A Is for Apple (13 page)

“Yeah, since I left,” Xander said, not noticing the undertone, or at least brushing it off. “Jesus, I was younger than these kids.”

“You left home at sixteen?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Had a bust-up. Don’t need to tell you what about.”

“Is that when you went to New York?”

He nodded. “It was so rough back then. I wanted to live in Manhattan but I ended up in this revolting place in Queens…took me years to work my way out of there. I cried every night.”

“Poor baby. Hey, Xander,” I thought of something, “is it true all Manhattan apartments are shoeboxes?”

He shrugged, tugging on the laces of his (or probably, Harvey’s) trainers. “Pretty much. Why?”

“Your apartment,” Luke said, realising.

“It’s really big. And nice.”

“That’s because it’s not really an apartment,” Xander winked. “It’s a warehouse. And I get a discounted rate anyway.”

“How come?”

He smirked. “The guy who owns it is—what’s that phrase, Angel?”

“Bent as a nine bob note.”

“Yeah. But he doesn’t want people to know.”

“So he lets you live there really cheap?”

“Not just cheap,” Luke said. “Illegal, too, if it’s supposed to be warehouse space.”

Xander shrugged again, his smile fading. “Doesn’t matter now,” he said. “I guess it’s gone.”

I tried to think what I’d feel like if I had to leave my home and everything in it, with no notice. Like being a refugee. It’d kill me.

We went outside, Luke with his arm around me, and I forgot about school and started to feel pretty good. Sharing body heat with a sexy man will do that.

We walked past Marc, Clara and Lucy. Clara looked pissed off that she had to share Marc, but I had a feeling it was Lucy providing the lift home.

How did I ever manage without Ted?

“Are they looking?” I asked Luke quietly. “Are they watching, am I cool?”

Luke suddenly stopped and swung me into his arms and kissed me with cinematic intensity. Randy and Joan never had moments like this.

When he let me go, I was dizzy.

“Wow,” I mumbled, and he grinned.

“Now they’re watching. Now you’re cool.”

Is this man the best, or what?

“Exhibitionists,” Angel called as she walked off, backwards, after Xander.

“Jealous,” Luke called back.

“Of you? Never.”

Luke stuck a finger up at her and then used it to stroke the hair from my face.

“Now then, cool girl,” he said, “wanna go back to my place?”

I nodded, incapable of speech.

It was the hair that did it.

I tried to slip into the back of the art class as quietly as I could, but everyone turned and looked at me, and I knew they could tell. I was wearing yesterday’s clothes, but only Marc and Lucy would be able to tell that. I was wearing minimal makeup—applied in the car—but so were a few of the other girls.

It was my hair—tousled, unbrushed, wiggly from being left in plaits all night, and almost still bearing the imprints of Luke’s fingers—and the scent of his deodorant that did it.

I’d have brushed my hair, but all I had was the booby bag which contained my purse, phones and a lipgloss. Besides, those pigtails had done a damn good job on it last night, not to mention Luke’s added tousling. No three-second brushing would have made it look tame.

It was pretty clear that I’d spent the night at Luke’s place, and pretty clear we hadn’t been playing Scrabble.

Lucy was giggling. Marc looked at me with his cool blue eyes, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Boy, he’s going to be mad at you,” Lucy whispered, and I looked around for the new teacher as I slunk to an empty bench. I was fifteen minutes late for the lesson and I had no artwork at all. It was all in the back of Ted, who was still sitting in my car park at home. I didn’t even have a pencil.

This morning I’d woken in Luke’s soft bed, tangled up with him in a hot, gorgeous mess. I stretched out, feeling pretty damn good, and wondered what I had to do today.

And then I remembered.

And then I looked at the clock, and screamed.

Luke’s eyes slammed open and he reached for the gun by his bead.

“What?”

“I was supposed to be at school ten minutes ago!” I leapt out of bed, tripping over Luke’s leg and landing painfully on my knee. “Ow! Bollocks, shit…”

He dropped the gun on his beside table and looked at me lazily.

“Blow it off,” he said.

“Are you nuts? Luke, this is the first time I’ve been given something like surveillance all by myself. I am not going to screw it up. Now where the
hell
is my underwear?”

I sat there and tried to look composed. This is a look I’ve been practising my entire life, and I still haven’t managed to pull it off. God knows how I got my Drama A level.

“What’s he like?” I asked Lucy now in an undertone. She, like everyone else, had her entire portfolio out on the desk and I remembered my induction letter telling me to bring everything to the first lesson for assessment. Which was why I had put it in my car. But Luke had dropped me off this morning and I’d hardly had time to put my knickers on. My feet were killing me because they hadn’t been parcelled up properly, and my pretty shoes were grating on the raw patches.

“The new guy?” She shrugged. “He’s really cute. And he’s really pissed off you weren’t here.”

Oh God.

I looked up to the little office at the top of the room. So much for me trying to charm him into lending me a pencil and some paper. Not that I felt up to drawing much as it was.

“I’m only fifteen minutes late.”

“He’s calling Devvo now to see if you’ve come in. Did you sign the late book?”

I looked at her blankly.

“In the office.”

“What office?”

“The main one. In A Block.”

“I don’t even know where A Block is!”

“Down by the Drama Studio…”

“Wouldn’t that just make me later?”

She shrugged, grinning. “Like it’s supposed to make sense.”

The office door opened and a voice said, “No, she’s still not—Sophie?”

I stared. I think my mouth fell open.

Lucy nudged me. “Told ya.”

Oh, he was cute. He was very cute. But he was also living with my best friend.

The compulsion to yell “Harvey, you wanker, what are you doing here?” overwhelmed me, but somehow I managed to control myself.

“I’m really sorry I’m late,” I said, “I overslept…”

“This is only your second day,” he said, looking stern.

And it’s only your first. “I’m sorry,” I began again, and he crooked a finger. Lucy sighed.

“Can you come into my office?”

I got up, and every single eyeball in the large room watched me walk slowly, on sore feet with aching legs (ahem) up to the door at the top of the room. Harvey closed it behind us, then turned to face me.

“Surprise!”

I bashed his arm. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Likewise.” He fingered my tousled hair. “Luke?”

“Is it that obvious?”

He nodded, grinning. “You even smell of him.”

“In a good way?”

“I guess.”

Cheers. “Didn’t you know I was going to be here?”

He nodded. “That’s why I was worried. Shapiro’s men got in last night—Doyle and Maretti—and they haven’t been seen since. When you didn’t turn up I panicked… I was about to try your cell.”

“I’d have been in a hell of a lot quicker if Luke hadn’t hidden my underwear,” I said grumpily.

Harvey laughed. “More than I needed to know.”

Something occurred to me. “Angel knows about this?” He nodded. “And Xander?” Another nod. “That’s why he was laughing. Does Karen know?”

“Yes. She’s not too happy. She wanted you to do this on your own.”

“Am I right in thinking this is a more direct order?”

“From right across the pond. They think Doyle and Maretti could be after Marc.” He glanced out of the little door window at Marc, who was bent over a sketch pad, silent. “What do you think of him?”

I shrugged. “Hard to tell. He’s in black again.”

“So he knows.”

“Or he’s just a miserable bastard.” I yawned.

“Am I keeping you up?”

I nodded. “Yes. I want to go back to bed.”

“Didn’t sleep?” Harvey asked, hazel eyes dancing.

“No. Not at all. Bloody Luke.”

“I’ll remember that next time you two slope off somewhere. Right. Where’s your portfolio?”

I bit my lip.

“In the back of my car.”

“Where is your car?” Harvey asked patiently.

“At the back of my flat.”

“You know, I could mark you down for this.”

“You’re not really a teacher,” I reminded him. “And I’m not really a pupil either.”

“Yeah, but isn’t this fun?”

Was he insane?

“Maybe for you,” I said.

“I’d love to go back to high school.”

He
was
insane. “We could swap?” I said hopefully.

“Bit late now.”

Story of my life.

I borrowed a pencil from Lucy and got some paper from the pile and sat there trying to sketch Marc. But he was elusive, and I always need to warm up, sort of get in practice, before I can make a sketch look anything like its subject. I was relieved when the bell went and I followed him, as subtly as I could, back down to the room below the stage. It was dark in here, the bare bulbs shaded with lighting gels and even one stolen gobo that made the far wall look like a church window. The radio was playing something quiet—unusual, that, because even uncool teenagers like me always played the radio at full volume, no matter who was in the room and what they wanted to say.

Clara was there, and her face lit up at the sight of Marc. She didn’t look so pleased to see me, however, and spent the next hour trying her best to ignore me.

Lucy went straight over to Amber and they giggled together for a while, before looking up at me.

“Hey, Sophia,” Amber said.

“It’s Sophie,” I replied.

“Whatever. Weren’t you wearing that last night?”

Clara and Marc both looked up at me, as did Laurence, who I’d thought was dozing on one of the ugly props sofas.

“Erm, maybe,” I swallowed.

“What—don’t you have a washing machine or something?”

“No, I—” Shit, what did I say? In any other company I would say I’d spent the night at my boyfriend’s house, why not, I was allowed to. And even though, theoretically speaking, a seventeen-year-old was allowed to too, it would just never happen. Not with parents around. Not on a school night.

“Or didn’t you go home?” Marc asked, his piercing eyes on mine. For a second he reminded me of Karen, the same uncompromising stare that made you feel about three inches tall.

Amber pounced on this. “That guy you were with. Luce, didn’t you say—”

“You were snogging him outside Maccy D’s,” Lucy said.

“I saw that too,” Clara piped up.

I felt my face get hot. Dammit, why did I have to be a blusher?

“Well, really
he
was snogging
me
,” I attempted.

“And then later, was he shagging you, too?” Marc enquired, still cool and impassive, and the sudden thought flashed through me—I don’t like you.

“Is that any of your business?” I asked.

“Ooh.” Amber made clawing motions with her fingers. “Anyway, I saw him drop you off this morning. In his dad’s car.”

His dad’s car. Luke’d love that.

“It’s his car,” I said. “He’s thirt—” I broke off, wincing, because I should probably have played that down a little more.

They all stared at me, even Marc.

“Dirty old man,” Lucy exclaimed.

He’s not, I wanted to say, that’s only a few years older than me, but “a few” sounded like I was covering up for “a lot”. And anyway, to them it was more than a decade. Which
was
kind of a lot.

“What does he do?” Amber asked, fascinated.

“He’s, er, he’s a PSA,” I said, then had to explain. “Passenger Services Agent. At the airport. He’s on check in.” Well, he used to be. While he was undercover.

“I thought you had to be gay to do that,” Laurence said.

“You’d know,” Amber flashed back. “Does he get to fly?”

“No. That’s cabin crew.” And most of them
are
gay.

“How long have you been going out?”

Wow, I was interesting. They wanted to know about me. And suddenly I remembered that when I was at school, the girls with boyfriends in their class were slightly cool, the ones with boyfriends outside school were cooler, and the ones with boyfriends who didn’t go to school were subzero.

Like me.

I’m
cool
!

I was enjoying the attention so much I almost didn’t want to leave for English. Actually, scrub that, I didn’t want to leave at all. But at least the three girls and Marc were going too. Laurence, from what I could tell, didn’t go to any classes at all, but spent his whole time sleeping behind the stage.

They commandeered the big table in the centre of the room and I, spying an empty chair and recalling with ferocious effort that it had also been empty yesterday, casually took it. Amber even shared her
Sons & Lovers
with me as we looked up Oedipal quotes.

“So,” she said in a low voice, “was it him who called you yesterday? In Drama?”

I hesitated. I’d been telling them mostly the truth, that being much easier to recall than a tangled web of lies, but with certain glaring omissions. Like that I wasn’t a seventeen-year-old A level student, for instance. Little things like that.

“Yeah,” I said. “He wanted to know if I was going out. He’s big on bowling.”

“I saw,” she said. “He got loads of strikes. I’m not too good.”

“Me neither.”

“I saw him teasing you. He’s really cute,” she blurted, and I preened happily.

“Yeah, he is.”

At the end of the lesson, we walked out together, and the girls asked each other what they were doing now.

“History,” Clara said, looking depressed.

“Free now, but Business Studies fifth,” Amber said, and Lucy gave a dispirited nod.

“Marc?” Clara asked.

“I’m done,” he said. “I’m off home.”

“You drive?” I asked, and he nodded. “What?”

“Corsa,” he said, a touch defensively, but I didn’t react. A Corsa was a perfectly good car for a seventeen-year-old.