my ribcage. How long has he been listening?

‘Yikes. That was chilly even for Mr Boss.’ John eyes me with uncomfortable intensity.

I swiftly change the topic. ‘Whose cookies am I eating anyway?’ We start walking towards the upper floor where my classroom is.

‘Becky and Danielle’s. Do you want to join us for a tea break at ten?’

At least someone seems to like me here.

I reluctantly make vague plans of finding them later because I was planning on holing up in the classroom, working through my lunch and not leaving until I had everything ready for next week. I wasn’t planning on including any time for social interactions, tea breaks or even toilet breaks. I’ve learnt that one can achieve double the amount of work when equipped with finger food and thermos flasks.

By the time I’m left in peace for a few hours, I start falling into a false sense of security. That is until Alex stops by my classroom mid-morning. He even goes to the great lengths of knocking on the door before he enters, as opposed to John and Danielle who barged in without a second thought an hour ago and had left a mess of finished cups and half-empty plates of biscuits.

When Alex knocks on the door, I’m studying the last year’s planning template. I lift my head as he walks in and immediately freeze.

His face is wearing a customary unapproachable expression so unlike the Alex I knew. But I promised myself to stop makingconnections between the person in front of me and the Alex I knew ten years ago.

I try not to study him, but it’s hard not to notice the muscles forming under his crisp white shirt. He’s abandoned his jacket and waistcoat today and opted for charcoal trousers and a white shirt. The outfit makes him look much younger and less severe, that is until my attention draws back to his face.

He uses that cool, we’ve-never-met tone that unnerved me so much yesterday. ‘I trust you have had a productive day so far.’ He silently judges the empty, shrivelled-up packets of biscuits.

I just incline my head because, apparently, I can’t be trusted to be professional around him as a number of inappropriate and unprintable words automatically spring to my mind.

‘I’ve already spoken to Danielle. I won’t be able to join you planning because I have an emergency meeting with Jane and the board of governors this afternoon,’ he stiffly informs me. A part of me feels relieved that our imminent planning session is postponed, but a minuscule part tucked at the back of my mind deflates.

I nod. I’m so proud of my polite detachment that I could pat myself on the shoulder and pin a golden rosette to my chest. I almost don’t notice how his shoulder muscles press against the shirt when he folds his arms in front of him in a gesture that says he wants to say more but thinks better of it.

An errant memory of what his body felt like on top of me when we were teenagers lances through my conscious mind. Sometimes even now, I can’t stop imagining what sexwould have been like with him. Through rose-tinted glasses of teenagerhood, the chemistry between me and Alex was all-encompassing. We were frantic, all hands and hungry mouths. I’ve never felt such energy with anyone who came after Alex. I tell myself that all first physical experiences are like that. Despite trying hard not to relive the past, I’m transported to ten years ago when it all started.

*

The coach is full, except for two seats. One next to me in the front of the coach, the seat of honour for the cursed people who suffer from travel sickness like me, and the doomed seat by the toilets that is affectionately known among our classmates as theshit seat.

My nerves are jangling, pleading wordlessly with myself to not vomit on the coach. I don’t mind a sneaky vomit in whatever services we stop at, but puking here would be social suicide. I can’t even get excited about the fact that I’m going to France for the first time because of the torturous eight-hour journey ahead of us that I can’t share with Vicky because she flat out refused to sit by the teachers and instead flopped down next to Jade at the back. And Catherine got a terrible bout of flu two days before the trip. At least I’ve got the seat next to me to myself becausenobody wants to be next to a person who might decorate their outfit with projectile vomit. To save my middling reputation, I haven’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch and doped myself with enough motion-sickness tablets this morning that would sedate a horse. My head is drowsy and my belly won’t stop growling like a starving bear cub.

I vaguely listen to Mr Browne calling out people’s names and ticking them off his list as my classmates holler back. He reminds everyone to check their passports one more time because, quote, ‘whoever fails to present one at the passport control, will be abandoned on the spot with no remorse and left to their devices, meaning they will have to find their way back home, be it hitchhiking or walking’. Mr Browne thinks he’s funny sometimes.

The driver, Ms Serrurier, the French teacher, is setting the satnav for Paris past Calais. Everyone is strapped in and ready to go, but last minute somebody bangs on the closed door of the coach. Mr Browne remarks dryly, ‘This must be your luckyday. One minute and we would have been off to France.’

‘How timely of me,’ a familiar voice says as a head with messy ginger waves appears on the steps of the coach. A few girls closest to me titter.

‘Find yourself a space, Mr Bennet,’ Mr Browne says flatly, not impressed by Alex’s comment.

My body clenches as his attention lands on me, eyes unblinking. He doesn’t check whether there are any more seats available and immediately swings his backpack over my head, stuffing it into the compartment above. He proceeds to seat himself next to me. Apart from a subtle nod, he doesn’t acknowledge me after that. On top of worrying I’m going to purge my stomach of the last vestiges of food all over the seats, I’m now terrified of spending the next eight hours with Alex Bennet because as much as we’ve spent the last month swapping notes, I have no idea what to say to him.

For twenty minutes, there is deafening silence between us. I can hear Vicky, as always a little loud, retelling a story about how her mother found a condom in her underwear drawer and went ballistic. I think I see Alex roll his eyes, but maybe I’ve imagined it.

‘Late or travel nausea?’ Alex asks without preamble like he’s unable to listen to any more of Vicky’s far-fetched stories despite half the coach being entertained by them.

‘Pardon?’ I startle and knock my elbow into his abdomen. I mumblesorry, unnerved by his closeness. I’m a frayed rope about to snap.

‘Why are you sitting in the second-worst seat in the entire coach?’ He nods towards the teachers two meters away. As if toreinforce his question, Jessica starts sneaking small sips from a metal flask at the back and passing it to others. Vicky throws me a strange look, but I have no energy left to decipher it.

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