Page 4 of Still Falling for You

Teenage Alex wasn’t your typical bad boy. He always smelt of cigarettes, but I never saw him smoke. His clothes were always crumpled but meticulously clean. His fire-red hair was constantly messy like he never bothered to comb it, and he opted for scuffed Converse shoes with obscure band names Sharpied onto the sun-bleached fabric. To add to any mother’s distress, his freckled nose was pierced with a silver ring. But he was also intelligent and funny in a sardonic way. His smile melted my insides.

Most of the girls in my year had a secret crush on him, and I wasn’t an exception. My stomach always did strange twists and turns whenever he was in the same room.

I remember every Tuesday we had French followed by science together, and I always equally dreaded and lookedforward to Tuesdays. I remember the day Alex spoke to me for the first time like it was yesterday.

*

The class sighs in resignation when Mr Samson strides in and announces himself as our cover teacher. Immediately, he launches into French history and soon the details of the Battle of Poitiers fill the board in chicken scratches that we’re all supposed to be able to follow and record.

At some point, Mr Samson gets so consumed by Edward, the Black Prince, and his defensive manoeuvres, he doesn’t notice a late straggler slipping into the classroom. My heart vaults into my throat as Alex weaves his way to the back of the class and seats himself in the only available space, which is next to me. He doesn’t acknowledge me, so I carry on pretending I’m listening to the teacher.

My heart slows from a gallop to a canter when Alex starts scribbling notes into a battered notebook. When I eventually start tuning into Mr Samson’s words again, it becomes clear that he really likes saying the wordPoitiers. There’s more of a chance of me becoming proficient in Cantonese by the end of the lesson than being able to write anything meaningful down sitting next to Alex, so I start tallying instead.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Alex leaning in and scanning my page. The smell of Lynx and cigarettes hits my nostrils, and I try not to lean in and inhale because that would be weird.

His whole face lights up when he whispers, ‘You’ve missed four. When Samson covered in my maths lesson last term, he got to twenty-two. The Battle of Poitiers is his all-time jam. I reckon he’s taught it at least two hundred times by now.’

‘Maybe he only knows that one battle in the entire French history,’ I whisper back, mock-appalled but add the missedtallies anyway. I ignore my pulse picking up again.

‘Or worse. What if he’s forever stuck in the Battle of Poitiers? What if the Hundred Years’ War never ended for him?’ Alex’s tone turns haunting.

‘What if Cortés never encountered cocoa?’ I quip, pretending to be horrified.

‘Or Kevin Systrom never co-founded Instagram?’ Alex joins my game.

‘There’re worse things in life than Instagram never existing,’ I say dryly.

‘I agree. Objectively, being stuck in 1356 somewhere south of France with a raging army of French and Anglo-Gascons trying to kick each other’s arse is worse.’

‘You’ve got a good memory. I was convinced we were somewhere around the Napoleonic Wars,’ I admit, and he chuckles, his nose piercing gleaming in the artificial light.

‘No, I don’t. I’ve just heard the lesson four times since last year. In fact, it’s hard to push it out of my memory. I’m scarred for life.’

I can’t stop the laugh that escapes my mouth, and Mr Samson gives me a warning frown. For the rest of the lesson, I pretend to note down Mr Samson’s words, but secretly I keep staring at Alex.

After the lesson, we walk to the science lab, and Alex automatically sits next to me. When I open my science book, my fingers tremble, but I force myself not to react. In between the sheets, there’s an unfamiliar page torn hastily from someone’s notebook.

At first, I mistake it for a bookmark except the writing is alien. There are no flourishes, just bold letters with sharp angles and no-nonsense descenders burdened by loops or curls. On the page it says,I like it when you laugh.

*

I force a mental reboot because I don’t think either of us would appreciate my reminiscing right now. While I was spaced out, Alex had crossed the room and stopped behind the safety of the closest student desk.

My entire body stiffens, and I wait for him to acknowledge he knows me, but he doesn’t. He sits down smoothly, tucking his athletic legs underneath the tiny desk. He takes out a plastic wallet from a thick green folder. Before he closes it, I catch subsections filled with more wallets. Alex’s level of neatness makes me itch.

‘Let’s start,’ he finally announces. His gaze wanders in my general direction before it settles back on a form in front of him. His golden-red head lowers over the sheet; he’s actively ignoring me. He carries on without any inflection, ‘Just let me fill this out, and we’ll start going through some of your ECT responsibilities.’

‘So, you’re my ECT mentor?’ I think I’m in denial.

His hand stills over the form. I get why they say you could hear a pin drop when tension rises because I think I hear my stomach drop to what feels like my feet and shoot back up all the way to my throat like a puck struck by a mallet at a high striker. His pink lips purse, and a strange expression flashes across his features before it disappears.

‘Is there a problem?’ he asks casually like he doesn’t care whether he’s my mentor or not. Annoyance bubbles in my chest. I can’t deal with this level of disregard from somebody who will decide my entire teaching future.

A part of me wonders if I should tell Jane there’s a conflict of interest. Or lack thereof. Then, I wonder whether Jane knows we were romantically involved in the first place. I wonder whether he was forced to be my mentor. I bet he hates it.

I consider telling him that, obviously, neither of us wants this foisted on us but decide against it at the last minute.

‘No. I just didn’t know,’ I say stupidly because I can’t think of anything else to say.

---