BOYTOY

~ Chapter 17 ~

English class that afternoon consisted of the clickclickclick of the ceiling fan going around, sweat tickling the back of my neck and spine, and Mrs. Duncast's droning voice; Antony and Cleopatra were dead, Caesar was the supposed victor, and she couldn't get enough of it. The nth sigh of the day slid up from my throat and I dipped my head, staring down at the mess of ink scribbles all over the bottom half of my page. Unfortunately, most had taken the shape of the letter 'E', so just by looking at my workbook, I was becoming disheartened.

Avoiding Emery was harder than I had ever thought imaginable. Amber I could now deal with; she was my sister, blood, family. No boy should have been able to come between us. But he had, he was, and now we—I—had to deal with the consequences.

After having made my decision—that of avoiding Emery as much as I could, and if it came to it, dismissing him completely—I was having regrets. But I knew I couldn't go back on my word now. Not if I was to get through this thing without losing a sister. So I was giving up on Emery. It wasn't like I ever had him, though. Even if he liked me, and I him, it would never work. Amber had him and even if he wanted to leave her, even if he did leave her, it still couldn't be.

It just didn't work that way.

I was giving up on Emery; trying to forget about his curling, tawny hair; ignoring the way his aquamarine eyes crinkled at the edges; dismissing the memory of his mouth, sliding across my cheek, hovering above my ear, whispering words that caressed as they were spoken...

Trying, and failing.

Another bone-weary sigh parted my lips and I turned my head, hoping to find distraction out the window. And I did, but not the sort of distraction I needed. Or wanted.

Amber was walking quickly towards the student car park, her side profile presented to me. Sunlight glittered in her golden hair and on tear-wetted cheeks, and her mouth parted and closed with silent sobs. My chest constricted and I found myself standing, leaning furiously against the glass, staring intently down at her. She was heading straight for her car, her bag clutched loosely in her hands, alone and crying.

My mouth went dry.

"Miss French?" asked Mrs. Duncast. "Miss French, why on earth are you standing up?"

"I, I," I swallowed and tried again. "I, I've got to go," I said, throwing her a distressed look. I fumbled for my book and pens, reaching for my bag, sprawled defeated across the floor beneath my chair.

"No, you don't," said the teacher briskly. "Sit down."

"But, I've got to—"

"No. You haven't been paying attention all lesson. And now you want to truant?"

"I don't want to truant!" I searched for an explanation but came up blank. "My sister—"

"Never listens to a thing I say either," finished Mrs. Duncast crossly.

In my distress and anxiousness, this seemed a rather curious sentence. I stared at her in confusion. "You, you teach Amber as well?"

"I teach both senior classes," she said, frowning tightly at me. "Now sit down. Antony and Cleopatra will not teach itself."

"That's because it's a fourteenth century play!"

Mrs. Duncast's eyes narrowed into two grey slits and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. "Sit. Down. Now." I sat down, though my heart still raced and my thoughts jumped from one to the other, all circling around Amber; why was she crying? What had happened? Was she alright? "I don't need anymore interruptions," continued the teacher curtly, her eyes lingering suggestively on me as she scanned the classroom. It was only then that I realised that twenty other students had witnessed my outburst, and the ticklings of embarrassment started up my neck. But still I glanced out the window, to the vacant parking space where Amber's car had sat.