London Prep: Book Three, page 26
Latin
The second the bell goes off, I’m flying out of the classroom.
We only got through the first two questions out of the ten on our homework, which likely means that I’m going to be spending at least another hour on the assignment tonight.
But right now, I don’t have to think about that.
All I have to think about now is how I’m going to finish this juice and muffin before Latin. I crack open the juice, handing Noah the muffin box.
“I thought I was going to starve to death in there,” I say, taking a greedy gulp of juice. “His whole no eating in class rule made him lose major points with me today. Especially because he hadn’t even started class yet.”
“Well, technically, we aren’t supposed to eat in class,” Noah says, opening up the muffin box as we get to my locker.
I take another big gulp, getting half the juice down.
“I technically don’t care. Besides, professors should let you eat. If anything, they should encourage it. It doesn’t make any sense to me. If I’m hungry, I’m not going to be focused on class,” I say melodramatically, opening my locker.
“If you don’t stop talking and start eating, you’re going to sit through Latin with the same lovely attitude.” Noah smiles, handing me the box.
“You make a fair point,” I agree, taking a bite of the blueberry muffin. And everything about this muffin is perfect. It’s soft and sugary, but it has enough flour to not be too sweet or fall apart. My eyes grow as I take another bite.
“Good?” Noah asks, looking between my mouth and the muffin.
“So good.” I extend the muffin out to him, holding the box under it to collect all the crumbs.
Noah tilts his head, and instead of taking the muffin from my hand, he leans in and takes a bite. I watch him nod as he chews, evidently agreeing with me.
“Yum,” he replies, wiping at his mouth.
I nod at him before putting my Latin textbook into my purse. It’s then that I notice Noah’s granola bars.
“Oh, your granolas,” I say, taking out two handfuls. I leave the bag of crisps in my bag, glancing around the hallway.
I still haven’t seen Harry this morning.
“What?” Noah asks, looking around with me as he takes the granola bars from my hand and puts them into his backpack.
“Uh, nothing,” I comment, bringing the juice back to my lips before shoving another bite of muffin into my mouth.
“All right, see ya,” Noah says, giving my shoulder a pat before heading off.
I double check that my locker is closed before going to class, taking another bite of muffin as I get to the door.
“Oh my God, that’s rude.” Mohammad’s voice floats over my shoulder.
I turn around and am instantly greeted with his grin.
“Want some?” I offer.
“Yes,” Mohammad states, stealing a bite. He chews quickly, licking his lips. “Wow.”
“I know,” I agree, looking down at the remains of the magical blueberry muffin.
“Where did it come from?” he asks, eyeing what’s left.
I hand him a big, fat crumb. “The juice shop.”
“Anytime you want to go for juice, I’m down. Just give me a ring, and I’ll be there,” Mohammad says brightly.
“Does that mean you’ll drink juice with me?” I ask optimistically.
“Probably not.” Mohammad chuckles. “But I’d be open to trying any other food they’ve got. Muffins, cakes. I’ll take one for the team and give you my fair assessment of their products.”
“How generous of you.” I laugh, taking another gulp of juice and finishing off the bottle. I look around the hallway. “Have you seen Harry this morning?”
“Not yet,” Mohammad replies, stealing another bite of muffin.
Hmm.
“I had fun last night, by the way,” I say, turning my attention back to him.
“Really?” he asks, his eyes widening. He gives his head a sideways shake, like his body is trying to reject my statement.
“Really,” I insist.
“Well, it was nice of you and Noah to tag along. It was good to have some help and the company.”
“I know you secretly love spending time with them.” Because I saw him smiling at his sisters more than a few times yesterday when we were at the museum.
“I do. But that doesn’t mean I can manage them. I swear, you get one happy, and the other is about to burst into tears. Women.”
“Well, I’ll give you that. It probably is a lot to manage.”
Mohammad nods, dropping his hand into his pocket. “Do you think you can manage it for another night?”
“What do you mean?” I ask as I pick up the last piece of muffin and hand it to him.
“The girls had fun. Especially Leela. I swear, everything to her is magical or something. Anyway, they told my parents they fancied you, and … well, I had mentioned you coming around anyway. They brought it up. Invited you for dinner.” His statement is more of a question, but I know that he worded it like that in case I wanted an out.
But I don’t.
“Awww.” I pull Mohammad into a big hug, squeezing him. “Of course I’ll come. When?”
When I pull back, Mohammad’s cheeks are tinted pink, but he has a smile on his face.
“Does tomorrow work?” he asks, grabbing the empty box from my hand and motioning for me to follow him into the classroom. He drops the box in the recycling bin before moving to our seats.
“Tomorrow’s great. Can I bring anything?”
As Mohammad’s about to answer, our professor stands up, closing the door shut right as the bell goes off. I scrunch up my nose, realizing that this is the end of our conversation.
“I can’t believe that we’re expected to present in class tomorrow,” Mohammad groans when class is over.
“It is kind of short notice,” I agree as we exit the classroom.
“Short notice? More like no notice! We had today to prepare, and that’s it,” Mohammad goes on.
“Why are you so worked up? You’re amazing at public speaking. If anyone can wing it and actually do good, it’s you,” I argue.
“That’s beside the point. Why aren’t you more upset? You’re the one who’s bad at public speaking.”
“Ouch,” I declare as we get to my locker. Number 75.
“All right, sorry. But you were the one who was so freaked out about presenting in Statistics.”
I shrug in response. Because he’s right. I was freaked out.
“I guess I’m over it now. At least for today. Besides, we’re going to be standing up there together. It’s way less scary with another person.”
“It’s not even about that,” Mohammad continues. “It’s about the principle. You’re supposed to give students adequate time to prepare.”
“What’s really going on?” I laugh.
“I want you to be on my side.” Mohammad pouts. But he can’t keep a grin from forming on his lips. His face fights it, his brows quivering until the smile wins out, spreading all across his face.
“I’m always on your side.” I smile and put my Latin textbook away.
When I slam my locker, something diverts Mohammad’s attention. His smile is gone, and I follow his eyes down the hallway until my own land on Harry. My cheeks ache to pull up into a smile when I see him, but then my eyes shift to see that he’s leaning in, talking intently to Olivia.
“What do you think that’s about?” Mohammad asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply, watching them.
Harry looks frustrated.
Or maybe concerned?
It’s hard to tell, but he looks serious. And Olivia’s expression matches his.
His head is dipped down, and Olivia is looking up at him with worry. They’re talking quickly, and Harry shakes his head. His knuckles tense at his sides.
I glance back over to Mohammad, seeing that he’s still watching them with the same amount of confusion and interest that I am.
“Something’s up for sure,” Mohammad comments as I look back at them.
Olivia has her hand on Harry’s forearm now, keeping it there as they talk.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I insist, dropping my gaze.
Because whatever is going on between them, Harry can tell me about it himself.
I don’t want to stand here in the hallway, spying and jumping to conclusions.
“I’ll guess we’ll see at lunch,” Mohammad replies, giving my arm a quick squeeze.
“Yeah.” I give him my best smile, but Mohammad holds my gaze for a few seconds too long, and I know he doesn’t buy it. He’s searching my eyes, trying to figure out how I really feel.
Finally, he just says, “Have fun in Art.”
A beautiful person.
Art
“What’s wrong?” Noah asks the second I sit down next to him. He’s already in his seat, propped up perkily on his stool.
“Nothing, just kind of a weird moment in the hallway,” I reply.
“A weird moment?” Noah peers over at me, his forehead creasing.
I decide to just tell him. “Olivia and Harry were talking.”
He’ll find out anyway at lunch because I’m sure Mohammad will bring it up. He can’t help but be in on the gossip, and I know he’ll have no issue asking Harry what they were talking about, point-blank.
“Oh. Are you upset about that, or …” Noah stutters, sounding confused.
“No, of course not. It’s not the fact that they were talking; it’s how they were talking,” I insist, pulling my lips to the side.
“And how were they talking?” Noah tilts his head, his eyes on me.
“Harry seemed worried. It didn’t look like a pleasant conversation,” I reply, my stomach doing a flip. “I don’t know. I’m sure it was nothing. It just … didn’t feel right.”
Noah nods, his chestnut hair bouncing.
It looks even softer than usual today. It’s light and fluffy, having that airy feel about it. It’s so different from mine, which is straight and flat. I try to focus on his hair instead of the flips occurring in my stomach.
“I’m sure he’ll explain,” Noah offers.
“He doesn’t owe me an explanation,” I say, trying to balance the truth with how I feel. “It’s not that I don’t trust him.”
“All I meant is that if he’s upset, he’ll let us know. Like I said, heart on the sleeve. It’s kind of impossible to not know how he’s doing.” Noah smiles, his eyes creasing at the corners.
My face instantly matches his, and I smile with him.
“You always make things so simple.” I laugh.
“And you have a way of making things overly complicated. Maybe we both just need to find a happy middle?”
I vigorously shake my head, pinching my lips together to keep from grinning. “No, I disagree. I like your way much better. Everything’s simple, easy, relaxed. You have no worries, and stuff gets resolved in its appropriate time.” I’m half teasing him but also half serious. Because I can always learn from Noah and his approach.
“It sounds like you’re mocking me,” he says, his voice dropping lower as he leans toward me.
His eyes are glued to mine, his cheek pulling on one side.
“Maybe just a little.”
I hold my fingers out in front of me, pinching them together so they’re almost touching. Noah looks down at them, lightly grabbing my wrist.
“I still can’t believe you’re able to get work done with these,” he says, examining my fingernails.
I make my hand into the shape of a claw, curling my fingers in. “Are you scared?”
“Petrified.” Noah chuckles. His fingers slip against mine as he examines my hand.
“I could actually do some damage with these things.” I laugh.
“You still haven’t given me a proper back scratch yet.”
“Do you want one?” I tilt my head, searching Noah’s eyes.
“Would anyone turn down a back scratch?” he replies, sounding appalled.
“The question isn’t if anyone would; it’s if you would,” I say, raising my eyebrow at him.
“I’d prefer your regular nails than these on my skin,” he says, running his finger over my extensions.
“So, the answer is no then?”
Noah brings his gaze back up to mine. “The answer is, I’ll always take a back rub.”
“I thought so. Besides, I would be careful. I wouldn’t cut you or anything.”
“I trust you.” Noah nods, his eyes slipping down to my lips.
I swallow under his gaze, trying to get my stomach under control. I clear my throat, causing Noah to disconnect his eyes from mine as he drops my hand and turns toward the front of the classroom. He picks up his pen, and I watch as he clicks the top of it up and down, over and over. His muscular forearm flexes each time he does it, and I can’t help but notice a few things.
Like when the pen clicks down, his forearm flexes.
When the pen retracts, his forearm loosens.
Noah glances at me, his head turning to the side. He looks between me and his pen, his lips parting. My gaze flicks to his plump lips. He always seems to have the perfect thing to say to relax me. Then, at the same time, he has this ability to make me fully distracted.
I’m not sure if looking at him is okay or if it’s wrong, but it’s more of an admiration. Because I can’t just pick one piece of Noah that makes him Noah. Every piece is a part of him. His forearms. His lips. His floppy brown hair and brilliant mind. The way he’s able to make everything seem so simple. The way that he holds my gaze.
It’s like, when I’m with Noah, we’re in this different world. I can’t help but fixate on the small things with him. The sound of his voice. The way my heart always feels lighter. And it’s not in a sexual way. It’s in a he’s a beautiful person way.
Noah’s eyes are all over my face, his golden brown eyes changing. They somehow always manage to darken and widen when I look at them.
It’s a constant that’s reassuring.
I can always count on his eyes’ reaction to mine. And there’s an immense comfort in that.
I can also see longing in his eyes.
I know that it’s there.
But it’s not the only thing that’s there, which is why I think I always come back to him. He’s my friend.
I break our gaze when Mrs. Jones starts talking. She instructs us to continue working on our projects for the day, so I get up and collect my canvas. Everyone else shuffles around the classroom, getting paint and picking up their projects from the holding racks.
When I sit back down at my desk, I look over my project. I still have to add my final coat of paint. After that, I can start sanding it down.
Class seems to fly by. Before either Noah or I realize it, the bell is going off, and we’re putting our projects away.
“I love Tuesdays.” I grin.
“Shortened classes are nice,” he agrees, walking next to me out of class.
We head to the stairwell, going back down to the main floor and out into the hallway.
“Nice? More like amazing. Plus, I really enjoy Yoga. It’s relaxing and good to get out of my head for a bit.”
“Well, while you’re in Yoga, finding your inner peace, I’ll be at football practice, getting kicked in the shins,” Noah banters, glancing over at me.
“Please. I know you love it.”
Noah smiles. “Yeah, I actually do.”
Another lecture.
Lunch
When we get to the lunchroom, Noah and I head straight to our usual table. Mohammad joins us a few minutes later with his lunch tray in hand. I look around, not spotting Harry anywhere. Noah gets out our packed lunches. I open mine to find leftover pasta and vegetables that Noah combined to make a cold pasta salad.
“Mallory, what do you want to do while you’re still in London?” Mohammad asks me.
I glance up to him, trying to read his expression. “What do you mean?”
He sets down his fork, looking between Noah and me. “You’ve been here a couple weeks now, and it feels like you’ve just hung out with us.”
“Ouch,” I reply, my eyes shifting back to my pasta salad.
“That’s not what I meant,” he corrects. “I meant, if you had a free day, what would you want to do? Where would you want to go?”
I think about his question.
What would I want to do?
“I’m not sure. I like all of the things I’ve done, honestly. Hanging out with the Williams, with you guys. I’ve gotten to experience life in London as opposed to just running from one tourist attraction to the next.”
My eyes flick to Noah, who nods in understanding.
“But this is your trip. Your time,” Mohammad goes on.
“It’s not just a trip,” I disagree. But Mohammad gives me his don’t argue with me look, and I know I need to come up with a better answer. “I’ve been doing things I like. I went shopping and out to brunch with Naomi. I had afternoon tea with Helen. I run through the park with Noah. We’ve partied together at Harry’s, and I’ve already been out to a club here. I love all of those things. Getting takeaway sushi, trying new restaurants.”
But Mohammad is not appeased. “What I’m trying to say is, if we go out, what would you want to do?”
“Hmm, probably shop.” I grin, looking between Mohammad and Noah.
“Of course.” Noah chuckles.
“So, you want to go shopping?” Mohammad asks with interest.
“Why not? And from the sounds of it, you two are offering to go with me,” I say, looking directly at Noah.
Noah drops his fork, already shaking his head.
“I don’t know about that,” he starts, but Mohammad interrupts him.
“Of course we’d go. So, where are we going?”
I look at Mohammad, confused, trying to figure out what he’s doing. Does he really want to go shopping? Or is he just trying to do something nice for me? I’m not sure what he’s looking for.
“I think what Mohammad is trying to say is that we want to do something with you that you enjoy,” Noah finally clarifies.
The second the bell goes off, I’m flying out of the classroom.
We only got through the first two questions out of the ten on our homework, which likely means that I’m going to be spending at least another hour on the assignment tonight.
But right now, I don’t have to think about that.
All I have to think about now is how I’m going to finish this juice and muffin before Latin. I crack open the juice, handing Noah the muffin box.
“I thought I was going to starve to death in there,” I say, taking a greedy gulp of juice. “His whole no eating in class rule made him lose major points with me today. Especially because he hadn’t even started class yet.”
“Well, technically, we aren’t supposed to eat in class,” Noah says, opening up the muffin box as we get to my locker.
I take another big gulp, getting half the juice down.
“I technically don’t care. Besides, professors should let you eat. If anything, they should encourage it. It doesn’t make any sense to me. If I’m hungry, I’m not going to be focused on class,” I say melodramatically, opening my locker.
“If you don’t stop talking and start eating, you’re going to sit through Latin with the same lovely attitude.” Noah smiles, handing me the box.
“You make a fair point,” I agree, taking a bite of the blueberry muffin. And everything about this muffin is perfect. It’s soft and sugary, but it has enough flour to not be too sweet or fall apart. My eyes grow as I take another bite.
“Good?” Noah asks, looking between my mouth and the muffin.
“So good.” I extend the muffin out to him, holding the box under it to collect all the crumbs.
Noah tilts his head, and instead of taking the muffin from my hand, he leans in and takes a bite. I watch him nod as he chews, evidently agreeing with me.
“Yum,” he replies, wiping at his mouth.
I nod at him before putting my Latin textbook into my purse. It’s then that I notice Noah’s granola bars.
“Oh, your granolas,” I say, taking out two handfuls. I leave the bag of crisps in my bag, glancing around the hallway.
I still haven’t seen Harry this morning.
“What?” Noah asks, looking around with me as he takes the granola bars from my hand and puts them into his backpack.
“Uh, nothing,” I comment, bringing the juice back to my lips before shoving another bite of muffin into my mouth.
“All right, see ya,” Noah says, giving my shoulder a pat before heading off.
I double check that my locker is closed before going to class, taking another bite of muffin as I get to the door.
“Oh my God, that’s rude.” Mohammad’s voice floats over my shoulder.
I turn around and am instantly greeted with his grin.
“Want some?” I offer.
“Yes,” Mohammad states, stealing a bite. He chews quickly, licking his lips. “Wow.”
“I know,” I agree, looking down at the remains of the magical blueberry muffin.
“Where did it come from?” he asks, eyeing what’s left.
I hand him a big, fat crumb. “The juice shop.”
“Anytime you want to go for juice, I’m down. Just give me a ring, and I’ll be there,” Mohammad says brightly.
“Does that mean you’ll drink juice with me?” I ask optimistically.
“Probably not.” Mohammad chuckles. “But I’d be open to trying any other food they’ve got. Muffins, cakes. I’ll take one for the team and give you my fair assessment of their products.”
“How generous of you.” I laugh, taking another gulp of juice and finishing off the bottle. I look around the hallway. “Have you seen Harry this morning?”
“Not yet,” Mohammad replies, stealing another bite of muffin.
Hmm.
“I had fun last night, by the way,” I say, turning my attention back to him.
“Really?” he asks, his eyes widening. He gives his head a sideways shake, like his body is trying to reject my statement.
“Really,” I insist.
“Well, it was nice of you and Noah to tag along. It was good to have some help and the company.”
“I know you secretly love spending time with them.” Because I saw him smiling at his sisters more than a few times yesterday when we were at the museum.
“I do. But that doesn’t mean I can manage them. I swear, you get one happy, and the other is about to burst into tears. Women.”
“Well, I’ll give you that. It probably is a lot to manage.”
Mohammad nods, dropping his hand into his pocket. “Do you think you can manage it for another night?”
“What do you mean?” I ask as I pick up the last piece of muffin and hand it to him.
“The girls had fun. Especially Leela. I swear, everything to her is magical or something. Anyway, they told my parents they fancied you, and … well, I had mentioned you coming around anyway. They brought it up. Invited you for dinner.” His statement is more of a question, but I know that he worded it like that in case I wanted an out.
But I don’t.
“Awww.” I pull Mohammad into a big hug, squeezing him. “Of course I’ll come. When?”
When I pull back, Mohammad’s cheeks are tinted pink, but he has a smile on his face.
“Does tomorrow work?” he asks, grabbing the empty box from my hand and motioning for me to follow him into the classroom. He drops the box in the recycling bin before moving to our seats.
“Tomorrow’s great. Can I bring anything?”
As Mohammad’s about to answer, our professor stands up, closing the door shut right as the bell goes off. I scrunch up my nose, realizing that this is the end of our conversation.
“I can’t believe that we’re expected to present in class tomorrow,” Mohammad groans when class is over.
“It is kind of short notice,” I agree as we exit the classroom.
“Short notice? More like no notice! We had today to prepare, and that’s it,” Mohammad goes on.
“Why are you so worked up? You’re amazing at public speaking. If anyone can wing it and actually do good, it’s you,” I argue.
“That’s beside the point. Why aren’t you more upset? You’re the one who’s bad at public speaking.”
“Ouch,” I declare as we get to my locker. Number 75.
“All right, sorry. But you were the one who was so freaked out about presenting in Statistics.”
I shrug in response. Because he’s right. I was freaked out.
“I guess I’m over it now. At least for today. Besides, we’re going to be standing up there together. It’s way less scary with another person.”
“It’s not even about that,” Mohammad continues. “It’s about the principle. You’re supposed to give students adequate time to prepare.”
“What’s really going on?” I laugh.
“I want you to be on my side.” Mohammad pouts. But he can’t keep a grin from forming on his lips. His face fights it, his brows quivering until the smile wins out, spreading all across his face.
“I’m always on your side.” I smile and put my Latin textbook away.
When I slam my locker, something diverts Mohammad’s attention. His smile is gone, and I follow his eyes down the hallway until my own land on Harry. My cheeks ache to pull up into a smile when I see him, but then my eyes shift to see that he’s leaning in, talking intently to Olivia.
“What do you think that’s about?” Mohammad asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply, watching them.
Harry looks frustrated.
Or maybe concerned?
It’s hard to tell, but he looks serious. And Olivia’s expression matches his.
His head is dipped down, and Olivia is looking up at him with worry. They’re talking quickly, and Harry shakes his head. His knuckles tense at his sides.
I glance back over to Mohammad, seeing that he’s still watching them with the same amount of confusion and interest that I am.
“Something’s up for sure,” Mohammad comments as I look back at them.
Olivia has her hand on Harry’s forearm now, keeping it there as they talk.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I insist, dropping my gaze.
Because whatever is going on between them, Harry can tell me about it himself.
I don’t want to stand here in the hallway, spying and jumping to conclusions.
“I’ll guess we’ll see at lunch,” Mohammad replies, giving my arm a quick squeeze.
“Yeah.” I give him my best smile, but Mohammad holds my gaze for a few seconds too long, and I know he doesn’t buy it. He’s searching my eyes, trying to figure out how I really feel.
Finally, he just says, “Have fun in Art.”
A beautiful person.
Art
“What’s wrong?” Noah asks the second I sit down next to him. He’s already in his seat, propped up perkily on his stool.
“Nothing, just kind of a weird moment in the hallway,” I reply.
“A weird moment?” Noah peers over at me, his forehead creasing.
I decide to just tell him. “Olivia and Harry were talking.”
He’ll find out anyway at lunch because I’m sure Mohammad will bring it up. He can’t help but be in on the gossip, and I know he’ll have no issue asking Harry what they were talking about, point-blank.
“Oh. Are you upset about that, or …” Noah stutters, sounding confused.
“No, of course not. It’s not the fact that they were talking; it’s how they were talking,” I insist, pulling my lips to the side.
“And how were they talking?” Noah tilts his head, his eyes on me.
“Harry seemed worried. It didn’t look like a pleasant conversation,” I reply, my stomach doing a flip. “I don’t know. I’m sure it was nothing. It just … didn’t feel right.”
Noah nods, his chestnut hair bouncing.
It looks even softer than usual today. It’s light and fluffy, having that airy feel about it. It’s so different from mine, which is straight and flat. I try to focus on his hair instead of the flips occurring in my stomach.
“I’m sure he’ll explain,” Noah offers.
“He doesn’t owe me an explanation,” I say, trying to balance the truth with how I feel. “It’s not that I don’t trust him.”
“All I meant is that if he’s upset, he’ll let us know. Like I said, heart on the sleeve. It’s kind of impossible to not know how he’s doing.” Noah smiles, his eyes creasing at the corners.
My face instantly matches his, and I smile with him.
“You always make things so simple.” I laugh.
“And you have a way of making things overly complicated. Maybe we both just need to find a happy middle?”
I vigorously shake my head, pinching my lips together to keep from grinning. “No, I disagree. I like your way much better. Everything’s simple, easy, relaxed. You have no worries, and stuff gets resolved in its appropriate time.” I’m half teasing him but also half serious. Because I can always learn from Noah and his approach.
“It sounds like you’re mocking me,” he says, his voice dropping lower as he leans toward me.
His eyes are glued to mine, his cheek pulling on one side.
“Maybe just a little.”
I hold my fingers out in front of me, pinching them together so they’re almost touching. Noah looks down at them, lightly grabbing my wrist.
“I still can’t believe you’re able to get work done with these,” he says, examining my fingernails.
I make my hand into the shape of a claw, curling my fingers in. “Are you scared?”
“Petrified.” Noah chuckles. His fingers slip against mine as he examines my hand.
“I could actually do some damage with these things.” I laugh.
“You still haven’t given me a proper back scratch yet.”
“Do you want one?” I tilt my head, searching Noah’s eyes.
“Would anyone turn down a back scratch?” he replies, sounding appalled.
“The question isn’t if anyone would; it’s if you would,” I say, raising my eyebrow at him.
“I’d prefer your regular nails than these on my skin,” he says, running his finger over my extensions.
“So, the answer is no then?”
Noah brings his gaze back up to mine. “The answer is, I’ll always take a back rub.”
“I thought so. Besides, I would be careful. I wouldn’t cut you or anything.”
“I trust you.” Noah nods, his eyes slipping down to my lips.
I swallow under his gaze, trying to get my stomach under control. I clear my throat, causing Noah to disconnect his eyes from mine as he drops my hand and turns toward the front of the classroom. He picks up his pen, and I watch as he clicks the top of it up and down, over and over. His muscular forearm flexes each time he does it, and I can’t help but notice a few things.
Like when the pen clicks down, his forearm flexes.
When the pen retracts, his forearm loosens.
Noah glances at me, his head turning to the side. He looks between me and his pen, his lips parting. My gaze flicks to his plump lips. He always seems to have the perfect thing to say to relax me. Then, at the same time, he has this ability to make me fully distracted.
I’m not sure if looking at him is okay or if it’s wrong, but it’s more of an admiration. Because I can’t just pick one piece of Noah that makes him Noah. Every piece is a part of him. His forearms. His lips. His floppy brown hair and brilliant mind. The way he’s able to make everything seem so simple. The way that he holds my gaze.
It’s like, when I’m with Noah, we’re in this different world. I can’t help but fixate on the small things with him. The sound of his voice. The way my heart always feels lighter. And it’s not in a sexual way. It’s in a he’s a beautiful person way.
Noah’s eyes are all over my face, his golden brown eyes changing. They somehow always manage to darken and widen when I look at them.
It’s a constant that’s reassuring.
I can always count on his eyes’ reaction to mine. And there’s an immense comfort in that.
I can also see longing in his eyes.
I know that it’s there.
But it’s not the only thing that’s there, which is why I think I always come back to him. He’s my friend.
I break our gaze when Mrs. Jones starts talking. She instructs us to continue working on our projects for the day, so I get up and collect my canvas. Everyone else shuffles around the classroom, getting paint and picking up their projects from the holding racks.
When I sit back down at my desk, I look over my project. I still have to add my final coat of paint. After that, I can start sanding it down.
Class seems to fly by. Before either Noah or I realize it, the bell is going off, and we’re putting our projects away.
“I love Tuesdays.” I grin.
“Shortened classes are nice,” he agrees, walking next to me out of class.
We head to the stairwell, going back down to the main floor and out into the hallway.
“Nice? More like amazing. Plus, I really enjoy Yoga. It’s relaxing and good to get out of my head for a bit.”
“Well, while you’re in Yoga, finding your inner peace, I’ll be at football practice, getting kicked in the shins,” Noah banters, glancing over at me.
“Please. I know you love it.”
Noah smiles. “Yeah, I actually do.”
Another lecture.
Lunch
When we get to the lunchroom, Noah and I head straight to our usual table. Mohammad joins us a few minutes later with his lunch tray in hand. I look around, not spotting Harry anywhere. Noah gets out our packed lunches. I open mine to find leftover pasta and vegetables that Noah combined to make a cold pasta salad.
“Mallory, what do you want to do while you’re still in London?” Mohammad asks me.
I glance up to him, trying to read his expression. “What do you mean?”
He sets down his fork, looking between Noah and me. “You’ve been here a couple weeks now, and it feels like you’ve just hung out with us.”
“Ouch,” I reply, my eyes shifting back to my pasta salad.
“That’s not what I meant,” he corrects. “I meant, if you had a free day, what would you want to do? Where would you want to go?”
I think about his question.
What would I want to do?
“I’m not sure. I like all of the things I’ve done, honestly. Hanging out with the Williams, with you guys. I’ve gotten to experience life in London as opposed to just running from one tourist attraction to the next.”
My eyes flick to Noah, who nods in understanding.
“But this is your trip. Your time,” Mohammad goes on.
“It’s not just a trip,” I disagree. But Mohammad gives me his don’t argue with me look, and I know I need to come up with a better answer. “I’ve been doing things I like. I went shopping and out to brunch with Naomi. I had afternoon tea with Helen. I run through the park with Noah. We’ve partied together at Harry’s, and I’ve already been out to a club here. I love all of those things. Getting takeaway sushi, trying new restaurants.”
But Mohammad is not appeased. “What I’m trying to say is, if we go out, what would you want to do?”
“Hmm, probably shop.” I grin, looking between Mohammad and Noah.
“Of course.” Noah chuckles.
“So, you want to go shopping?” Mohammad asks with interest.
“Why not? And from the sounds of it, you two are offering to go with me,” I say, looking directly at Noah.
Noah drops his fork, already shaking his head.
“I don’t know about that,” he starts, but Mohammad interrupts him.
“Of course we’d go. So, where are we going?”
I look at Mohammad, confused, trying to figure out what he’s doing. Does he really want to go shopping? Or is he just trying to do something nice for me? I’m not sure what he’s looking for.
“I think what Mohammad is trying to say is that we want to do something with you that you enjoy,” Noah finally clarifies.
