Rain In My Heart Read Free Page A

only way the mural can happen now is if I drive to the retail park and pick up more paint - ’
                  ‘I’ ll go ,’ said Curtis hopefully.
                  I could see Miss Nevis thinking this through.  Curtis on a mission, getting side-tracked by a text message, stopping off to get some chicken wings, then blowing all the paint money on phone credit and scratch cards.
                  ‘ I think I’ ll go ,’ she said .‘ And while I’ m gone, you can start drawing the design on the back wall.  Have you finalised your idea, yet ? ’
    I pushed my best sketch to the front: a trail of girl/boy figures holding hands against a sunset, headed by a couple who vaguely resembled Leon and I - embarrassing, but I couldn't help myself.
    ‘ Yes, I like this ,’ said Miss Nevis.  ‘ I like the flow.  It reminds me of dance . ’
    ‘ Looks like a bunch of naked aliens to me ,’ said Curtis, grinning.
    ‘ I t’ s representation ,’ said Miss Nevis.  ‘ The figures are supposed to represent humans.  Or aliens.  Or whatever you like.  They do n’ t have to be realistic . ’
    ‘ So why are they stuck together, then ? ’
    I guess Curtis did n’ t have the patience for artistic vision.  I wanted to tell Miss Nevis to save her breath.  Then Leon stepped in.
    ‘ The y’ re not stuck, you dolt.  The y’ re holding hands.  The y’ re dancing.  I t’ s meant to be arty.  Kate knows what sh e’ s doing . ’
    He caught my eye.  I blushed, rocked on my heels, distracted myself with pastel dust.  In that moment, it did n’ t matter that Miss Nevis had lost the paint or that the rain was ridiculous.   Leon Prentice was flirting.  With me.   I was just about to give him a smile, when the door burst open. 
    Miss Nevis raised an eyebrow.
                  ‘ Ryan ? ’ she said.  ‘ What are you doing here ? ’
                  In the entrance, at the top of the steps, was a young man - tatty grey blazer, messy hair, round glasses, headphones.  His face was red and sweaty, like he'd been physically exerting himself.  All he did was stare at us.  For a moment, I thought I recognised him, then I noticed the Hurst College logo on his bag and realised he was another student.  I’ d probably seen him in corridors or halls or lunch queue s– or maybe around Vis A.  Yes, definitely Vis A.  He had distinctive eyes: dark, deep-set, the whites barely visible. You do n’ t see eyes like that very often.  He was sort of cute in a scruffy, off-hand kind of way, but his attractiveness was marred by his surly expression.  He took his headphones off.
                  ‘ Hi ,’ he said quietly, barely a grunt.
    He was soaked through.  The water dripped off his nose. 
    Miss Nevis beckoned him in.
    ‘ I t’ s Saturday, Ryan.'  She looked concerned.  'Are you here to - ? ’
                  Before she could finish, Curtis was up in his face.
                   ‘ Yo, son !’ he said.  ‘ This is, like, a private function, bro.  What are you here for ? ’
    ‘ The mural ,’ said Ryan, eyes shifting from side to side.
    Curtis sneered.  ‘ What mural ? ’
                  ‘ Oh, Curtis ,’ Miss Nevis sighed.  ‘ You know what mural - the mural yo u’ re here to help paint, to make up for the mess you and your friends created last week.  Or has that escaped your memory ? ’
                  ‘ Lots of things escape my memory, Miss.  And I also make lots of mess, so i t’ s hard to keep track.  Man, I’ m thirsty.  I need me a sugar fix.  Got any cherry cola in your cupboard ? ’
                  ‘ Curtis La Mont for Prime Minister, anyone ?’ whispered Gemma.
                  Meanwhile, the newcomer - Ryan - walked towards us.  Close up, he smelled of stale smoke and unwashed clothes.  His shoes were caked in mud, like h e’ d trudged