LUKE
It freaked me out how quickly it was happening.
How quickly I’d gone from fancying Phoebe in this vague, daydreamy, nothingy way, to fancying her in solid, this-might-actually-happen concrete.
When I was around her, I was constantly on edge. I felt that weird, unexplainable electricity you get when you like someone new. I hadn’t felt that since Abbey sat down next to me at the start of Year Ten French, and it made me scared and guilty and excited all at the same time.
Just thinking about seeing her made me pick up my pace as I left the pitches. It was a weirdly warm morning for late October, and me and Will were strolling back through Jutland after an early five-a-side. We’d played our first proper match last week – against Chester Uni – and lost 4–2, so Will was insisting we all practise at every available opportunity.
I hadn’t really been able to focus on today’s game, because I was so caught up in Phoebe thoughts. We’d arranged to meet at our poetry lecture, and then head straight over to the quidditch thing afterwards.
‘You coming for a pint, then?’ Will asked, looking at his phone.
‘It’s not even half ten.’
‘Is that a yes?’
‘I’ve got a lecture.’ I considered telling him about quidditch, but instantly decided against it. Firstly because I was fairly certain he’d take the piss, but also because I still wasn’t sure what had actually happened between him and Phoebe. I’d seen him get with tons of girls over the past few weeks, so he couldn’t have been that into her. But I still wondered what he’d think if he knew I liked her. And I wondered what she thought about him.
His phone beeped and he flashed it under my nose. ‘Fuck, man. She’s hot. Well played, Geordie Al.’
I looked at the photo, and figured this was as good a time as any to try and say something about the Wall of Shame. About how off I thought it was.
I tried to sound casual: ‘By the way, I never told you. I was out a few nights back and this girl said something about the Wall of Shame stuff. Like, how she’d heard rumours about it.’
Will’s face tightened. ‘You didn’t say anything, did you?’
‘No . . .’
His face relaxed back into a smile, which made me feel sort of dirty and complicit somehow. As if I’d told that lie out of team loyalty, rather than just panicking under the pressure and shame, and blurting it out.
‘Some girls are so fucking uptight, honestly.’ Will shook his head. ‘I mean, people take pictures of people all the time. It’s just banter.’
I nodded. But it really didn’t feel like banter.
‘I’d better go,’ I said.
I sprinted all the way across campus, hoping I’d get to the lecture early enough to get a seat next to Phoebe. But in the end I was still five minutes late. I took a deep breath and pushed the doors as gently as possible, but they squeaked ridiculously loudly, and about a hundred heads turned to look at me.
‘Ah . . . There’s always one, isn’t there?’ said the lecturer, peering up over his glasses. ‘In you come, quick as possible.’
There was only one free seat – in the middle of a packed row near the back. I squeezed my way through, apologizing to the muttering people who had to stand up. Finally, I sat down, massively relieved not to be the centre of attention any more.
And then my phone went off.
And a hundred heads turned. Again.
‘There’s always one, isn’t there?’ said the lecturer. ‘Although, it’s not usually the same one.’ The muttering had now blossomed into full-blown laughter.
‘Right . . .’ said the lecturer, sternly, as I put my phone on silent and took out my copy of Modern Romantic Poetry. ‘Let’s get back to it. Now then, by 1542, Henry VIII’s alliance with the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V causes him to intervene in the Italian War . . .’
I stopped unpacking my bag and looked around the hall. I couldn’t see Phoebe. In fact, I couldn’t see a single person I recognized, apart from the massive Game of Thrones bloke who’d walked out of the football initiation. And he’d definitely not been in any of my other lectures. He was sat two seats down, scribbling notes and scratching his stubbly rust-coloured beard. He looked across at my poetry book, and wrote something on his phone. He slid it over to me: ‘WRONG ROOM PAL’.
I slumped forward on to the desk as he tried to stifle his laughter.
An hour later, I had a decent – if ultimately useless – grasp of Henry VIII’s foreign policy, and me and the giant shuffled out of the hall and introduced ourselves properly. He was called Ed, and since he was in Gildas College – where the quidditch thing was happening – we ended up walking in the same direction. He was so tall that his dirty blond afro nearly brushed the top of the covered walkway.
‘How was the rest of that initiation, then?’ he asked.
‘Your walkout was probably the highlight.’
He smiled. ‘That Dempers seemed like a right knobhead.’
‘Yeah. He is a bit. But the rest of them are cool. Mostly.’
Ed just shrugged.
‘Do you really not drink, then?’ I asked him.
‘Nah, never,’ he said. ‘Tried it once. Had five pints of lager. It had no effect whatsoever. Must be my size, I suppose. So I don’t bother with it now. Just stick to the pineapple juice. Much tastier.’
‘But didn’t you think about drinking just for that night? So you could get on the team?’
‘Not really. I mean, I like football and that, but if being on the team means putting up with all that lads-lads-lads bullshit, then I’m best off out of it, I reckon. Plenty of other stuff to do here.’
We crossed the Stephanie Stevens bridge, and something stopped me in my tracks.
‘Fuck. I know that smell . . .’
Rita and Arthur were lying on the grass, both leafing through massive books while Arthur ate a wedge of brie like a pizza slice. He almost choked on it when he spotted Ed. ‘Jesus, look at the size of him,’ he sputtered.
Ed sniffed deeply. ‘That’s good-quality brie, is that. Very nice.’
‘Exactly.’ Arthur snapped his book shut. ‘I wish you were on our corridor. I’m surrounded by fucking savages. No offence, Luke.’
‘None taken,’ I said. ‘Ed, this is Arthur and Rita. Arthur and Rita, Ed.’
‘Where are you guys off to?’ Rita asked.
‘I’m going to this quidditch thing. You lot should come if you want.’
Rita’s lips twitched. ‘Ah . . . Accidental Text Girl?’
‘Who’s Accidental Text Girl?’ Ed asked.
‘No one. It’s too long to explain. Look, are you lot coming or not?’ I checked my phone. ‘I’m late as it is. And it could be quite fun. It’s just a friendly match, I think. There’ll probably be free food. And free pineapple juice.’
‘I’ve got a seminar,’ Rita said, but Arthur stood up and dusted his coat off. ‘Yeah, fuck it, I’m in.’
Ed shrugged. ‘Me too. Though if anyone tries to handcuff me, I’m straight out the door.’
PHOEBE
‘Sorry, but if he bails this time, none of us are speaking to him again. Ever. The end.’ Frankie didn’t look angry, she looked upset.
Negin nodded and sipped her cream-soda-and-syrup butterbeer. ‘Me and you haven’t even spoken to him anyway. But yeah, to do this twice, he’d have to be either mentally unhinged or genuinely evil.’
‘Or dead,’ I said, hopefully. ‘I mean, why did he miss the lecture? This is so gutting it’s tragic. I kept telling people I was saving his seat, and then I had to sit with an empty space next to me for the whole hour.’ I really, really thought he’d come. ‘He’s such a dick,’ I added.
‘Scrap that, no he’s not.’ Frankie squeezed my arm. ‘And, sorry, but who the hell is that with him?’
We all looked over at the entrance to the hall. Luke was walking towards us, smiling, with two other boys next to him. I didn’t even realize I was smiling back until Negin whispered: ‘Look how cute you are. It’s disgusting.’
Frankie still had a tight grip on my arm. ‘Sorry but I think I might actually die. Look. How. Tall. He. Is.’
She squeezed harder with each syllable.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Luke said. ‘Went to the wrong lecture.’
‘I can vouch for that, he did.’ The tall boy nodded.
‘Nothing’s started yet.’ I tried to sound offhand, but seeing Luke in the flesh was weird; because I spent so much time intensely thinking about him when he wasn’t there, it was like dreams and real life muddling together.
‘I’m Luke.’ He smiled at Frankie and Negin.
‘Arthur,’ the boy next to him added. ‘First time quidditcher. Or is it quiditchee?’
‘Quidditcher, I reckon,’ said the ridiculously tall boy, who had a strong northern accent. ‘If you’re doing the quidditch, you’d be a quidditcher. Like if you’re doing a murder, you’re a murderer.’ Then he smiled at us. ‘I’m Ed, by the way.’
‘So, it’s Ed and Arthur,’ I repeated.
‘And you’re . . . Luke, was it?’ Frankie said ‘Luke’ as if it was a strange foreign name that she was hearing for the first time. ‘Yes, I think Phoebe’s mentioned you.’
I made a mental note to kick her later in her sleep.
‘You have to go and sign up.’ Negin nodded over to the table where Brandon and Misty were sitting, and the boys wandered off to join the queue.
Frankie slipped her arms around us as she watched them go: ‘He’s tall and fit and he knows about grammar and quidditch and murder. He’s literally the perfect man. He—’ She broke off as Luke came back. When she’d turned to Negin, I whispered, ‘Does Ed have a girlfriend?’
Luke smirked at me. ‘I don’t know, why, are you interested?’ Our eyes met for a second.
‘No . . .’ I said slowly. He was still smiling his fit smile at me, and I willed myself not to go red. ‘I was asking for Frankie. She’s been looking for a tall man since the first night of Freshers’.’
‘Noted. Let’s make it happen.’ He looked around the hall at people warming up and comparing broomsticks. ‘So what goes on at this thing, then?’
‘Right, well –’ I pointed at Brandon, who was bobbing up and down excitedly – ‘that’s Brandon. He’s the jolly one. And that –’ I pointed at Misty, who was wearing a dark-red camouflage hoody and looking pissed off – ‘That’s Misty. She’s the not-jolly one.’
He looked at me. ‘Misty?’
I nodded. ‘I know, I know. Me and Negin and Frankie have already discussed it.’ We both laughed, and then Brandon gathered us all together in a little circle.
‘Right, thanks for coming, gang,’ he said. ‘I’m seeing some new faces here tonight, which is super exciting, isn’t it, Mist?’
Misty was looking at us like she wanted to kill us, but she still agreed that it was super exciting.
Brandon carried on: ‘Competitive matches start next week, so today will just be a bit of fun. We’ll play a few friendlies among ourselves. Right, grab some brooms, people,’ he shouted. ‘Let’s do this!’
I realized I was going to have to actually do physical exercise in front of Luke Taylor. I tried to sneak a look at him in a non-bait way. And when I did, he was looking right back at me.
LUKE
The Brandon bloke was the most excitable person I’d ever seen. He was like someone had trapped a rabbit in a human body then wrapped it in a Gryffindor robe.
‘OK, so for the friendlies, we usually divide up into houses,’ he yelled. ‘So, let’s just see if we have anything even resembling equal numbers . . .’ He looked around the circle, and his gaze rested on Arthur. ‘How about you, mate? Didn’t see you at our first meeting. What’s your name?’
‘Arthur.’
‘Great. And what house are you in?’
Arthur shrugged. ‘No idea. I don’t really care about Harry Potter, to be honest.’
Brandon smiled, completely unoffended. ‘OK, cool, well let’s put you in Hufflepuff, then.’
Arthur snorted. ‘Fuck off. No way am I Hufflepuff.’
Frankie let out a yelp of laughter so loud it echoed round the hall.
Misty stepped forward and clapped Arthur on the shoulder, proudly. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Hot-headed, fiery, passionate . . . You’re Gryffindor through and through, aren’t you?’
Arthur sniffed and tried to regain some of his composure. ‘Yeah, I guess. Maybe. Whatever. I mean, it’s not like I care either way.’
‘Oh, well, in that case,’ said Brandon, ‘if you don’t mind being Hufflepuff . . .’
‘No, we’ve said I’m Gryffindor now, haven’t we,’ Arthur snapped. ‘So I might as well definitely be Gryffindor. Definitely.’
We split up into two groups. I got put in Ravenclaw with Ed and Negin. We were playing Hufflepuff, who had Phoebe and Frankie on their team.
‘I’ve been given a fucking mop!’ I heard Arthur yell from across the hall, where Gryffindor were getting ready to take on Slytherin. ‘I’m supposed to be a wizard, not a caretaker!’
Somebody blew a whistle, and even though half of us had no clue what to do, we started playing.
One of the first years chucked me the ball straight away, and I saw Phoebe sprinting towards me. For half a second I had the mad idea to just keep hold of it, and see if she would crash right into me.
But I didn’t. I chucked it to Ed, and Phoebe pulled up an inch from my chest.
She hitched an eyebrow and smiled. ‘So nearly.’ Then she sprinted off again, and I suddenly wondered whether I was the first person in history to feel horny on a quidditch pitch.
Ed was legging it down the wing, the ball clamped under his arm. He stopped short in front of the goal hoop things. Frankie went galloping madly towards him, but he chucked the ball right past her into the top hoop.
Our team all went mental, and even Frankie started clapping, until one of the Hufflepuffs shouted: ‘You’re not on their team!’
The Hufflepuff keeper immediately started scanning for a decent pass. I drifted over to Phoebe, and stood right behind her.
‘Right, I’m marking you, Bennet,’ I said. ‘There’s no way you’re getting past me.’
She stepped backwards into me gently, scraping the inside of my leg with her broomstick. ‘This isn’t football, Luke Taylor.’ She turned to look at me, her cheeks flushed. ‘This is a proper sport, yeah? You’re out of your depth.’
I was finding it pretty hard to concentrate on anything except Phoebe, but I tried to get my head back in the game as the Hufflepuffs were jogging out of their area.
Someone shouted, ‘Mark up!’ and I yelled, ‘Got Phoebe!’
‘No one’s marking me,’ Frankie bellowed, looking directly at Ed. ‘I mean, someone should be marking me, shouldn’t they?’ Ed was totally oblivious to this; he was just watching the ball.
One of the Hufflepuffs tried a long pass, but Ed plucked it out of the air with his tree trunk arm. He chucked it to Negin, who stared at it blankly for a second and then burst off down the wing.
It stopped everyone dead. ‘Negin,’ hissed Frankie. ‘Are you joking?’
Negin was unbelievably quick. The Hufflepuff beaters launched three ‘bludgers’ (flat volleyballs) at her, but she dodged them all. Without slowing down, she sent the ball straight through the top hoop, and our team went mad again.
Misty stood up and shouted from the sidelines at Ed and Negin: ‘You and you – what are your names?’
They told her and she started scribbling furiously on her notepad.
It was weird: that same edge that comes out in me on the football pitch suddenly came out here, too. I really wanted to win.
Hufflepuff got a goal back, but me and Ed passed it about neatly, then I sent Negin off on another blazing run. Again, she slammed the ball through the hoop, and the three of us high-tenned.
Brandon jostled about among the chaos, slapping people on the back and randomly shouting encouragement. He’d grin at you if you did something right, and he’d grin more brightly if you did something wrong. When Frankie nearly decapitated him by swinging her broom at the ball, he just fell about laughing and started calling her ‘Belinda Broomswing’.
Eventually, when we were 14–10 up, another whistle blew, and the Ravenclaws all cheered and collapsed on to the floor. I felt sweaty and knackered and the happiest I had done in ages.
Misty asked me and Phoebe if we’d mind putting the goal hoops away, and I could feel Frankie and Negin’s eyes on us as we wheeled them out into the corridor. We found the store room and propped the hoops up against an old table tennis table. And then we were just stood there, still red-faced and a bit out of breath, looking at each other. Realizing that we were completely alone in a dusty back room. Just smiling and breathing and not saying anything. We both knew it was gonna happen, and it was sort of exciting and excruciating at the same time.
Phoebe mumbled, ‘OK, then . . .’ and we both laughed, awkwardly. I felt my heartbeat up its pace, and just as thoughts of Abbey were starting to tumble into my head, she leant forward, and then I leant forward, and then she closed her eyes.
And then it was like I stopped thinking altogether.
I put my arms around her, and we were suddenly right up against each other, sticky with sweat, and kissing harder and harder.