Fracture

Two seats over, Sylvain was also listening to their conversation, his brow knitted with concentration. His long fingers toyed absently with his knife, flipping it end over end. Allie found it hard to take her eyes off it – his hands were gentle and skilful; the silver caught the afternoon light and flashed.

Abruptly, the knife stopped moving. Allie looked up to find him watching her. His expression was enigmatic – his eyes the cool blue of still water.

Her heart skipped a beat and she wrenched her gaze away.

Only then did she realise the others were looking at her expectantly.

‘What?’ Her tone was more defensive than she’d intended and she tried to lower it. ‘I mean, did someone… say something?’

‘I said –’ Rachel gave her an odd look – ‘what do you think?’

‘About what?’

‘About the plan.’ Nicole looked from Allie to Sylvain and back again, as if she suspected something had transpired between them. ‘Do you think it’s a good idea?’

‘Sorry,’ Allie said, flushing. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night. My head’s not in the game. Please go over it again; I promise to focus.’

Carter gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Right. I’ll explain it again.’ For the first time in nearly twelve hours he met her gaze directly. But his eyes weren’t warm. ‘Tonight we need to divide up the work. Nicole and I will search Eloise’s room. Zoe and Rachel will search Zelazny’s classroom.’ He glanced from her to Sylvain, a small frown creasing his brow. ‘You and Sylvain will search Zelazny’s room – Sylvain knows where it is.’

Her throat tightening, Allie forced herself to nod calmly, but her heart was racing.

Some teachers lived in cottages on the grounds, but most lived in a separate wing of the main building. Allie had never been in it. Entering the teachers’ wing was absolutely forbidden – only prefects were allowed, and even then they had to have a very good reason.

The others were all looking at her expectantly, waiting to hear what she thought of their plan, which fairly thoroughly broke any of The Rules they’d forgotten to break last night.

She squared her shoulders.

‘Sounds great. I’m in.’

TWENTY-TWO

That night, in the shadows at the back of the library, Allie paced impatiently. Sylvain was ten minutes late.

She was sure she was in the right place – he’d been quite specific, and the nine-foot-tall bookcases surrounding her held only old, leather-bound books written in French. Bored, she let her fingertips glide over the thick bindings with their gold-embossed names of writers like Laclos and Langelois.

Then, with a sigh, she glanced at her watch again.

‘Come on, Sylvain,’ she muttered.

A rolling ladder leaned against the tall bookcases so readers could reach the higher shelves and she climbed up a few steps to perch on a rung, letting one foot swing.

Even though worry was making her tense, the lack of sleep last night was taking a toll on her. Her eyes felt heavy. Resting her chin on her hand she let them drift shut. The darkness was welcome and soon she was dozing, her dreams filled with incoherent flashes of running and forests and a voice.

Wake up, Allie.

It was a familiar voice – one she liked. And for a second she kept her eyes shut, wishing it would say more. But it didn’t.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.

Sylvain was on the ladder now, too, balancing on one foot so that his face was even with hers. She blinked sleepily into his eyes, sapphire blue in the dim light.

‘Hey,’ she murmured. Her thoughts were still fuzzy – the moment felt unreal; dream-like. She hadn’t been this close to him since the winter ball. She could feel the warmth of his leg against hers, smell his distinctive cologne. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he said. For a second he stayed where he was, his face so close she could see flecks of violet in the blue of his eyes. Then he jumped down to the floor in a graceful, athletic move. ‘I was delayed by one of the guards who wanted to ask me a million questions about whether I knew if someone had left the school building after curfew last night.’

‘What?’ Instantly wide awake, Allie leaned forward to see him better. ‘Do they know it was us?’

Sylvain shook his head. ‘They don’t know who it was. But they know someone was there. We must be very careful now.’

The prospect of danger seemed to excite him – the colour was high in his cheeks and he bounced on the balls of his feet as if he had too much energy to simply stand still. A curl had escaped from his wavy hair and tumbled forward over his brow.

Seeing it reminded Allie of how she’d felt the first time she’d run her fingers through Sylvain’s hair – the thrill of the forbidden. And the effect it had had on him. The way his arms had tightened around her waist; how he’d pressed his lips more firmly against hers.

It had all felt so different from kissing Carter.

So was that romantic love? She asked herself now, hopelessly. Or the other kind?

Climbing down from the ladder, she stretched her arms above her head trying to wake up her muscles. ‘Cool. I’m ready when you are.’

Watching her, he gave a bittersweet smile. ‘I wish that were true.’ Then he pivoted and headed down the aisle of books. ‘Come on. We should go.’

Dropping her arms, Allie rushed after him so hurriedly she stumbled over a stack of books someone had left at the end of the aisle.

‘Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry…’ she muttered.

‘What did you say?’ Sylvain shot her an inquisitive look.

‘Nothing.’ Allie shrugged. ‘I was just quoting a line from a film I like.’

‘Do you like films?’ He looked genuinely pleased at the idea. ‘Which is your favourite?’

As always happened whenever someone asked her favourite book or film, Allie’s mind went blank – it was as if she’d never seen a film in her life. Everyone was always trying to impress everyone else with their great taste. So it took her a second to realise she’d just quoted a line from one of her favourite movies.

‘I like It’s a Wonderful Life,’ she said. ‘I mean, I used to watch it with my family every Christmas before… I mean… It’s pretty good, I guess.’

What she meant was, she used to watch the film back when she was happy. Before Christopher ran away and her world fell apart.

He looked at her seriously. ‘I think it is an amazing film – one of my favourites. I love Jimmy Stewart.’ His accent made the name sound adorable – ‘Jeemee’. They’d made it to the door and he held it open for her as he warmed to the topic. ‘I love films – when I’m at home I’m constantly watching movies – I particularly like old movies in black and white. They seem better than modern films, although I don’t know why.’ He cast a sideways glance at her. ‘Have you seen Jules et Jim?’

Mutely, Allie shook her head. It sounded French and sophisticated. Of course her parents wouldn’t have had that around.

‘It is by Francois Truffaut, a great French filmmaker – I think perhaps the best ever,’ Sylvain said as they stepped into the grand hallway. It was quiet at this hour and the polished oak panelling shone in the low light. ‘You remind me, sometimes, of the actress in it. Your hair… other things…’

His words made warmth bloom in Allie’s chest, uninvited. It was nice being compared to a French actress who was probably beautiful and mysterious as French actresses always were. The casual conversation served to