off.’
Ryan sat cross-legged on the ground, flipped open his sketch pad and began to move his pencil across the paper.
‘The green is so vibrant,’ he said. ‘This is such a healthy plant.’
I laughed at his enthusiasm. ‘What is the vegetation like where you come from?’
Ryan paused, his hand hovering over the sketch pad. ‘Where I’m from there’s a lake,’ he said, his eyes far away, as though searching through his memories for a picture. ‘Once it was surrounded by trees. Maple and birch and pine. In the fall the maple trees would turn yellow and gold and red.’
‘I’ve seen photos of New England in the autumn. It looks amazing.’
Ryan nodded. ‘It was. People would come on vacation in the fall to see the colours. And in the winter they would come to ski. And in the summer they would come to fish and swim and boat in the lakes. And everywhere there were trees.’
‘It sounds great,’ I said. ‘What’s it called?’
‘Wolfeboro,’ he said. ‘But it’s not like that any more.’
‘What happened?’
He shut his eyes. ‘I don’t know. Pollution. Some sort of industrial accident, I guess. The trees are all gone. Just the rotting remains of what was once a tremendous forest.’
‘That’s terrible,’ I said. ‘But one day they’ll grow back.’
‘I hope so.’
We continued sketching. From time to time, I glanced at Ryan’s pad. He was outlining the shape of the plant, somehow capturing the glossiness of its leaves and the sun pouring down through the hexagonal panels on the roof of the dome. He flipped the pages of his pad and began another drawing. This time he drew the same plant, but closer. He described the shape of the leaves, the veins in each frond, little details I would never have noticed. I focused on my own sketch. I was attempting the same plant. I had an outline that was roughly the same shape as the plant itself. It was probably the best sketch I had ever produced. The next step involved filling in the details.
Ryan leant over and grinned. ‘Do you want me to do your sketches for you?’
‘It would be pointless. Mrs Link would know it wasn’t my work. I am officially the least talented artist in the history of Perran School.’
‘Did she say that?’
‘Not in those words, but she’s made it plain that she doesn’t believe anyone can really be this talentless without trying hard.’
He looked back at my drawing. ‘She does have a point.’
I smacked him across the head with my sketch pad and stood up. ‘I’m hungry. Shall we go and get some food?’
He snapped his pad shut and we strolled back to the cafe.
‘I have to warn you, Ryan,’ I said. ‘They will be serving meat here. Cornwall is not as evolved as Wolfeboro.’
‘You must think I’m strange,’ he said, smiling to himself.
‘A little,’ I said as I took a hummus sandwich for myself and one for Ryan. I picked up two bottles of sparkling elderflower and pushed the tray to the checkout. Ryan insisted on paying. I made a mental note to pay next time we went out. Next time? Maybe I was imagining it, but it did feel as though there was something between us.
‘Can I ask you something?’ I asked, as we took a seat by the window. ‘And do you promise not to be offended?’
Ryan smiled. ‘You can ask me anything you like, but I can’t promise not to be offended.’
I decided to take the risk.
‘Are you and your family members of a cult or religious group or something?’
His face paled and he stared down at his sandwich. ‘Sort of,’ he said. ‘My dad is part of an environmental group. It’s committed to protecting indigenous species and vulnerable habitats. So we spend a lot of time campaigning and planting trees, and very little time watching television or eating out at fast food restaurants. Which is why I’m not always
When he had finished speaking, he looked up and met my eye. The whole speech had sounded wooden and over-rehearsed, as though he knew I was going to ask him that question.
‘I’m sorry if you think I’m rude,’ I said. ‘I’ve just never met anyone like you before.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose you have.’
After we had finished our lunch, I made a quick visit to the loo. I was locked in a cubicle, thankfully, when I heard Chloe Mason’s voice.
‘Undeniably gorgeous,’ she was saying. ‘And he looks even hotter in his own clothes.’
‘That T-shirt he’s wearing is really clingy,’ said another voice I recognised as Melissa. ‘You can see his muscles. I bet he has a six-pack.’
‘He could have had any girl in the school,’ said Chloe. ‘Why is he wasting his time with Eden Anfield and her loser friends?’
I stopped breathing when I heard my name. I thought about opening the door and walking out, but quickly changed my mind. It was too late. To walk out now would be awkward for all of us.
‘She’s pretty,’ said Melissa.
‘If you like skinny, flat-chested and ginger!’ said Chloe. ‘I would have thought he would be into something sexier.’
‘Like me,’ said Melissa. She burst into giggles.
‘I thought Eden was with Connor Penrose,’ said Chloe. ‘I guess she must have dumped him.’
‘That would explain his miserable face lately,’ said Melissa. ‘Does my hair look OK from the back?’
‘It looks great. Ready?’
I heard the door open and shut again. I waited another minute before I came out of the cubicle to wash my hands.
‘Your friend Chloe was just admiring your physique,’ I said, back in the cafe. ‘She thinks you look hot today.’
Ryan raised an eyebrow. ‘And what do you think?’
I felt myself blush. ‘I think you should stop fishing for compliments.’
Chapter 6
‘Double maths and then it’s all over,’ said Megan, dropping her lunch tray on the table.
It was the last day of school before study leave started and I wasn’t sure whether to be sentimental or overjoyed. I was looking forward to the long summer holidays and then college after that, but there were things I would miss about this place.
I glanced at Ryan. Over the last few weeks, he had infiltrated our tight little group. At first he just sat with us on Monday lunchtimes before our art lesson, but recently he’d started sitting with us every day. He caught me looking at him and smiled.
‘What’s the probability of a fun last lesson with Stevens?’ asked Matt.
‘Absolute zero,’ said Megan, sprinkling salt over her double helping of cheesy chips. ‘He’ll make us go over past papers. Guaranteed.’
I prodded at the vegetables sitting underneath a thick grey pool of congealing sauce, trying to find something I recognised. I should have known better than to risk a veggie curry.
‘You want to share mine?’ asked Ryan, wrinkling his nose at my food. He pushed his tray between us and moved closer to me.
‘Thanks,’ I said, stabbing a piece of his pasta with my fork. ‘You can’t go wrong with pasta. My curry looks like dog vomit. What was I thinking?’
