I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE FUNNY | ✓

▬ 07

DON'T PUSH ME UNLESS YOU'RE READY FOR ME TO FALL APART

            I hesitate outside the common room. For the third time since my arrival five minutes ago, I reach for the door handle only to retreat to the other side of the corridor. We've got progression module and maths later in the day, but since Richards is the teacher for both, I'd rather not attempt talking to Sonia then. Though in the past two years, I've only stepped into the common room once and talking to her in there isn't exactly appealing either.

I can see her through the sidelight, seated alone, engrossed in another manga. Why did she have to pick a table at the back wall? Now I'll have to pass everyone else to get to her.

Stop being dramatic, it's easy. Just open the door and walk quickly.

My plan fails two steps inside. Miles is hunched over on one of the cheap blue armchairs near the centre of the room and my gaze instantly fixates on him.

He's mid-conversation, face taut. 'Well, I weren't dead chuffed up about it or owt.'

Lysander stares at him. 'In English?'

Rather than repeat himself, Miles just scowls.

He digs out a small jar of coconut lip butter to apply to his lower lip, accidentally scoops too much and daubs it to his inner wrist. An ancient friendship bracelet adorns it, woven into what must have been intended to be a floral pattern. The tails are torn, the yarn tapering out into nothingness, and the colours faded. He had three of them when he moved here but the other two must have broken off, judging by the state of the final one.

Light bruising blooms on his knuckles. There's a scab on the side of his thumb as if he's pulled off a hangnail that took the cuticle with it and he kept picking at the wound. I swear, there's a patch of silver nail varnish on the corner of the nail.

Fingers and wrists crooked, they belong in a baroque oil painting of rough angles and harsh contour. As I was unable at seven years old to leave the gift shop of the Natural History Museum without having held each type of stone and bead at least once, I itch to familiarise myself with every bone of his hands — angelite or unpolished garnet? Are the globes of his ulna symmetrical on each wrist?

My distraction costs me. Miles is blocked from view when Tristan steps up to me. 'No, Leech, the common room is for pupils who pay tuition.'

I blink rapidly to wake my brain, still preoccupied with the contours of Miles's hands. 'I wasn't gonna hang out. I just need to talk to S—'

'Don't care.'

Much of the chatter has cut off by now and several pairs of eyes adhere to my skin. I glance at the sliver of Miles visible to find his gaze drilled into the cap of his lip butter, then at Sonia, who has stopped reading to observe the situation.

The last thing I need is for them to slash my tyres again the second I get my bike back. So, hands raised in mock surrender, I leave.

I've hardly wondered what I should do now, wait here for the end of break or try to catch her at lunch, before the door opens and Sonia steps out. She greets me with a curt hello, the manga clutched in her hand, index shoved between the covers to keep track of her page.

I fumble with my tie. 'Um... If you still want help with maths, I guess I can try my best.'

Her face lights up. 'Really? Thank you.'

What's she thanking me now for? I might be absolute rubbish at this.

'I'm not stepping foot in the library, though, cause cool kids don't go into there.' My eyes bounce around the corridor. 'Also, I'm banned.'