Chapter 5

“Hate is a strong word.”

Will couldn’t face the punishment essay and waited until after school that Friday before he started it. He didn’t think it would take him too long—if he could get a run at it. After half an hour of research and half an hour of writing, he’d written fifteen hundred words.

“Hi, William.” He looked up. Amy stood on the other side of the desk. She grinned and sat opposite.

“What are you doing?”

“That essay for Riley. Two thousand words on Role models. It’s easy actually. There are tons of examples in today’s paper alone. Here, you want to read what I’ve got so far?” He handed her his notepad.

She took it and scanned over his work.

“Your handwriting is terrible. I can barely read it.”

“It’s just rough. I’ll type it up on Dad’s computer on Sunday.”

“What about your application? Aren’t you doing that on Sunday?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not going to take too long, is it?”

“If you say so, but you’d better write neater than this. Or are you going to type that too?”

Will looked at the desk. “Actually, I was going to ask...”

“Yes?”

“Well, you’ve got really nice handwriting, and since you’re going to look at my application before I fill the form in anyway...”

Amy sighed. “If it was anyone else I’d be insulted by something like that. But since you’ve always helped me with homework, I will write it out for you. But you owe me a drink tomorrow night.”

“Okay. Why are you still here, anyway?”

“I went swimming. That’s why my hair’s a mess.”

“It looks okay to me.”

“Yes, but you’re a boy. I wouldn’t expect you to notice the difference.” She handed back the notepad and Will continued writing. Amy pulled a book out of her bag and began reading. The comfortable silence between them was only broken by the scratching of Will’s pen and Amy turning the pages in the book.

“Shouldn’t you be getting home?” Will asked. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you.”

She shook her head. “I’m in no hurry. I don’t like being in the house on my own.”

“Why would you be?”

“Daddy won’t be home until after seven and Mom’s away for the weekend. That’s why he’s taking me for a McDonald’s when he gets in. He’s a terrible cook. Hey, why don’t you join us? He could tell you what it’s like to be a lawyer.”

“I don’t know...”

“Oh, go on. Don’t be such a stick in the mud. Finish your essay, then walk me home and phone your parents from there to tell them what you’re doing. Daddy will drop you off when we’ve eaten.”

Will shrugged. “Okay. Why not?”

He was delighted to see that wonderful smile of hers when he agreed. She was happy and that made him happy. She went back to her book and he began writing again, but he kept snatching glances at her as often as he thought he could get away with. He could only cope with quick glances because looking at Amy was like staring at the sun—doing so for more than a few seconds hurt the eyes and left you weeping.

She had always looked great. Before they joined the Sixth Form, Will had thought that Amy was the only person he knew who made the school’s hideous uniform, with its burgundy and white striped blazer, white shirt and grey skirt, look good. But the limited sartorial freedom that came with sixth-form life allowed her to pull off the smart-casual look with elegant ease. She put the rest of the girls in the sixth form to shame. It had been an unseasonably warm day and she’d taken advantage of it by wearing a thin pale yellow blouse and short white pleated skirt that showed off her legs. She had great legs—long and slim and toned.