Page 41 of The Chemistry Test

Penny

We’ve technically finished the poster, but at the bottom of the brief, it says we need to write half a page about any difficulties or our grades will automatically be lowered by five per cent. Considering ten per cent is a grade boundary, that’s a pretty hefty five per cent.

I actually can’t believe they’re allowed to do that. I swear the lecturers make up the rules as they go along sometimes.

I peek up at CJ. Both of us have gradually become more horizontal as the night’s gone on.

We started sitting next to each other, but we’re now lying on our fronts with the laptop in between us.

The conversation has naturally come to a lull too, and I wonder if now would be a good time to tell him about the messages.

I promised myself I’d say it before he leaves tonight.

But I can tell he’s flagging, and we really need to finish this assignment.

Both of our future careers are riding on this.

‘I really don’t want to do it,’ he says, reading over the feedback section again.

‘It’s not fair they’re threatening to dock our grades if we don’t.

’ He stands and goes over to my bed. CJ is clearly exhausted and I wonder if he’s walking around on autopilot.

What is it about that bed? I think to myself as he climbs on up.

‘If we wanted to write about our opinions and stuff, we wouldn’t be doing Biomed,’ he says, still going. ‘We didn’t sign up for this.’

‘You’re literally acting like an eight-year-old.’ I laugh, looking at him. A five-foot-eleven guy lying on my single bed with rails, sulking because he doesn’t want to do his homework.

‘It’s only half a page, we can do it,’ I say, we’re ridiculously close to finishing now.

‘I carried on when you said it was breaktime, earlier.’

‘That was your choice.’

He sighs. ‘I’ll just tell you now then. I liked the actual assignment. Nothing was challenging or difficult about it except this feedback bit.’

His voice is surprisingly coherent for someone so sleepy.

Even from here, I can see how bloodshot his eyes are again – he couldn’t hide his tiredness if he tried.

And I feel bad because my rule of having to submit stuff one day before the actual deadline is partly why we’ve had to cram it in tonight.

I close the document and carry his laptop over to the bed. He smiles at me like he’s won.

‘We still have to do it, we’re just having a break,’ I say, climbing on to the bed next to him.

It’s a bit of a squeeze, but the warmth of each other’s body heat is a welcome comfort as we shuffle into the most comfortable position we can find, my head slightly overlapping with his chest. Warm and firm and— Oh .

I was wrong after all. It’s solid and muscular, yes, but (in my very-much-not an-expert opinion) too soft to be a personal trainer’s chest. I like this more.

I sigh and let myself sink into the warm, soft hollows of it. Of him. Letting go of all the reasons not to for just a second.

I’m pretty sure we’d both be asleep in minutes if we stayed like this, so I free my hands to search for something lively (aka not sleep-inducing) on YouTube while CJ props the pillows up behind us, still fighting to stay awake.

With the remote for the bed tucked away on my side, it’s all he can really do, but even sitting up like this, his blinks are getting slower.

I tap his arm a couple times, but before we reach the five-minute mark, he’s out. Even an obnoxious YouTube ad doesn’t snap him out of it, so I take his glasses off as gently as I can, using both hands so the arms don’t pull on his ears.

Then, I move the laptop on to my lap and pull up the feedback document. I guess I owe him one for typing up the whole poster anyway. And it may have been his choice, but he did keep going when I took a break earlier. I’ll wake him up when it’s done.

I know exactly what’s happened before I even open my eyes. I’d only planned on closing them for a few minutes after submitting our assignment, but I must’ve fallen asleep and now my stomach feels like it’s being beaten by boxers and ripped apart by wolves. Please, no.

I take a deep breath and tentatively raise my head to look down. Sweet mother-of-pearl, this is not fine. My white blanket now looks like a freaking Bakewell tart, with a red circular-ish splotch, right in the middle.

I get my phone to check the time. I can’t have been asleep for that long, as my heart rate doesn’t feel as bouncy as it usually does when I wake up.

My phone lights up. It’s almost seven and I submitted our assignment at four, so I have actually been asleep for quite a while.

I put a hand on my chest and then my wrist. My heart rate is still too high for me to get up, but all I can think about is CJ waking up drenched in second-hand embarrassment. Come on, Penelope. Think.

‘Ah!’ I cover my mouth, as the revelation hits me. Then, when I’m ready, I carefully slip off the bed and clean myself up in my en-suite, hiding the toilet paper and wipes in the bin. I’ve already gotten this far, I’m not about to be caught out by a freaking toilet flush.

I return to the bedroom and silently exhale with relief when I see he’s still asleep. That’s one thing to be thankful for at least.

Then, from my wheelchair, I assess how he’s laid on the blanket. There’s actually not that much of it lying underneath him – definitely enough for me to grab.

I mentally rub my hands together to psych myself up, too scared to do it in real life in case I make a noise. He’s turned away from me, facing the wall, so I send a mental message to the back of his head.

I know you said everyone has their moments, but please don’t wake up and see this one, CJ. Five more minutes, at least give me that.

Now I just need to do it. My hope is that if I’m quick and forceful enough, I can whip the blanket out without moving him.

I come back round to my side of the bed and count myself down. And then, I just go for it.

The fabric comes towards me a bit, but bunches as it reaches him. Uh oh.

I jump on to the bed and yank the rest of the blanket out from underneath him before he opens his eyes. I ball it up and press it to my chest, backing away from the bed and sitting on the floor just in time.

His eyes lock on mine. They don’t even look tired. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing.’ I can hear the tell-tale inflection in my voice.

He looks from the blanket in my arms to the empty space next to him. I do too.

‘Did you pull that out from under me? I wouldn’t have minded if you’d woken me up to get it, I didn’t even mean to fall asleep.’

‘No.’ There’s the inflection again, my version of Pinocchio’s nose. ‘Well, actually, yes. But there was no need to wake you, I just like to warm it up in the tumble dryer in the morning to make it more cosy,’ I say airily. No inflection, just nice and natural.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and squints at the harsh blue light. ‘At seven a.m.?’

‘You told me you sometimes go for runs at this time,’ I say defensively. ‘And I don’t say anything about your habits.’

He smirks, raising an eyebrow. ‘This isn’t your habit though. You told me how long you normally stay in bed for in the morning. Sounds like you just like sleeping in to me.’

I pick up a cushion and throw it, aware that the act is fast becoming a new habit of mine. I know he’s joking, but still.

‘Ohhh,’ he says, catching the cushion like he did in Wales. I really should stop throwing them at him. ‘It’s that .’

I look down, the blanket must’ve unravelled when I sacrificed my pillow-throwing arm, displaying the horrors of World War III. Lord, if there’s any time to take the reins, it’s now.

‘Were you trying to hide it?’

‘Obviously.’ I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

At that, he jumps off the bed and takes the blanket from me.

‘What are you doing?’ I snap, snatching it back. And then he freaking takes it again. I have no idea what’s going on here. ‘CJ, what are you doing?’ I’m surprisingly calm for someone whose male study buddy is holding something like that.

‘I’ll take it to the laundry room and, if anyone sees me, I’ll say I had a nosebleed. It’s more believable if I go.’ He’s smiling lazily, hair flopped over his brows. ‘You know – because I don’t really have this problem.’

Oh. Something tugs on my heart as I suddenly understand what’s going on.

‘CJ.’ I take the blanket back for the last time and sit on the floor. ‘I was hiding it from you. I don’t care if strangers see it. Well, I do, but not as much as—’

‘Don’t go all red on me, Penny Lane.’

I laugh despite myself. ‘That better not have been—’

‘Pun intended.’ His features soften slightly when I don’t laugh along with him.

‘I won’t be able to look you in the eye ever again,’ I say, which is a particularly big problem as I feel like maybe I was too quick to make assumptions before.

About him, and more importantly, us. So, I need to be able to look at him .

.. as I think I want to give this thing a chance. Just to see what happens.

And I could be wrong, but I think he might too. We’re both noticers and I definitely noticed the way he pulled me in closer to him last night, even though we had enough room already. Closing a gap that didn’t exist, at least in a literal sense.

Truth is, I think the boy who’s not even supposed to be my friend has stolen a piece of my heart.

And not just a tiny piece, either. I’ve been denying it to myself since who-knows-when, but with him sitting on the floor opposite me like this, tiredness creeping back now he knows everything’s okay, I don’t think I can deny it anymore.

‘Well, I’m not fazed by it, so you shouldn’t be either – I wouldn’t care if you got a nosebleed, would I? That’s basically the same thing.’ He pauses. ‘Well, maybe not. But—’

‘You’re not helping,’ I mumble, keeping my eyes down. But it’s not entirely true. ‘I can’t tell if you’re too sweet for your own good or if you’re just a really oblivious idiot.’

He gives a short laugh, head back. And then shrugs, making his way back to my side of the bed. ‘I just don’t see it as something to be embarrassed about. But “oblivious idiot” does have a nice ring to it.’

I get in my wheelchair and take off the brakes. Everything he’s saying really is helping, but I can’t tell him that. And if I was thankful he was asleep before, I’m also thankful he’s awake with me now.

‘Pancakes when I get back?’ I say. ‘They’re kind of my speciality.’

He gives me a thumbs up and I’m not sure if he’s mocking me or if he’s genuinely picked up the habit. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’