The Name of the Star - Maureen Johnson [66]
“Not really,” I said. “But it’s . . .”
This time, it was definitely me. I leaned into him, and he put his arm over my shoulders. Then I put my head against his, and his curls pressed into my cheek. From there, it was a slow turn of the head until our faces were together. I started pressing my lips into his cheek—just a hint of a kiss, just to see how it went. I felt his shoulders release, and he made a little noise that was partly a groan, partly a sigh. He kissed my neck, up, up, up to my ear. My muscle control began to slip away, as did my sense of my surroundings. My body flushed itself with all the good chemicals that it keeps in reserve for making out. They make you stupid. They make you wobbly. They make you not care about Jack the Ripper or ghosts.
I reached up and ran my hand along the back of his neck, deep into his hair, then I pulled his face closer.
23
CLEARLY, JEROME AND I HAD A COMPLICATED THING going on. He told me scary Jack the Ripper facts, and I had the sudden need to make out with him until I ran out of breath. I would have continued indefinitely if Boo hadn’t bounded up to us like a deranged puppy. Jerome and I detached so quickly that a thin bridge of saliva connected us for a glittering moment. I swung it away.
“Heya!” she said. “Sorry! I didn’t realize you came here too! Came over for a coffee.”
She held up a coffee as proof.
Jerome was so startled that he had a violent coughing fit.
“Well,” he said when he recovered. “I . . . well.
Hello.”
“Hi,” Boo said. She was still standing there, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’d best get back. I have a physics lab to work on.”
He got up abruptly and left.
“Sorry,” Boo said. “It’s my job to follow. And I wouldn’t have interrupted, but I had an idea. You need a bit more practical experience. It’ll help you. And since you don’t have to do that paper and it’s Sunday, we can go out.”
Boo had an ability to attach herself to me and steer me around. Her grip was like iron. She began to move me out of the market and down the street, toward the Tube. About forty-five minutes later, for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I turned up on Goodwin’s Court. Boo half dragged me down the alley and pressed the silver buzzer on their front door.
“How do you even know they’re home?” I asked.
“They’ll be home,” she said. “One of them’s always here.”
No answer. Boo buzzed again. There was a crashing noise, followed by an electronic squawk.
“What?” a male voice yelled.
“It’s me!” Boo yelled back. “I have Rory with me!”
“You what?”
I thought it was Callum, but it was hard to tell.
“Let us up!” Boo yelled.
A mumbled something on the other end, and the intercom went dead.
“I don’t think they like it when I come over,” I said.
“Oh, they don’t mind.”
“I think they do.”
Nothing from the door. Boo pushed the intercom again, and this time, the door buzzed open. Again, up the stairs with the automatic lighting. I could see that the staircase was very well maintained, with tasteful framed black-and-white photos up the staircase and a highly polished silver rail. The apartment on the first floor bore a small glass sign on the door:
DYNAMIC DESIGN. Upstairs, Callum was at the door, dressed in the same snug shirt and a pair of shorts. He held a mug of something steaming hot.
“What are you doing?” he asked Boo in a groggy morning voice.
“Just bringing Rory round.”
“Why?”
Boo ignored this and stepped past him, dragging me in with her.
“Where’s Stephen?” Boo asked, taking off her coat and hanging it on the rickety coat stand by the door. Callum collapsed onto the brown sofa and regarded us both with tired eyes.
“Out getting the papers.”
“What are you up to?” she asked.
“What are we always up to?”
He indicated the stacks of papers and folders scattered all over the table and the floor around it. Boo nodded, made a quick circuit of the room, and planted herself next to him. Stephen came in a moment later. He was