Page 42 of The Secret Of Us

Mrs. Harper dismisses us, and everyone stands up to go to their first class of the day. Noah doesn’t, though—his hand moves lazily up and down my back, and I can’t move for fear that he’ll see just how fast my heart is beating. I try to focus on something else, because I don’t want to think about howgoodthis all feels.

Then I remember something I thought of last night, once we parted ways, and I went back to my room. It’s something that might help convince people, especially Ryan, that Noah and I really like each other.

“I was thinking last night,” I clear my throat, my voice coming out breathy. “Maybe I can show up at your practices? It might make Ryan realise I’m really over him if he sees me cheering you on.”

Noah’s lips quirk up again.

“That would be nice. I could come to yours, too?” He suggests, and it’s a great idea. Ryan never came to any of my practices or games, so Noah showing up will make everyone think we’re serious about each other.

“I’d like that,” I tell him. He nods, finally moving his hand off my back and his knee away my thigh as he picks up his backpack. I feel cold all of a sudden. The classroom is empty now, everyone else lingering in the hallways until first period starts.

“Oh, and we can’t tell anyone either,” I lower my voice as I lean closer to him, just in case anyone comes back in. “That this is all fake.”

He lets out a soft laugh at that. I don’t know what was funny about what I said though. If people find out it’s fake, it’ll be even worse. Noah moves closer to me until his face is barely inches away from mine.

“You might not have noticed,” he whispers. “But you’re the only person who talks to me.”

He’s passing it off as something light, but it upsets me. I hate that everyone has written him off because of baseless rumours about him.

“Everyone else is horrible anyway,” I huff out. I sound childish, but it’s better than showing him how angry it makes me. He doesn’t respond, but the tilt of his lips is enough.

We both stand up as the warning bell rings. We have biology first, and we’ve already developed a routine of walking to classes together since we share so many of the same ones.

There’s an awkward distance between us as we leave the room. Any work we did to convince people this is real is slowly fading away.

“Come closer,” I say quietly, the noise of other students in the hallway helping to cover it up. “It has to look like we’re actually together.”

Noah doesn’t hesitate before stepping closer to me, our arms brushing as we walk down the hallway. His pinky finger grazes mine, like it did the day my parents didn’t show up. But this time it isn’t for comfort. There’s a silent question in it and I simply nod.

He pulls my hand into his, locking our fingers together, and it feels like my entire body is on fire. Every single cell comes to life, and my nerves are electrified.

I’m suddenly all too conscious of the rough calluses on my hands from years of playing hockey. I shift my hand, trying to give him only the soft parts of it. I feel the way his head turns, and when I look up at him, there’s concern in his eyes.

“Is this okay?” he asks, leaning his head down to whisper in my ear, and sending shivers down my entire body.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” I say, breathless, like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs. I force out a breath, trying to hide the strange reaction my body seems to be having to just holding hands with Noah.

“You sure?” His mouth grazes the shell of my ear, and all I can do is nod, every rational thought leaving my mind.

He moves his head away, but keeps my hand tucked in his as we reach the classroom. If anyone was staring at us on the way here, I have no idea, because everyone else ceased to exist apart from Noah.

* * *

I’ve missedthe ball more times than I’ve hit it, and I can feel everyone’s frustration with me.

Miss. Khan blows her whistle, and we all move to the side to take a quick break before we play the next half of the match. I avoid talking to anyone, keeping to myself as I sip my water.

I thought if I kept playing I would get over whatever hangups I had at the start of the year, but it’s just gotten worse. I figured I was just out of practice and that’s why I didn’t enjoy hockey as much, but after forcing myself to play for these past few weeks, I know for a fact that my heart isn’t in it anymore.

The whistle blows again, and I drop my bottle before making my way back onto the field, my stick gripped firmly in my hands.

The next fifteen minutes are a disaster. Every time the ball gets passed to me, I either miss it completely or manage to get it and still fumble somehow. Some of the other girls have started avoiding passing to me completely, shooting far past me to someone else, even when I’m clearly open. I don’t take it too personally, though—I wouldn’t want to play with me either.

When the whistle blows again to signal the end of the game and practice, I let out a huge sigh. I drop my stick, standing with my hands on my hips as I tilt my head backward to face the sky for a second, taking deep breaths to try and centre myself.You can do this, Izzy. It’ll all be fine.

I pick my stick back up and hurry to gather my things from the side before making my way up the stairs. Most of the girls are still lingering on the field, and I want to leave before anyone can speak to me.

“Izzy.”

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