Turn Around (Conor Maynard)

Chapter 9 (Return to present day)

"Well thing about it like this, you have two weeks to do whatever you want with him." Lily winked at me.

"Lily, I told you it isn't like that."

My friend have me what she thought was a knowing smile. "Sure, sure."

I felt a swift change in topic was required. "Ready for this weekend? Are you nervous about the competition?"

Her eyes shone. "Just had my uniform washed!"

"It suits you though. I could never wear anything like that."

She have me a sly smile. "You just need to give it a go..."

I shook my head. "That cheerleading outfit is far too short for me. But..."

"But I can pull it off."

I nodded, agreeing. And she knew it too. I mean, Lily's amazing, don't get me wrong. Only, sometimes she was a little full of herself.

Over the next few days, Lily didn't drop the topic of Conor. She was trying to be subtle, but it was clear as crystal how she was weaving his name into every conversation we had. I continually pointed out that the situation wasn't what she thought it was, that he was only taking a break. She would have none of it, insisting that something was going to happen. He clearly hated me, so that wasn't going to happen. I kept the details of the win to myself, not wanting to fuel her obsession.

She tried, but Lily couldn't talk about anything other than the competition. The way she kept bringing it up gave me an uneasy feeling. Not jealously, just that something didn't feel quite right. Every time this feeling crept into the back of my mind, I pushed it aside, telling myself that I was being unreasonable.

*

Friday went too slow, digging its heels into the weekend. Same teachers droning on repetitively, same amount of unfinishable homework, same conversations with Lily.

The frequency of Conor's mentions was now becoming something I expected. She brought it up more and more as the weekend drew nearer. As I bid her goodnight, she seems nervous. Before I can ask her about it, she had already left.

When I got home, I helped Mum finish the study-turned-guest room. We had removed the desk and replaced it with the spare bed, queen size. I hoped that what we had done would be enough, because what he was surely used to would be a thousand times better than anything we could produce on such short notice. I only hoped that his mood had improved. But the way that he had looked at me ...

Shush, Annie. It meant nothing. He probably just grew bored of his window view.

But still, the depth of his blue eyes wouldn't leave me be. I sat up, trying to sort my thoughts out and rationalize, while the rest of my house slept soundly on an exhausted Saturday night.

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