The backpack is taken firmly from her hands, and all of her items shoved back into it. Even, blessedly without comment, the rogue tampon.
‘You OK?’ he asks, holding out a hand to help her up. ‘Are you going in to college, or are you planning on staying down there all day?’
Jessica takes a deep breath, screws up her eyelids to squeeze away the last remnants of tears, and asks herself possibly the lamest question she’s ever thought of: What Would Buffy Do?
Buffy, she decides, would be just as scared – but she’d handle it. In fact, she’d slay it.
She takes the hand, and finds herself pulled up to her feet, where she comes face to face with her rescuer. All the breath whooshes out of her lungs again, because he is possibly the coolest and sexiest creature she’s ever seen in real life, and she feels like she’s been body-slammed. She blinks rapidly, and tries to think of something to say that doesn’t make her sound like a mental patient, and fails miserably.
He’s tall – like, taller than her dad. He has broad shoulders and long legs and he looks like a man, not a boy. No wonder she can’t talk – she’s certainly not used to meeting people like this. Men in her world are either her friend’s parents, or teachers, or pimply adolescents. This is a totally new entity, and it steals her words.
She knows that later, she’ll think of all kinds of funny and awesome lines she could have used. Absolute winners that would show how witty and laid-back and intelligent she is, the kind of things that could be on comedy sketch shows – but right now, in this moment, she’s totally tongue-tied.
He’s wearing baggy jeans and a lumpy sweater with holes in it, and somehow still managing to make it look good. Rich, dark hair is spilling out from beneath a dark grey beany hat, and he has one of those ear piercings that’s up high, that looks like it’d hurt to get done.
He’s got shades on – it is pretty sunny, so she excuses him this, as she knows she’d excuse him pretty much anything. Anyway, they’re those oval ones like Kurt Cobain used to wear. He takes them off, and his eyes are a deep liquid brown.
He smiles at her, kind of. It’s a sort of half-smile, a quirk of one side of his lip, and it is enough to make Jessica think she might entirely possibly need to sit down again.
‘Can I have my hand back, Bambi? I’ll be needing it later,’ he says, and she flushes again, realising that she’s still holding on to him. She immediately snatches her fingers away, and takes the backpack from him.
‘Thank you,’ she finally manages. ‘It’s … it’s my first day.’
‘Really?’ he says, one eyebrow shooting up, laughter dancing in his dark eyes. ‘I’d never have guessed. Look, don’t mind them – they’re just … well, they’re like a pack of wild animals, and you looked like fresh meat. They don’t mean anything by it.’
His accent is weird – part urban, part something else she can’t quite identify – but she could listen to him all day. She would literally pay him to read out the phone book to her. He sounds so cool and confident and self-assured – everything she wants to be, and everything that she is not. If I stay close enough to him, she wonders, will some of it seep into me, a kind of societal osmosis?
‘I suppose I’ll get used to it,’ she says, putting her backpack on her shoulders to give herself something to do other than gaze at him. ‘Maybe I’ll even learn how to bite back.’
‘That’s the spirit. Don’t let the bastards grind you down – my motto in life.’
She meets those eyes again, and feels her heart doing an overexcited little pitter-patter. He’s grinning, but there’s an edge to his voice – as though his life has featured many bastards, and it’s been a hard battle to stop them from grinding him down. Or maybe, she admits to herself, she’s just seen too many teen flicks and romcoms, and she’s investing him with a romantic back-story he doesn’t have.
‘Come on,’ he says, nodding towards the building, and the now empty doorway. ‘I’ll walk you in. Don’t want to be late on your first day, do you?’
There’s a momentary delay while she processes what he’s saying, and she nods, pulling herself together and walking by his side towards the college. Inside, the lights are bright, the hallways bustling with life, the classrooms erupting with the noise of hundreds of young people catching up on a summer’s worth of news.
She pauses, feels a flap of panic as she realises she’s not entirely sure where to go next, then spots a giant noticeboard headed ‘New student information’.
‘It’ll tell you what room you’re in,’ he says, guiding her towards it. ‘Just look up your class and it’ll give you a form room. There are three floors, and each room has a letter – so, like 3B or 2A or whatever. You’ll figure it out, Bambi.’
She nods at him gratefully, and finds a sudden rush of courage.
‘Why do you keep calling me Bambi?’ she asks, as he turns to leave.
‘Because you’re cute, and you have the big eyes and the wobbly legs. And because I don’t know your actual name.’
Well, she decides, it could be worse. He thinks she’s cute – not what she was aiming for, but better than, say, ‘repulsive’.
‘It’s Jessica … no. It’s Jess. Just Jess,’ she says firmly.
This seems to amuse him, and he winks at her.
‘OK, then, Just Jess. I’m Just Joe. Maybe I’ll see you later. And one more thing, Just Jess? You should probably go to the ladies first. There’s mascara all over your face – looks a bit like you might have been crying.’
Her hands fly to her cheeks, and her mouth falls open, and she kind of wishes she could become invisible. Or even drop dead.
Joe laughs, and shakes his head in mock disapproval, and says: ‘Don’t look so upset, Bambi – you’re still cute.’
Chapter 5
I clutch the box to my chest, and stagger down the steps. I slip on the final few, and slide awkwardly on my bottom, knocking the old magazines flying in a multicoloured whoosh of dusty pages.
Winded, I stay where I am for a moment, breathing heavily as I examine myself for injuries, and as Michael dashes to catch up with me. His footsteps sound heavy and distant.
‘Jess! Jess! Are you all right? What’s wrong?’ he yells, his voice an inconsequential high-pitched buzz banging against my brain. ‘Talk to me, for God’s sake!’
I kick away the magazines and a stray basket of balled-up wool, and pull myself upright. I feel my way along the landing walls, wanting to run, to hide, to be alone.
But I’m not alone. Michael is suddenly by my side, grabbing hold of my shoulders, forcing me to face him. His eyes are wide, his expression shocked and scared, his mouth moving but the words not connecting.
I shake him off, and sprint down the next set of stairs, into the hallway where my stockinged feet slip and slide on the parquet.
I know this house, intimately. I have known it since I was born, with all its creaks and groans and hidden cupboards and spider-ridden corners. I know it – but for a moment I freeze, unsure of where to turn.
I am filled with energy, it is zinging through me, jolting my body and my mind in a manic injection of motion and fury.