past.
A few minutes later she arrived at my table. “So how’s your work going, Luke?” she said.
“Good,” I said. “The wavy lines are sort of sound vibrations, but there’s something missing. It needs some sort of background.”
Ms Patel examined my work. “Well, I suppose you could paint a background.” She looked at me doubtfully. I could tell she was remembering last week’s alien-head flowers.
“I was thinking of a collage within a collage,” I said. “Putting torn-up pictures of people playing music under the buttons.”
Ms Patel nodded thoughtfully. “Mmmn, there’s a nice dissonance in that. Well, the old newspapers we use for papier-mâché are by the sink. Or you can ask Eve if she has any spare magazines.”
I nodded, grinning.
At five-thirty everyone else started packing up. I looked up from the pile of newspapers I’d been examining. Ms Patel was picking up her bag. She glanced at me as she walked to the door.
“I’ll just be a couple of minutes,” I said.
She nodded and walked out, leaving me and Eve alone.
Alone. The space between us stretched out like an ocean. Eve was oblivious to me, her head bent over her work, her tongue peeking between her lips as she concentrated on sticking a piece of paper with glue.
My heart pounded as I walked towards her. Look up at me. Look up.
She looked up and smiled – a warm, genuine, friendly smile. “Hi,” she said. “How’s your collage going?”
“Good, thanks. I wanted to ask you. D’you have any spare magazines I could use?”
She nodded and pointed to a pile by her feet. “Those are ones I’ve finished with – I’ve taken so much out of them there’s no point keeping them. You can have what you like.”
I bent down and picked up the magazines.
“So what’s your coursework about?” I said, looking at the paper spread out on her table. It was divided into four sections. Each section was made up of tiny scraps of paper. In one the papers were all blue, in another different shades of red. The other two were whites and greys/blacks.
“This is just the background,” she said. “It’s going to be a face from the Eighties. Cut-up and stuck-together bits of my mum’s face from when she was a model. I’m really behind. That’s why I came back to work on it tonight.”
I racked my brain for something to say other than: Is your mum as hot as you?
“Sounds more interesting than a football match,” I said.
Eve laughed. Not a high-pitched giggle like every other girl I knew – but a throaty, grown-up laugh. “You’re not wrong. I got freezing cold watching.”
“Who won?” I said, not liking the way our conversation seemed to be taking a turn Ben-wards.
“Ben.” Eve blushed. “I mean, Ben’s team. They were going out to the pub to celebrate, but I didn’t feel like it.”
She looked up at me. There was just the faintest hint of laughter in her eyes, as if what she was really saying was: I wanted to come here and see you.
I backed away, holding my magazines. I must be reading her wrong. There was no way she could blush about her boyfriend and flirt with me in the same sentence.
“Thanks for these,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry.
Eve was still looking at me. “Hey, why don’t we put on some music?” she said. “Maybe it’ll give you a bit of inspiration – you know, for your collage.”
She glided across the room to Ms Patel’s desk and switched on the radio. Her teeth bit lightly into her bottom lip as she twiddled the dial.
White noise, a blast of rap, something classical.
Then a dance record came on. I hadn’t heard it before. A woman was singing, her voice whirling round this steady bass.
“Oh, I love this,” Eve said. She twirled away from the desk into a pool of sunlight flowing in from the low sun outside the window. She swayed from side to side, her hips rippling in small circles in time with the beat.
“What is it?” I croaked, trying hard to keep my eyes on her face.
“It’s a
A few minutes later she arrived at my table. “So how’s your work going, Luke?” she said.
“Good,” I said. “The wavy lines are sort of sound vibrations, but there’s something missing. It needs some sort of background.”
Ms Patel examined my work. “Well, I suppose you could paint a background.” She looked at me doubtfully. I could tell she was remembering last week’s alien-head flowers.
“I was thinking of a collage within a collage,” I said. “Putting torn-up pictures of people playing music under the buttons.”
Ms Patel nodded thoughtfully. “Mmmn, there’s a nice dissonance in that. Well, the old newspapers we use for papier-mâché are by the sink. Or you can ask Eve if she has any spare magazines.”
I nodded, grinning.
At five-thirty everyone else started packing up. I looked up from the pile of newspapers I’d been examining. Ms Patel was picking up her bag. She glanced at me as she walked to the door.
“I’ll just be a couple of minutes,” I said.
She nodded and walked out, leaving me and Eve alone.
Alone. The space between us stretched out like an ocean. Eve was oblivious to me, her head bent over her work, her tongue peeking between her lips as she concentrated on sticking a piece of paper with glue.
My heart pounded as I walked towards her. Look up at me. Look up.
She looked up and smiled – a warm, genuine, friendly smile. “Hi,” she said. “How’s your collage going?”
“Good, thanks. I wanted to ask you. D’you have any spare magazines I could use?”
She nodded and pointed to a pile by her feet. “Those are ones I’ve finished with – I’ve taken so much out of them there’s no point keeping them. You can have what you like.”
I bent down and picked up the magazines.
“So what’s your coursework about?” I said, looking at the paper spread out on her table. It was divided into four sections. Each section was made up of tiny scraps of paper. In one the papers were all blue, in another different shades of red. The other two were whites and greys/blacks.
“This is just the background,” she said. “It’s going to be a face from the Eighties. Cut-up and stuck-together bits of my mum’s face from when she was a model. I’m really behind. That’s why I came back to work on it tonight.”
I racked my brain for something to say other than: Is your mum as hot as you?
“Sounds more interesting than a football match,” I said.
Eve laughed. Not a high-pitched giggle like every other girl I knew – but a throaty, grown-up laugh. “You’re not wrong. I got freezing cold watching.”
“Who won?” I said, not liking the way our conversation seemed to be taking a turn Ben-wards.
“Ben.” Eve blushed. “I mean, Ben’s team. They were going out to the pub to celebrate, but I didn’t feel like it.”
She looked up at me. There was just the faintest hint of laughter in her eyes, as if what she was really saying was: I wanted to come here and see you.
I backed away, holding my magazines. I must be reading her wrong. There was no way she could blush about her boyfriend and flirt with me in the same sentence.
“Thanks for these,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry.
Eve was still looking at me. “Hey, why don’t we put on some music?” she said. “Maybe it’ll give you a bit of inspiration – you know, for your collage.”
She glided across the room to Ms Patel’s desk and switched on the radio. Her teeth bit lightly into her bottom lip as she twiddled the dial.
White noise, a blast of rap, something classical.
Then a dance record came on. I hadn’t heard it before. A woman was singing, her voice whirling round this steady bass.
“Oh, I love this,” Eve said. She twirled away from the desk into a pool of sunlight flowing in from the low sun outside the window. She swayed from side to side, her hips rippling in small circles in time with the beat.
“What is it?” I croaked, trying hard to keep my eyes on her face.
“It’s a
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