Tell Me Everything Read Free Page A

T.H.E. D.A.Y. There'd been a collection for the bench at school, but it was the headmaster who had chosen the words. He'd wanted it to be a lesson to spur the rest of us into a new joy of life, but it hadn't worked. Rather than becoming an inspiration, the Seize the Day bench had become a symbol for everything that could go wrong. I wondered whether that was why most people shied away from it. Most people, that is, apart from Tim and me. “This is how I met him …”
    And, although it all happened on her bench and she must have been aware of us, I told her everything Tim had said that first time I met him, and how when Tim asked whether we could meet again, I told him this bench could be our regular spot. “Maybe tomorrow. I'm often here. She was a friend,” I'd lied to him.
    After the first ripples of shock at Jessica's death had goneround the school, there was a curious quietness everywhere for weeks. Every excuse for not being happy was suddenly flawed.
    “Maybe if I was prettier …” But if you were looking for one word to describe Jessica, it would have been “pretty.”
    “Maybe if I had more money …” But Jessica's family took two holidays a year. Once, for her fourteenth birthday, they hired a jacuzzi. After her death there'd even been a picture of her and her friends at that party in the paper, under the caption: “Jessica Happy.” Jessica got all her clothes in London, not the local Top Shop like the rest of us. She wasn't the sort of girl who needed a Saturday job.
    “Maybe if I was cleverer …” But Jessica was an A student.
    But now, when no one else but me seemed to bother to visit the bench anymore, things seemed more equal. “We could have been friends,” I told Jessica. “I used to be so unhappy as well.” D.A.Y. My index finger traced the scars in the wood made by the letters.
    So perhaps that was why, even before Tim arrived, I was feeling as if I might have a bit of potential too. I put my face down and brushed my hair back over my shoulder with the side of my hand, like Jessica used to do. After Jessica had died, I used to do it at home so often that my father banned hair-touching at the table. I couldn't have risked it at school either. It was definitely an in-crowd gesture, and might have drawn attention to me in a way my father wouldn't have liked.
    I must have been too busy doing the hair thing to hear Tim come. When I looked up he was already sitting down on the other end of the bench, his head between his knees.
    “Are you all right?” I asked.
    “Quick,” he said. “Put your head down too. NOW!”
    I copied him.
    “Don't look up,” he warned. “Shut your eyes if possible.”
    I couldn't. I looked at the ground instead. There were bits of chewing gum stuck under the bench. Cigarette butts, even a beer bottle. I made up my mind to tidy up sometime. For Jessica's sake.
    “Wha—”
    “Be quiet,” Tim said. He put his arm round my shoulders to draw me closer to him. I could feel the heat of his body through his sweater. The outline of his fingers across my back burned into me like infrared. He smelled of fabric softener and warm apples. I'd never been so close to a boy before. I tried hard to stop my body from tensing up, to relax more and enjoy the embrace.
    “We're going to have to make a run for it,” Tim said. He held out his hand and I took it, clutching at his fingers as he pulled me into the bushes that lined the edge of the park. Just when I was thinking I couldn't run anymore, he stopped and we hid behind a tree for him to keep a watch out. He pulled the sleeves of his sweater down to cover my hands, holding on to my wrists so tightly. I did the same to him. It was as if we were grafting ourselves onto each other.
    “I know who it is,” I said. “It's my father. He's found me.” I felt resigned, almost numb with disappointment.
    Tim hushed me. “It's not,” he replied. “I'll keep you safe.”
    I didn't ask how he was so certain. I could feel my heart