Page 47 of Lessons in Chemistry

Does that mean you’re going to talk to him?

Probably not.

You should.

I know. I’m not ready yet. I need to sort my head out; I can’t be responsible for Em’s too.

We’re coming to see you swim on Saturday.

I widen my eyes as I stare at his text.

You are?

Em always comes to my local competitions, but I’d assumed he wouldn’t this time because things are strained between us. It never even entered into my head that Auggie would come too.

Yes, so you have to swim well. Emory has been telling me how amazing you are in the water. I’m expecting great things.

Isn’t that weird?

What?

Talking about me when the two of you are together.

No. I like the way his eyes light up when he talks about you. It’s adorable.

This conversation just got strange.

In your head, maybe, not in mine. Swim your best at the weekend. Don’t let either of us down.

The bus pulls into the station. I put my phone into my pocket and join the queue to get off. The bus I need is a few stands down, about to leave. I hurry to catch it. I make it as the driver closes the doors, but he takes pity on me and opens them so I can jump on board.

I’ll try my best.

I don’t get another reply from Auggie, so I figure he’s busy. I listen to music for the rest of the trip home, only taking my headphones off when I walk into the flat.

Em’s door is open. Before Monday, I would have taken off my coat and shoes, thrown my swim things into the washing machine, and gone straight in to see him for a hug. But things are messed up now. When I got home from university on Tuesday, his door was shut, and I didn’t knock.

I stand and stare at the open door. Is he studying or reading? If he’s got any sense, he’ll be doing something to relax and wind his mind down before he gets some sleep.

I go through my normal motions. Take off my shoes and coat and put them away. Put my towel and trunks in the washing machine and stash my bag in my room. Then I find myself staring at Em’s door again. He’ll know I’m home. I haven’t been quiet about moving around our tiny flat. I can’t stand the distance between us.

Even though his door is open, I knock. He’s sitting at his desk, hunched over a textbook and a pad of paper.

“Hi, Em.”

“Hi.” He glances at his bed but doesn’t move to sit on it like he would have done before Monday.

I resist the urge to rub my chest, which has tightened.

“How was practice?”

I curl my fingers against the side of the doorframe. “Awful. How was uni today?”

“Good. What happened at training?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “My head wasn’t in it, but I’m not here to talk about me. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Emory looks down. “I’m fine.”