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Back Unnecessary Drama Save as PDF
Chapters (49)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. TEXT LOGO PAGE
  3. ABOUT THE BOOK
  4. DEDICATION
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  46. ALSO BY NINA KENWOOD
  47. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  48. PRAISE
  49. NEW MARKETING PAGE

‘After you m’lady,’ he says, using, for some reason, a ridiculous British accent, and giving a grand sweeping hand gesture.

‘Thank you,’ I say, frowning a little, because I suspect he did the accent to try and trick me into smiling, and I need him to know I will not be won over so easily. I absolutely do not find him charming or cute.

I sit down and he sits down next to me. I get the sense he’s regretting the fake accent. I would be. I vow not to speak to him, to hold firm, but not speaking to someone is much harder when you are sitting right next to each other. We’re not touching, but I’m acutely aware of every inch of his body beside me. My mind keeps slipping back into memories of us chatting and laughing on the bus in high school. No. Do not think about that. The silence stretches on, and I stare resolutely out the window. Do not make small talk. Do not look at him. Do not.

Jesse clears his throat.

‘I know we’re supposed to ignore each other when no one else is around,’ he says. ‘But I have to tell you—’

My heart catches, just for a second, as I wait for him to finish his sentence. Maybe he’s feeling nostalgic too. Maybe he’s going to try and rekindle our friendship. I brace myself for an emotional confession. To coldly remind him we are not friends and can never be again.

‘That your foot is touching something disgusting,’ he says, pointing at the floor.

Oh. I look down and he’s right. Under our seat is a discarded McDonalds bag and my shoe is resting on what appears to be a squashed junior burger, the sauce squirting out and onto my sneaker. I lift my foot, and a sticky mess follows it, with the burger wrapper and a pickle now stuck to the sole of my shoe. I wipe my foot against the wall, but the wrapper won’t come off. Jesse watches on as I struggle with the mess.

Finally, he leans down and grabs the dirty wrapper off my shoe with his hand.

‘I didn’t need your help,’ I say huffily.

‘Sorry. I will never help you with anything again,’ he says. He doesn’t visibly roll his eyes but I can feel a sarcastic eye-roll in his tone.

‘Good,’ I say, folding my arms.

‘Glad we’re agreed,’ he says, folding his as well.

We don’t speak again for the rest of the ride home.

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