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When Mr Ross is talking to another student, I turn to Jeremy. “You have something to say now?”
“Don’t be like that.” His tone is patronising.
“Like what?” I shoot a look at him. He’s staring at me, his beautiful eyes clear for me to see.
“Like all the other girls. Bitchy. You’re not like that.”
“Right, everyone. Silence for the register.” Saved by the teacher. I shift in my seat and look forward. We both answer as our names are called, and I pay attention as Mr Ross goes over the instructions for the experiment we’re recreating today.
When he lets us go and get set up, Jeremy takes my hand and stops me.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He looks around the room, anywhere except my eyes.
“No, you shouldn’t. You don’t know me.” I brush past him and go to get a pair of goggles from the drawer and a heat-proof mat for the Bunsen burner.
“I thought I knew enough about you that you wouldn’t act like this.”
“How am I acting?” I stop and fold my arms in front of him.
But he doesn’t answer. He just shakes his head and gets his own equipment out.
We don’t speak, and we carry on with the work in front of us. It’s only then that I pay attention to the rest of the class. Most are busy setting up their own experiments, but there are two girls — I don’t know their names — who keep looking over to me and then to Jeremy.
“Look,” I whisper and tilt my head so that nobody can overhear. “We kissed. You said, see you in science. I thought maybe that would allow a common courtesy at school, but you treated me like we’d never spoken.”
“You didn’t text me back for the rest of summer.”
“Was I meant to?”
“I thought you would,” he answers as if it was obvious. So frustrating.
“Guys, eyes front and on what you’re doing,” Mr Ross calls us out.
We follow the instructions on the board, and Jeremy lights the flame. While we wait for the liquid to evaporate, he leans into me.
“I thought we had a good time.” His voice is lower than normal, and the softness sends a shiver over my body.
“So did I.” I don’t look at him. I feel like I should still be cross at how he treated me yesterday. But maybe I’m overreacting.
“You’ll text me then?” He nudges my arm with his shoulder.
“Fine. I’ll text you,” I concede. I wanted him to make the first move. It already feels like he could convince me to do anything, and I don’t want him to have all the power.
For the next few weeks, we text nearly daily, sometimes about science and homework, sometimes other things. We work together in class, and most of the time, I’m happy just to be next to him. He radiates a sort of comfort to me. It feels special — like it’s our time.
But that’s where our connection and interaction end. It’s like it’s limited to our science class and the screens of our phones.
I said “hi” as we were passing in the corridor one day, but he ignored me, sending a group of girls in our year into fits of laughter. It might have been a coincidence, but I think they just found it funny that me, Little Miss Anna Rose, dared speak to Jeremy Archer.
My head told me to call him out. Nobody who said they were your friend should treat you that way. But my heart didn’t want to ruin the fragile climate I did have him in.
As the weeks rolled on, my feelings for him only grew. When he was the boy who didn’t know me, it was easy to admire him from afar, but it kept my infatuation to a simple crush.
Now, my heart was involved — how could it not be?
And a strange part of me liked that I got a private version of Jeremy. Nobody else got to see that. Only, I wanted more of it.
There was a big test coming up before the Christmas break. It was important and would help, given our main exams were in the spring.
