Page 11 of Still Falling for You

‘Motion sickness, I’m afraid.’ I shrug, narrowly avoiding his torso. Despite his wide shoulders, he’s lean and boyish in shape, his pale arms in a grey T-shirt covered in golden freckles. ‘But don’t worry, I won’t cover you in vomit. There would have to be something in my stomach, and I can tell you that it’s even more barren than the Sahara at this point,’ I blurt and as if planned, my belly growls loudly in proof of my statement. Alex chokes out a surprised laugh.

His laugh gives me an ounce of confidence. ‘Why were you late?’ I pin my gaze to his pierced nose as he speaks because it’s easier than losing myself in the green abysses. The proximity to his face makes me want to kiss him, and the realisation colours my cheeks.

‘I helped my mum wash her hair,’ he offers simply. I wonder why his mum needed help, but I don’t ask.

He rifles through the pockets of his sweatshirt resting over his long legs until he pulls out a small tin. He opens it with a pop, and the smell of fresh mint and ginger burns my nostrils. He offers me the tin that is full of neatly cut ginger slices and a handful of mint leaves.

‘Helps with nausea,’ he explains as he places a leaf in his mouth. When he sees the realisation on my face, he smirks. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t cover you in vomit.’

Grinning, I stuff a ginger slice in my mouth and chew. Immediately, my eyes start streaming and my nose feels tingly.

He puts his hands up while laughing quietly. ‘I didn’t say it would be pleasant or pretty, but it does help. Tried and tested bymoi.’

I take a mint leaf from the tin.

After that, the conversation flows, and we spend the next four hours chatting about everything and anything. The outsidesky slowly darkens to a charcoal grey, and a few people have closed their eyes to rest and perhaps stall the starting hangover. In the last hour, Alex has leaned towards me, and eventually, we end up with our heads drawn together, our elbows and thighs resting against each other. My skin prickling at the closeness, I watch distractedly as the landscape changes on the other side of the window. Soon we pass the sign that welcomes us to Maidstone, the county town of Kent, the Garden of England.

‘You know what gets me really vexed?’ I whisper, ignoring the electrical current running through my skin where it touches his. I don’t wait for his response. His eyes are shut, his golden lashes fluttering, but I know he’s listening. ‘The way signs describe towns with positive superlatives. Why don’t the signs ever describe the things that aren’t great or totally awful about the place, to make people’s expectations a bit more realistic? Like, Bournemouth, known for mediocre deep-fried mini doughnuts and food-stealing seagulls.’

His lips quirk in the semi-dark. He joins my game. ‘Poole, known for chewing-gum-laden pavements and ancient pawn shops.’ His face moves even closer to mine and when he opens his eyes, they contain a spark of amusement laced with something darker.

‘Exactly,’ I beam at him despite the nervous energy that spreads through my limbs at the intimate nearness. Copying his move and twisting towards him fully, I add, ‘Christchurch, priding itself on the loudest gaggle of swans and mobility scooter central.’

He pauseson my mouth. I have an urge to lick my lips because they’re suddenly dry, but I resist. ‘Isn’t a collective noun for swans a bevy?’ he wonders out loud. He’s so smart, it’s almost annoying. ‘Plus, don’t forget Christchurch’s county-famous traffic jams. They should be celebrated. Christchurch, known for the loudest bevy of swans and mobility scooter central, where it takes you at least an hour to get anywhere fromanywhere. The distance doesn’t matter. Be glad that you’ve reached the destination.’

We both start laughing at the same time, our hands between us tangling into a motley of fingers. He smells of laundry detergent and mint, and the combination is headier than my mother’s Christmas punch. My attention is yanked to where we’re entwined. He lifts one of his handsand pushes a strand of hair behind my ear,but instead of letting go, he rests his palm against my cheek, cupping my face. My breathing picks up, and I’m utterly terrified of what might or might not happen next. He focuses on something behind him for a second and when I follow his look, I see Mr Browne sleeping with his mouth open, drool covering his chin. I turn back smirking but when I catch Alex’s serious expression, my smile freezes. Finally, he closes thedistance between us, but just before his lips touch mine, he hovers. I realise he’s waiting for my permission, and as soon as I nod, his lips cover mine.

It’s soft, electrifying and dizzying at the same time. My lungs cannot get enough air in them. Heglides his lips against mine in a graceful dance, and I copy his moves, unsure whether I’m doing it correctly. I’m utterly mortified that my first-ever kiss is on a coach in front of at least twenty-five unaware classmates. I slide my hand up his arm and end up clutching onto his shoulder because I have a sudden need to steady myself. When he pulls away, his pupils are wide, and he looks anything but composed. I know in that moment that I’ll never forget that expression. It burns into my retinas.

*

Eventually, Alex’s voice snaps me back to reality, his look very different to that day in my memory.

‘Danielle will show you how to fill in the template on the system. Please refer to my email about planning expectations.’He carries on without a pause or an inflection. He’s about to turn around, ready to go without any input from me, but I stop him.

‘Hold on. I have some paperwork for you.’ I cover the length of the classroom to reach my bag tucked in the corner in a few brisk strides. I bend to pick it up, my dress moulding around my backside tightly for the briefest of moments. As I straighten up, a throat clears loudly behind me.

Alex is rooted to the spot wearing his coldest expression yet. I cannot fathom what I’ve done this time to deserve that look. But when he halts on the lacquered buttons on my shoulder, I catch his lips twitching before they flatten into a firm line in what I gather is distaste. I shove the folder in his direction with perhaps too much force, but I’m past caring.

Unexpectedly, Becky walks into the classroom and almost backs right out. ‘Oh, sorry, Alex. I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ she mumbles, and her cheeks colour deep maroon. She starts stammering, ‘We’ve left a mess here, so I wanted to help. With the mess, that is.’ Even I can tell she’s got it bad. I don’t understand why because even the iceberg that sank theTitanicseems more approachable.

To my surprise, his face morphs into something akin to affability. ‘That’s OK, Becky. We’re done here.’ A lump forms in my throat when I detect a softness in his tone I didn’t know he was capable of.

He glances my way, and the fingers of his right hand start drumming rapidly on his upper thigh. The next second, he rushes out of the classroom like someone has clamped a time bomb to his ankle. Embarrassment the intensity of a flash flood washes over me.

The classroom is oddly silent after his departure. ‘I’ve never seen him this put out before.’ Becky blanches. ‘Sorry. That was inappropriate and unsolicited.’ I know she doesn’t mean it unkindly, but something in me freezes, nevertheless.

If Becky has noticed the tension between me and Alex after being in the same room for less than a minute, how long is it going to take everyone else? The problem is that I can’t even pick him up on his behaviour because technically he hasn’t done anything wrong.

After helping me tidy up in awkward silence, Becky leaves me to my troubled thoughts. I try to regain my lost momentum, but I can’t push Alex’s face out of my mind.

I end up planning with Danielle. After a mere twenty minutes, I make a full assessment of Danielle’s character and decide I’d rather have my nasal hair waxed than spend any more time with the black-haired woman. Despite her helpfulness and patience when I ask a gazillion questions about the planning document, she’s a little too eager to share gossip with a virtual stranger. It doesn’t matter whether they’re friend or foe, if she has something on them, she’ll spill it to anyone who’s willing to listen.

After less than half an hour, I learn that Rob, the year three teacher, has a child with a married woman; Ellie, the SENCO, has been divorced twice; at a Christmas do, Becky got so drunk on Jägerbombs that she puked in Alison’sCELINEbag and lied about it, and that John once went on a date with Jane. The first, second and third titbits of gossip don’t cause a reaction whatsoever because I don’t remember which one of the two male teaching staff is Rob or who Alison is. However, I must admit that the last comment shocks me to the bone even though I don’t give Danielle the pleasure of reacting.

There’s a cutting nastiness to her remarks that puts me on edge and makes me grateful that the gossip isn’t about me. I keep steering the conversation back to work, but she keeps reverting it to personal matters like we’re playing a game of Swingball, the cord constantly moving up and down the post, never quite reaching the top or bottom.

We order a pizza, but it only gives her more fuel to keep tryingto suck any personal information out of me. I’ve never been much of a sharer. I prefer to keep private things private. Some might say I have trust issues, but who doesn’t? Unwillingly, my thoughts steer to my dad, Aaron and eventually Alex.

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