Fall from India Place
Page 5He didn’t say anything, just scowled at a leaf that skittered by on the pavement.
Hmm. “So what do you want to be?”
He shot a quizzical look my way. “What do you want to be?”
“It changes every few months,” I answered in consternation. My friends all knew what they wanted to be when they were older. I still hadn’t made up my mind between a writer, a teacher, a doctor, or a librarian. “I really need to focus.”
“Maybe you should be a reporter.”
I snorted at his teasing. “The twenty questions? Right. Sorry.”
“It doesn’t bother me.” His eyebrows drew together, as if he were surprised by his own confession.
Encouraged, I jumped to my next question. “D’Alessandro? Like the restaurant?” There was an Italian restaurant with that name, only a five-minute walk from my house.
“It’s my uncle’s.”
“Great food,” I said honestly.
Again, he didn’t respond.
I got the feeling he didn’t want to chat about anything related to family. “I heard the pizza in Chicago is the best.”
That received a grin. “You heard right.”
“Do you miss your friends there?”
He was quiet again, so I thought he wasn’t going to answer this one either. I was thinking it was a no-go on any really personal questions, but then… “I didn’t really have friends. Not good ones anyway.”
Our footsteps slowed as we found ourselves on my street. I squinted against the sunlight peeking through a cloud as I looked up at him. “I hope you’ve found good ones here.”
When he looked at me my heart almost puttered to a stop at the warmth in his eyes. “You got a name?” he asked softly.
I shivered, not understanding my body’s reaction to him. “Hannah Nichols.”
He smiled, drawing to a stop to hold out his large hand.
Feeling the butterflies riot in my belly, I determinedly ignored them and placed my small hand in his. I tried to hide my reaction to the tingling that shot up my arm from where we touched. I wanted to tighten my grip and had to mentally stop myself from doing so.
“You too. Thanks for helping me out with Jenks. And for walking me home.”
“Not a problem.” He let go of my hand and I instantly bemoaned the loss of his touch. He took a step back, preparing to leave, but I grew still at the suddenly stern expression on his face. “Try not to miss the bus again.”
He disappeared down the street before I could say anything, and I stared after his broad back, feeling so many things I’d never felt before.
After walking into my house, only to spend the evening distracted, I came to one conclusion: I had my first crush. On Marco D’Alessandro.
I should have joined the debate team. I shook my head, marching toward the main exit of the school and cursing my shyness to hell. At the beginning of the year my politics teacher had asked me to join the school debate team, and because I was sure I’d never be able to speak up and articulate in person what I was so good at saying on paper, I’d turned the offer down.
Now I’d missed the bus because I’d come across the team working in an empty music classroom and had stopped to listen to them. I’d been filled with the sudden urge to just stride in, introduce myself, and start airing my opinions. I had loads of opinions inside of me. I also had this fear that one day they’d just explode out of me, wreaking havoc and leaving disaster in their wake.
There were so many things I was missing out on because of how damn quiet I was. And in truth, I wasn’t really that quiet anymore. I said what I thought at home, consequences be damned.
I frowned back in the direction of the school as I opened the exit door. It was definitely time for a change. I could feel it coming.
With a sigh of regret, I hurried forward, my eyes searching out Marco and finding him waiting alone by the gate for me.
For whatever reason, over the past year Marco had waited at the gate most days, watching me get on the bus. There had been several times I’d been late and he’d walked me home. Most of those times my lateness was not my fault, but I do admit to being deliberately late a few times in the last couple of months just so I could be around him.
I was addicted to the feeling inside me when we were together, or even when I was thinking about him – and I thought about him a lot. He didn’t make me feel like a shy, awkward nerd. And to my delighted surprise, I discovered that I could make Marco – this boy who was definitely prone to brooding – laugh. He laughed at my jokes and teasing and he constantly remarked on how smart I was, as if it was something to respect rather than to mock. When I looked at him, my belly would flip, my pulse would race, and I’d get this delicious tingling all over my body.
I wanted him to kiss me so badly.
I couldn’t tell if he felt the same way. I was fifteen now and five foot nine. Boys at school had started paying me more attention since I’d grown boobs and my h*ps had filled out. But I didn’t know if Marco had noticed those things.
He’d surprised me over the last year. He wasn’t the most talkative person on the planet, but he was patient with my questions even if he didn’t answer a lot of them. He let me chat about the books I was reading and the music I was listening to and actually seemed interested when I did.
He’d also been there for me when I told him about the time my family went through one of its most difficult situations. When I was thirteen my big sister, Ellie, was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and although it turned out to be benign, the whole thing scared the crap out of us all. As had the brain surgery she’d had to have. I’d never really talked about it with anyone, or the effect it had on me, but Marco listened to me and somehow managed to give me comfort in his silence.
As well as discovering that he was a great confidant, I’d also discovered that he wasn’t as terrible at school as he’d made out. Although some of his friends found themselves in trouble at school, Marco was quiet and kept out of the drama. His height and broad build had made other students wary of him. His good looks and the fact that he was American had made him popular. And his brooding intensity had given him a reputation for being utterly cool, and so all these things combined had garnered him respect. I knew he wasn’t a typical bad boy, no matter what rumors I heard. He studied and he worked with a tutor. He’d passed his exams last year, excelling in design and tech, maths, and P.E. He had an English tutor and his grades were passable.
“Why were you late this time?” he asked, falling into step beside me.
I shrugged, not really wanting to talk about the fact that I was failing at life.
“Should I be worried?”
His eyebrows rose. “You’re really not going to tell me?”
I chuckled, kicking a stone out of my way. “You don’t tell me stuff.”
Marco seemed to process this. “Well, what do you want to know?”
Deciding that today was a good day to try to be brave, I asked, “Why don’t you talk about your family?”
He gave me a look as if to say, “I should have known you’d go there.” “I don’t really get along with them,” he admitted.
“All of them?” Since I came from a close family, the idea that Marco was estranged from his didn’t sit well with me. I knew how happy my family made me. I wanted Marco to be equally happy.
“Nonna, maybe – my grandma,” he replied. “Not Nonno – my grandfather. And not my uncle Gio. His wife is nice. Him, not so much.”
I didn’t like the sound of that at all and I wanted to know more, but this was more information than I’d gotten out of him in the past, so I decided not to push my luck. “I’m late because I was listening in on the debate team. My politics teacher asked me to join at the beginning of the year. I said no and now I wish I hadn’t. I need to grow some balls, Marco.” I sighed.
“You’ve already got them. You just to need use them. This supposed shyness of yours is all in your head.”
“And how did you get so smart?”
Marco gave a short bark of laughter and drew to a halt. I stopped with him, my eyes widening slightly as he stared at me intently. “You’re the first person to ever say that to me.” He shook his head. “I’m not smart, Hannah.”
Ignoring the shiver that chased down my spine as it did anytime he said my name, I gave him a disapproving look and skirted around him to sit down on the steps of the Georgian apartment building we were outside of. I looked up at him, my expression completely serious. “You don’t have to be book smart to be clever, Marco.”
Marco stared down at me for a few seconds and then sighed as he lowered his tall body onto the step next to me. His arm brushed mine and heat rushed up it, exploding through me. My cheeks flushed furiously, but Marco didn’t notice. He gazed out into the street, seeming lost in thought. Finally he asked quietly, “And you think I’m clever?”
“Yes,” I answered without hesitating.
I did think he was clever. And talented. And so much more than he even realized.
His lips twitched. “I don’t think I’ve said anything clever to you.”
“You have a dry, clever sense of humor. You get my jokes,” I cracked, nudging him with my arm. While he smiled at me in return, I continued. “You always think before you speak. Some of the most intelligent people in the world haven’t learned how to do that.”
His eyes washed over me and my insides dipped like I was on a roller coaster. We’d never been this close to each other before.
“I bet your parents tell you you’re smart all the time,” he muttered.
“That’s good. You should believe in yourself.”
I made an impulsive decision right at that moment and my palms began to sweat as the blood rushed in my ears. “I think believing in yourself means having to be brave sometimes.”
Before Marco could reply to that, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his. My heart was slamming so hard in my chest I could barely hear anything over the sound of its beating. Marco stiffened beneath my kiss, but I didn’t pull back. Instead I put more pressure behind it. Seconds later, I felt the heat of Marco’s hand on my waist and his lips moved against mine.
I didn’t have time to feel relieved or triumphant because he was kissing me back, taking control of the kiss, and sending my hormones into overdrive. My skin was flushed, my lips tingling, and all I wanted was to sink deeper into him and feel his hands all over my body.
My hands suddenly had a life of their own, one coming to rest on his knee, while the other cupped the nape of his neck.
He squeezed my waist and I sighed involuntarily, my lips parting on the sound. Almost instantly I felt the touch of Marco’s tongue against mine, and the surprising bolt of lust that hit me between the legs made me stiffen in shock.
Just like that, I found myself pushed away as Marco abruptly stood up.
I looked up at him, panting for breath, watching him rub his hands over his short, dark hair and drag them down over his face. Then he dropped his hands and his taut features were revealed to me as he lowered his incredulous gaze.
Before I could say a word Marco strode down the steps and disappeared up the street.
CHAPTER 4
The fourth-year class erupted into boisterous conversation as soon as the bell rang. Chairs scraped against the wooden floor, jotters were stuffed into backpacks, and friends who had been separated in my seating plan reunited as they headed toward the door.
I had finished a year of teacher training at the beginning of the summer, and now I was two months into my probation year. Once this year ended, I’d be fully qualified. After that came the really hard part – finding a permanent teaching position.
I felt confident that I knew what I was doing, but every now and then someone would remind me I was just starting out and there would be this moment of panic. I couldn’t let that kind of self-doubt win, and I definitely couldn’t let it show. Kids were like predators – show a sign of weakness and they’d take you down.
My eyes caught Jarrod Fisher’s as he lazily put away his things. His friends, two of my problem kids in this class, stood by his desk, waiting on him. From what I had heard they followed Jarrod’s example, but in my class Jarrod wasn’t a nuisance, though his friends were obnoxious brats. I’d heard stories from the other teachers, however, that Jarrod could be a menace. He swore, he talked back, and he disrupted lessons.
I wondered what was causing him to clash with those teachers. I got his cheeky side, but never an aggressive manner.
“Jarrod, may I speak with you, please?” I asked, and then gestured to his friends to leave the room along with the rest of the students.
As per usual they ignored me, looking to their ringleader.
As per usual I didn’t let that fly. “Boys. Out. Now.”
The boys threw me dirty looks but turned and walked out of the classroom. Jarrod stood up, stretching out his tall body. He grabbed his backpack and came over to me slowly, a small smirk playing on his lips. At fifteen he was already well over six feet. With his dark skin and light eyes he’d reminded me of a certain someone from my past the moment he’d entered my class. After I discovered the photo two nights ago, that resemblance seemed somehow more pronounced. Of course, Jarrod was less brooding, but perhaps just as angry underneath his cocky charm. Sometimes it was difficult not to wonder what caused that anger in a boy so young. Sometimes it was difficult to try not to care about that and just teach him English.