You Against Me by Jenny Downham Read Free Book Online Page A

became dark blue and thunderous as he watched, although as he kept looking, the colours got less dense and the edge of his vision became ragged with grey. Then, from below the tree, a shadow moved, hesitated, moved again. A fox, low and sleek, stood exposed on the grass, one paw raised, before gathering itself and vanishing diagonally across the field.
    ‘See that?’ she said.
    ‘Yeah.’
    She sighed, as if she was satisfied it existed now he’d seen it too. He glanced at her briefly, even though he’d told himself he wouldn’t. He noticed her scar again. She saw him looking, ran her tongue along it. ‘A dog bit me.’
    ‘Serious?’
    She nodded. ‘I was on holiday and it came running out of the woods and jumped at my face. They thought it had rabies, but it didn’t.’
    ‘Rabies?’
    ‘We were in Kenya.’
    The closest he’d got to Africa was Dex teaching him how to roast goat meat with garlic.
    She peered at him. ‘Have you got any scars?’
    Imagine she’s some girl in a pub, he thought, and make something up. It helped not to look. ‘I got shot once,’ he told her, ‘but it’s on my arse.’
    She laughed for the first time and he felt ridiculously pleased with himself. ‘Some guy shot me five times at point blank range. You want to see?’
    She shook her head, still smiling. ‘You were running away if he shot you in the arse. Which makes you a coward.’
    Now that wasn’t an ordinary line – too quick-witted. Again, he felt confused. He wondered about this girl. She wasn’t even drunk, not remotely, and there was loads of booze at the house. He decided to get back to the point.
    ‘Tell me about your brother,’ he said. ‘Tell me two things about him.’
    ‘I thought you knew him.’
    ‘He’s a friend of a friend really.’
    She turned to him, frowning. ‘Why don’t we talk about you instead? Why don’t you tell me two things about yourself?’
    If he had to give something away to get something back, then he would. ‘My special skills are cooking and kissing.’
    She half smiled. ‘How do you know you’re good at them?’
    ‘I practise. What about you?’
    ‘I’ll swap cooking for swimming.’
    ‘And keep the other one?’
    She looked at her feet, shy now. ‘Maybe.’
    ‘You like swimming? What’s your favourite stroke?’
    ‘Front crawl.’
    He wanted to ask if she did competitions and stuff, if she’d ever won anything. He wanted to ask if she was genuinely good at kissing and did she want to prove it? But he wasn’t supposed to be chatting her up. He needed to concentrate and steer the conversation to something useful.
    ‘So, does your brother like swimming?’
    She hesitated a moment too long. ‘I’d rather not talk about him, if that’s OK with you.’
    Well, that shut him up.
    He didn’t say anything else. Girls liked the sound of their own voices and she’d probably speak again in a minute. But he wasn’t going to. He wanted her to feel as stupid as he did.
    While he waited, he looked at the way the river puckered in the breeze, dead leaves swirling on its surface. If he lived here, he’d be at this river all the time. He’d teach Holly stuff about it – the names of things and how to catch fish. He’d have to learn it himself first, of course, but that would be easy – he’d have a personal trainer, like people who joined a gym.
    ‘What are you thinking about?’
    Her voice startled him. But this was a good question. It meant she fancied him. ‘I was thinking about you.’
    ‘Yeah, right.’
    ‘Serious. I think you’re gorgeous.’
    She sighed. ‘Do you even want to have a proper conversation?’
    He’d promised himself he wouldn’t, but he looked right at her again. ‘I was thinking about the river.’
    ‘What about it?’
    ‘I like the way it’s moving, how it never stops.’
    She thought about that for a minute, then said, ‘Everything’s moving really. The forward momentum of the earth is sixty-seven thousand miles an hour and the rotation