never did.
In contrast, Eleanor usually felt like a walking bundle of self-consciousness.
His dark hair was a mess, but he still looked really, really great.
Eleanor knew she didn’t look great. But at least she’d washed away the evening’s worth of dried tears on her cheeks. Besides, her mum had always told her that it didn’t matter what she looked like. It was what was inside that counted.
‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she said softly.
Jake’s gaze darted away. ‘About your mum?’
‘No,’ she said. And did he look—relieved?
In the almost month since her mum had forgotten to look before stepping out onto a busy Fremantle street, Eleanor had barely seen Jake.
That had been her choice—hadn’t it? For the first few days she’d left the house for nothing but the funeral—the oblivion of sleep the only relief from the indescribable pain of loss.
And then, finally, when she’d returned to school, it’d been alone. Jake’s final year exams were already over and so, for the first time in four years, she’d walked to and from school without him.
She hadn’t wanted company. Not even Jake.
But now she did. Now she needed him.
And yet he was shifting his weight from foot to foot—like an Olympic runner settling into his starting blocks, mere milliseconds from sprinting away.
No. That couldn’t be right. Jake had always been there for her.
She needed to sit, so she did, perching on the edge of his bed. Amongst the bunched-up fabric she found her glasses, and she put them on with hands that shook just slightly.
He eyed her warily.
This wasn’t at all how she’d expected this would go.
‘I wanted to talk to you before you left.’
‘I don’t fly out until Monday, Eleanor. That’s two perfectly good days you had to come knock on my door at a time I wasn’t—you know—sleeping.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind.’
But obviously, he did.
Just three weeks ago he’d held her hand at the cemetery, his pockets stuffed full of tissues for her—and now he couldn’t even look at her?
Jake crossed his arms. Not exactly the body language of someone open to a declaration of love.
Not that it was going to stop her. She’d come this far. Jake acting strange didn’t make a difference.
She understood strange, anyway. She could barely remember what it felt to feel normal—to feel like herself. All she had was little pinpricks of the normal and familiar amongst a near blackout of grief.
And this thing with Jake—well, she wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the way he looked at her sometimes. She wasn’t imagining it. Something had changed. She was sure of it.
Maybe she just needed a different plan of attack.
She shot across the room before her nerves got hold of her. Jake’s eyes widened as she came closer, but he didn’t move.
A ruler length away from him, she stopped, and had to tilt her head upwards to meet his eyes.
She considered reaching out to touch him. The popular girls at school made it look so easy—they’d absently hook an arm over their boyfriend-of-the-moment’s shoulder at lunchtime, or wrap themselves around him at the bus stop.
But she wasn’t one of those girls. And she didn’t know what to do.
Frustration made her talk quickly. ‘I love you.’
It ended up being more a mumble, but that Jake heard every word was obvious in the way his body jerked away from her.
Not the reaction she was after. The churning in her stomach stopped dead.
‘No, you don’t,’ he said. As if that were a fact.
‘Yes,’ she said, more clearly this time. ‘I do.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re just confused because …’
‘Of my mum? No. I knew before. It was her idea I tell you.’
Now he walked away, just a few paces. He turned his back to her, resting his hands on a desk covered in keyboards and hard drives and floppy disks—and a lot of stuff Eleanor couldn’t possibly name.
At the back of her mind, she had the feeling she should be crying. But instead, she felt oddly still. Calm.
She needed to walk away, straight across to the fence that separated their houses, then through the three-paling-wide gap they’d used to cross back and forth for years. Back to her room. Tomorrow morning she could come back here, pretend she hadn’t meant it, and things could go back to normal.
But Jake was about to leave. Things were never going to be normal again.
‘I think,’ she said, her heart pounding, ‘that you might love me, too.’
This made him spin around, and suddenly he was right in front of her. Crowding her.
‘You need to go, Eleanor. Your dad will be worried.’
No, he wouldn’t. Her dad wouldn’t notice if she stripped naked and ran laps down at Port Beach.
Jake was so close.
She liked the width of his shoulders, and his chest, too. Some of the pretty girls had noticed, but Jake hadn’t been interested. And she’d been glad—really glad—when he’d shut them down. Actually, he’d laid his geek act on pretty thick—thick enough that, if anything, his weirdo label had been even more firmly reapplied, which was of course exactly what he’d wanted.
The guy standing right in front of her now, in his bedroom, with his shirt off, was definitely not a weirdo in her book.
He was her best friend. The guy who made her laugh, and helped her with maths—which she hated—and that she helped with his English—which he hated. They were a team.
She loved him. And she needed to know if he loved her.
‘Eleanor—please, you need to—’
But before he got the words out, she kissed him.
Or at least, she tried to. But by the time she stood on tiptoes, closed her eyes and leant forward—her lips only collided with his cheek.
His cheek.
And it was this—this—that finally kick-started what should’ve been her immediate reaction. People who loved you did not
