London Prep: Book Three, page 39
“Miss America, language,” Mohammad says jokingly as he slides into his seat.
He smells extremely good today, and I can’t help but notice. I take in his pressed shirt and combed hair.
“Why do you look so fancy?” I ask, momentarily distracted.
“Thanks for noticing.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“You never answered my question.” I laugh, watching him fuss over his hair.
“It’s a secret,” he replies, sealing his lips with his fingers.
“You? Keep a secret? No way. You’ll crack before lunch.”
“Why don’t you crack? What did you just fuck up?” Mohammad sasses back.
I roll my eyes and let out a groan. “I kissed Harry.”
“A little action at school.” He grins, sticking out his tongue. “I can dig that.”
“You missed the fucked up part,” I say, raising an eyebrow at him.
“You got caught?”
“I kissed him on accident,” I admit, trying to explain. “We haven’t kissed since—shit, I don’t even know. Sunday? I didn’t see him Monday. Tuesday was obviously not good. And even yesterday, after school, we just hugged.”
“So, you snogged. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that I told him to think about things. I said I needed time. I said he needed time. With one kiss, I basically threw all of my advice for him to think and reflect to the wind,” I insist. “And then there’s Noah, but that’s a separate can of worms.”
“I’m not following.”
“Harry is a wreck. And I’m not sure he’s in a place to have a girlfriend. He was finally hearing me, but then he looked so sad and cute, and I had to go and make him feel better,” I reply.
“At least it was with your lips and not some pity shag,” Mohammad says, trying to console me.
“At least it wasn’t that,” I agree, nodding. “Regardless, I saw his relief after our kiss. Which I wanted him to feel; don’t get me wrong. But Noah, in Stats …”
“What about Noah and Stats?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I reply.
Because there’s no way to word what he said—or didn’t say—without it sounding terrible for either of us.
And it wasn’t terrible. It’s the most he’s given me in days …
“Chill out. It was just a kiss. And whatever happened in Stats, I’m sure it’s nothing new. So, can we please get back to other important matters at hand?” Mohammad insists.
“Like?” I ask, trying to figure out what in the world could be more important than all of this.
“Like the party I’ve organized for Friday night.” Mohammad beams. “Well, am organizing. It will be a last hurrah at Harry’s before you leave.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea?” I ask hesitantly.
“No, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
“Right,” I agree, wanting to let him have his party. “But, Mohammad, things are so complicated.”
“Mallory, you’re leaving.” Mohammad’s words are plain and simple.
Cut and dry.
“Like, leaving,” he emphasizes, his eyes widening.
“I realize that,” I say, a lump forming in my throat.
“When exactly are you leaving?”
“Saturday, late morning,” I mumble back.
“Well, I’ve talked with Naomi. She’s actually pretty creative. Wants to do a themed evening.”
“Wait, you’re planning it with Naomi?” I ask with surprise.
Mohammad nods. “It’s going to be bomb.”
“You’re really excited, aren’t you?” I laugh. “Wait, is that what the secret is? You’re going to put the moves on Naomi today in order to win her over at the party tomorrow?”
“Sealed lips,” Mohammad replies, eyeing me.
“I’m going to miss you,” I sigh as class starts. “Will you visit me in New York?”
“No,” Mohammad replies quickly. “You’ll visit me.”
“What?” I say, my voice rising.
“Mmhmm. I know you’ll miss London. And obviously, you won’t be able to stay away from Mohammad.”
“No one could stay away from you,” I agree with a grin.
Making things difficult.
Art
Mrs. Jones comes into the classroom in a hurry, dropping her things onto her desk. “Excuse my absence,” she says, eyeing the clock and looking flushed.
I glance over at Noah, finding her whole display a little funny.
His lips rise into a smile, too, as he watches her.
“We’re putting your projects on hold—at least for part, if not all, of today,” Mrs. Jones continues, handing out a stack of papers to each table. “I’d like for you to identify the style found on each page.”
I narrow my eyes at the stack, not sure why we’re stopping our projects for busy work. And Mrs. Jones never gives an answer.
“Well, this is annoying,” I mutter, eyeing the papers. “These have nothing to do with textures.”
“Maybe she’s helping give us ideas in a roundabout way,” Noah comments, noticing my irritation.
“She probably just forgot about it earlier this week and is now punishing us.”
“Or maybe it’s in preparation for next week,” Noah counters.
I glance down at the first picture and see a marble sculpture displayed on the page. Something about it reminds me of Noah.
“I think we’ve found your doppelgänger.” I take in the subject’s tapered waist, rounded shoulders, and hard jawline.
Noah glances at it, his lip rising into a lopsided smile.
“I’m not sure about that,” he admits, shaking his head.
“Don’t be modest. I can tell you’re flattered.” I grin, teasing him. “Besides, the resemblance is uncanny. Come on,” I say, pointing down at the sculpture. “He even has your plump lips and symmetrical eyebrows. It’s just not fair.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re jealous of my eyebrows?” Noah wrinkles his nose at me, his eyes sparkling.
“Maybe just a bit. Girls are said to be beautiful. But honestly, I think people have it backward. I think guys are actually more beautiful than girls.”
“That’s just because you’re into guys,” he says, his gaze connecting with mine.
“Maybe I’m not,” I tease, causing him to grin again.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re into girls, Mal?”
“Would you be surprised?” I ask.
Noah thinks about my question for a minute. “I mean, you are always surprising me.”
Noah’s face lights up, his brown eyes taunting me. I push him a bit, shaking my head.
“But I think you’re drooling over that statue a little too much to be only into girls.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m not drooling. I’m appreciating,” I say, holding up the piece of paper. “Besides, isn’t that the point of art? To be appreciated?”
“I think the point of art is to make you feel something,” Noah corrects.
“Either way.”
It only takes us about half of the class to get through the papers, figuring out what Mrs. Jones wants us to declare about that piece or the next. We write our analyses and names on the back of each sheet and turn in the stack before grabbing our projects.
“A whole ten minutes left,” I comment when we sit back down.
“That’s loads of time,” Noah says as he starts to paint.
I roll my eyes at his optimism.
“I think it will take me the full ten minutes just to figure out what I want to do next,” I say, eyeing my painting.
“I thought you needed to sand it down?”
“I do.” I nod, trying to find the motivation to work. But instead, I put my chin into my palm, watching as Noah rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.
I lick my lips, noticing how his arm flexes as he paints. With each stroke, it’s like he gets more and more lost in the colors. In the process. And with each stroke, I get more and more lost, watching him. I try to distract myself by doing some sanding.
But it’s hard to work and stare.
I let out a breath, hoping that it will straighten my head out. But something about Noah today has my mind so … distracted.
The way that he focuses in on painting.
How, with each passing day, his shirt seems to get tighter.
How his dark hair has grown longer. Helen keeps mentioning that he needs a haircut, but I can’t fathom it. I don’t want a single piece of his hair to leave his head.
I’m so distracted by watching him that I don’t notice him look over at me. His brown eyes darken. The second that the bell goes off, his hand is at my elbow, and he’s pulling me alongside him.
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to catch my breath. My heart is pounding in my chest.
Noah doesn’t answer me, and he looks so serious.
A few seconds later, he’s dragging me into a room and closing the door behind us. It takes me a minute to realize that Noah just pulled me into an empty classroom.
And all I can think about is how he even knew where to find an empty room.
And how did he know that it would be empty?
Maybe it’s just because everyone is at lunch?
“Noah?” I say, bringing my eyes up to his as he backs me up against the door.
His eyes are narrowed at me, and it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking.
He looks serious.
Frustrated maybe?
“You were staring at me in class,” he finally says.
“I …” I don’t know what to say. Because I was.
I was staring at him.
Noah’s forehead creases, his thick eyebrows dipping in. “You have to stop staring at me,” he says, his gaze flicking back and forth between my eyes.
“I wasn’t staring …”
“You were.” Noah’s words stop me. “And you’re making things difficult.”
“Difficult?”
He sucks in a heavy breath and tilts his head back, and then he looks down at me.
My stomach is freaking out.
Like, literally. Freaking. Out.
Because it’s dark in the room.
And we’re alone.
And Noah is so close to me.
And he’s looking at me like I have absolutely no idea.
No idea of what he’s capable of.
No idea of what he’s feeling.
Which is exactly my problem.
I have no idea.
And every part of me wants to find out.
I want to know.
Regardless of right, wrong, good timing, bad timing, I have to know. I want to know.
“Your eyes are all over me, Mal … and it makes it hard to focus. Hard to concentrate. You have to stop.”
“Stop?”
“Staring at me.”
“Fuck,” I gasp, finally realizing what this is.
Noah’s asking me to stop. To stop staring at him. To stop making him feel uncomfortable.
He’s asking me to stop practically drooling over him.
And I’m instantly embarrassed.
I should just tell him, Of course.
I will stop staring at you.
I’m sorry.
My bad.
But no … what do I say?
“I’m not staring at you.” I deny his words, pushing him away from me.
But Noah doesn’t budge. His chest stays right in front of me, and I glance down, taking in his white shirt and tie. My eyes move across his chest, slipping over to his arms on either side of me before finally coming up to his eyes.
He just smiles down at me, raising one eyebrow.
“You’re not?” He looks amused, and it pisses me off.
“No, I’m not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we—I need to get to lunch.”
I cross my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes at him. Because he needs to know that I’m serious.
That this isn’t funny.
“By all means,” he says, taking a step back, holding his hands out in front of him.
I’m not sure if he’s trying to usher me out the door or giving in. Or maybe he’s shrugging me off.
It’s hard to tell.
But all I know is that, now, I’m pissed.
“This isn’t a joke,” I growl at him.
“It’s a little funny,” he says, his darkened eyes brightening.
“What is?”
“You’re so angry. Fucking stubborn too. And to make it worse, you’re a terrible liar. I see right through you. You do know that, right?”
Noah’s grinning at me. And all I can feel is fire rising within me. Something so strong and powerful.
And all it wants is to be unleashed on Noah.
Because he’s mocking me.
He’s joking.
He’s taking the piss.
And I’m about to blow up on him.
But then Noah starts laughing—his deep belly laugh—and pulls me into a hug. I’m completely caught off guard, feeling frozen in his arms.
There are so many things I want to say to him.
He can’t see through me.
I’m not a terrible liar.
I’m not fucking stubborn.
So many things flash through my mind. I just have to pick one of them.
“You,” I grumble as Noah laces his hands around my waist.
His chest is still bouncing as he laughs. He continually bumps against me, and it’s distracting.
I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me.
“Noah, you’re not being nice.”
He just shakes his head, his eyes practically crystal now. “Come on. We’ve got to get to lunch,” he says, not answering me.
He pulls me out of the classroom and back into the hallway.
We’re going to be late for lunch.
And I’m already trying to figure out what to say to Harry.
To Mohammad.
But I have no clue what to say.
Because I have no freaking idea what just even happened.
Or what it meant.
All will be revealed.
Lunch
“There you are,” Mohammad says when we get to the table.
He’s sitting across from Harry, and Noah moves around the table, plopping down next to him. Which puts me next to Harry and directly across from Noah. I slide onto the seat, trying not to look mortified.
“All right?” Harry asks, putting his hand on my leg.
I nod, momentarily closing my eyes.
“I was just telling Harry about last night,” Mohammad continues, looking to Noah with a wide grin.
“Oh?” I ask.
“You had dinner at Mohammad’s,” Harry replies, filling me in on what he’s heard so far.
“Yeah, it was really nice.” I give Mohammad a distracted smile.
“It was,” Mohammad replies, narrowing his eyes at me. “Except for the bit where you were wet for my dad.”
“She was wet for your dad?” Noah says, flabbergasted.
“I know. Gag me,” Mohammad replies, looking repulsed.
“Well, your dad does dress smart,” Harry adds, not sounding surprised.
“First off, ew! I am not into Mohammad’s dad. And secondly, you shouldn’t be gossiping about me when I’m right here.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have giggled like a lunatic in front of my father,” Mohammad fires back.
“He’s funny,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.
“He’s really not,” Noah disagrees.
“So, you’ve got the hots for Mohammad’s dad,” Harry says with a grin. “I never thought I’d have to compete with an older man.”
I roll my eyes and remove his hand from my leg.
“Their love affair runs deeper than expected, boys,” Harry says, his eyes growing wide.
“Ha ha ha,” I state, ending this conversation. “Anyway, we had a great time. It was fun seeing Mohammad’s house.”
“All I know is, I can’t wait to not be sleeping there tomorrow night. Are you getting excited for the party?” Mohammad asks.
“What party?” Harry and Noah say in unison.
“Shit. I guess I’ve only talked about it with Naomi,” Mohammad says, a frown forming on his mouth. He looks between Harry and Noah like he can’t believe he hasn’t told them yet. “Tomorrow night, we’re throwing Mallory a going-away party.”
“Won’t that be sort of sad?” I cut in.
“We’re going to be with you regardless,” Harry disagrees. “So, might as well drink and mourn the impending loss together.”
“I guess you’re right,” I say.
Because party or not, I’m going to spend my last night with Harry, Mohammad, and Noah.
“It will be fun,” Noah agrees.
“A smashing time.” Harry grins, getting wound up.
“Let’s hope so. You don’t mind hosting it, do you?” Mohammad asks Harry.
“Why not? Mum and Dad don’t arrive till next week, so the house is ours.”
I glance between Harry and Noah, feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of Harry’s parents coming home. I’m not sure if he’s told Noah the news yet, but Noah looks back at me with the same concern.
“Uh, so, Mohammad,” I say, trying to push away the thoughts, “how did this whole planning thing with Naomi come up? You mentioned a theme?”
“A theme?” Noah asks.
“I’m not revealing anything,” Mohammad says, shaking his head.
“How are we supposed to prepare for a themed party when you won’t tell us the theme?” I ask.
“All will be revealed at lunch tomorrow,” Mohammad replies, rolling his eyes. “Naomi and Olivia are going to sit with us. Naomi wants to explain everything.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry states, glancing nervously at me.
“It will be fine. I already talked to Olivia. There’s no issue,” Mohammad insists.
“You talked to Olivia?” I ask, wondering if that’s the secret he wouldn’t tell me about in Latin.
“I had to,” Mohammad says. “After the tension yesterday, we had shit to get sorted. Besides, I’m not going to plan you a going-away party and then let some girl ruin it. I want it to be fun—for everyone.”
“And will it be?” Noah asks, trying to follow along.
