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“Easy, there, Anna. I’ve got your number. I’ll shoot you a text over the summer. We can get together before the start of term. Cool?”
“Um, yeah. Thanks.”
He’s got my number?
He leaves and sits back with his friends. And all I can do is stand motionless. Luckily, Sammy must have been watching as she swoops in to collect me and pulls me away to the safety of one of the study rooms.
“Well?” She bounces up and down and squeezes my hands.
“Um…” It seems to be my favourite word right now.
“Um, what? Tell, tell, tell.”
“He has my number. Jeremy Archer has my number,” I seem to squeal the last syllable.
“Oh my god, Anna, seriously!” she shrieks.
“Shh, calm down.”
“I will not calm down. This is huge. Come on.” She grabs my hand and pulls me off again.
“Where are we going?”
“Well, I’d love to say home, but we still have fifth period — a whole-year introduction. So, we’re going to the canteen, and I’m getting a celebratory cookie.”
“Now, who’s twelve.”
“Oh, come on. This deserves chocolate.”
“No, wait. Come over to mine tonight. Mum’s cooking her favourite, and you’re always welcome. We can celebrate with a film night. Stay over?”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. It’s not like we have school to worry about now.” I grab my phone out of my bag and text Mum to let her know the change of plans.
The rest of the day flies by, and for once, I have a smile on my face.
Because I’m academically minded, I’ve suffered with labels, and my peers have classed me as a swat for most of my school life, and in the traditionally cruel way, I guess it sort of fits. With my veil of long black hair and pale skin, I often look moody and in need of sunlight. And so, after a while, I slipped into the character they painted me as.
But today, I broke the mould and embraced the smile.
“Mum, we’re home!” I call as we walk in the door. We fling our bags down by the front door and walk through the house to the small home studio in the back room, where she’s bound to be. She’s a jewellery designer and converted the back room into a workshop. She makes one-of-a-kind pieces and takes commissions, as well as a few more commercial pieces she sells online and in a few stores to pay the bills.
“Hey girls,” she greets and stops what she’s doing, turning on her work stool.
“Hey, Becca. Thanks for having me,” Sammy says.
“Anytime, you know that. So, what’s got you girls all excited?” Mum could read me like a book, and I gave up pretending it was any other way a few years ago.
“Jeremy Archer has Anna’s number,” Sammy announces, her voice a little pitchy.
“Oh, well. And who is Jeremy Archer?” she asks. “I want to know everything.”
“Mum, there’s nothing to say. Sammy’s getting way ahead of herself. We’ve been assigned as lab partners for science next year, and he’s mine. I spoke to him today to swap numbers, but he seems to have mine already.”
“How did he get it?” Mum asks.
“I didn’t ask.”
