Edenham Comprehensive

Georgia lives in one of the old Victorian terraces just down the road from the school. It looks to be in considerably worse condition than the ones surrounding it; the bricks are chipped and coming to pieces and several of the windows are smashed. As Reuben walks up the narrow path, he's accosted on both sides by overgrown shrubs that reach his waist and catch on the frayed ends of his hoodie. He nearly trips on a pile of broken bricks abandoned by the front door, but he manages to steady himself on the rickety fence separating the two terraced houses.

He presses the doorbell, but one stab from his finger and it falls apart, clattering on the ground in a heap. Swearing, he bends over and collects the pieces, and when he straightens up, Georgia's standing in the doorway, wearing only a pair of faded jeans and a hoodie, her arms folded across her chest.

He holds out the bits of plastic cupped between his hands like a sacrificial offering. “It just kind of fell apart when I touched it,” he says awkwardly. “Sorry.”

If she's surprised to see him, she doesn't show it. Her face is granite as she steps back and slams the door in his face. He winces, but really, he wasn't expecting her to welcome him with open arms. Not after what he did.

“Georgia, please, open the door!” Reuben pleads, pressing his nose to the translucent glass to try and see into the house. “I just want to talk to you. Please, let me in.”

Nothing. No reply. Just the brooding silence. Exasperated, he slides down the door and sinks to the floor. He rubs a hand over his face, kneading his palm into his eyes.

“You probably can't hear me and even if you can, you're probably not even listening to me. But if you are, I'm sorry.” He knocks his head back against the uPVC door, exhaling heavily through his teeth. “I know you're not the spy; Nicole is. I should have believed you and I'm sorry I didn't. You have every right to be angry with me. In fact, I don't mind if you never, ever forgive me. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry.”

He picks himself up, exhausted, and starts off down the path. At least he can say he tried.

But he hasn't even taken more than a few steps before he hears the door creaking open behind him. He turns, hesitating slightly, and opens his mouth to say something, but Georgia doesn't give him the chance to speak. Raising her hand, she slaps him sharply across the left side of his face with such force that his head rockets sideways and he stumbles back, clutching his stinging cheek.

“There,” she says, satisfied.

And Reuben can't help but laugh, a helpless rumble of euphoric relief, and before long she's giggling hysterically along with him and for a moment, everything else is forgotten.

But as the laughter subsides, he quickly sobers up. “I really am sorry,” he says softly. “I should have trusted you.”

Her face is once again carefully blank. “Yeah, you should've.” But then she sighs, raking a hand through her hair, and shakes her head. “Who am I kidding? I don't blame you for not believing me, not really. It's just the kind of thing I'd do, isn't it?” There's no bitterness in her voice, just a distant, quiet sadness. “I'm the little bitch with the heart of stone, the one who wouldn't know goodness if it came and smacked her on the head.”

Reuben wants to tell her that she's better than that, that she's so much more than that, but the words are frozen in his throat. He's suddenly, horribly reminded of what Casey was like when they first met, so sad and distant and self-loathing, and what Nicole was like last night when she poured out her heart to him.

And he wonders if maybe this is what Edenham Comprehensive does to you - no, what Tylerdoes to you. That little by little, he takes every last piece of your humanity and tears it into shreds right in front of you until you can't even believe in yourself any more, let alone anything else.

So he does the only thing he can do: he steps forward and folds Georgia into his arms, holding her stiff, taut body until she relaxes, the tension steadily draining out of her body.

“You'd better come in,” she says eventually, disentangling herself from his grasp. “Dump the bell in the bin on your way in.”

Reuben follows her inside, casting a cursory glance around the inside of the house. To his surprise, it's in much better condition than the outside, however, everything looks like it came fresh from an antiques shop. Her parents must be collectors or something, he assumes. Georgia leads him upstairs to her room, shoving him inside before he can get a good look around the rest of the place.

“All right, all right,” he mutters as she closes the door behind him. “No need to get physical.”

For a moment, he thinks he sees a glimmer of a smile on Georgia's lips. But then she turns around and opens the door again.

“Wait here,” she instructs him, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I'll be back in a minute.”

She strides out of the room, shutting the door gently behind her. Reuben waits until he hears her receding footsteps before turning the handle as quietly as he can to poke his head out of the door.

On the other side of the landing, Georgia knocks on the door before opening it and shuffling inside. She doesn't close it fully, so Reuben can just about see the room inside. It's furnished in the same way as the rest of the house, and there looks to be something - or someone - curled up inside the bed.

Georgia approaches the bed and sits on the end. “It's okay, Gran,” she says softly. “It's just someone from school.”

“Sounded like a boy.” The other voice is reproachful and disapproving and cracked with age. “What will your father say when I tell him you were canoodling with a boy in your bedroom?”

“He's just a friend, Gran,” Georgia tells her with measured patience. She glances up at the mirror above the bed and Reuben shrinks back out of view, his heart pounding, but she didn't appear to notice him. When he's sure it's safe again, he peeks back out.

Her gran's busy harrumphing about something or other. “You just got him over here so you could avoid me, didn't you?” she accuses.

“No, Gran, I wouldn't-”

“I've been up here on my own for ages,” she interrupts her. “Anything could have happened to me. You don't even care, do you?”

“Gran, of course I do-”

“And you haven't made me my tea yet. You're just a lazy lump of lard, you know that? You’re worthless,” the old woman informs her in a cold, careless tone. “You'll never amount to anything, just like that poxy mother of yours.”

In the mirror, Reuben sees Georgia's face contort with the effort of suppressing her rage. “Don't you say anything about my mum,” she says quietly, her voice shaking.

“Are you talking back to me?” The air cracks with the sound of a harsh, painful slap across the face, and though Reuben doesn't see it, Georgia's flinch is unmistakable. “There was none of this nonsense back in my day. You young folks, you don't know how good you have it.”

“Yes, Gran,” Georgia says, the emotion drained from her voice once more.

“Oh, get out of my sight. I can't even stand to look at you,” her gran says suddenly, a cold dismissiveness to her tone.

Georgia stands, keeping her head high with the little dignity she has left. Reuben shuts the door quickly and all but throws himself onto the bed, forcing himself to relax so it looks like he's been there for ages. The door opens a few seconds later and she trudges in, giving him a nod of acknowledgement.

“Nosy little sod,” she says as she perches next to him on her bed, but there's no malice in her voice.

“Sorry,” he mutters, shifting uncomfortably. “I didn't mean to-”

“Yes you did,” she interrupts him. “And I don't blame you.” She shrugs like it doesn't mean a thing. “It's no big deal.”

“Georgia-”

“Don't, Reuben.” She suddenly looks exhausted, like she's fighting off a million different things at once. “Just don't.”

And he's glad, because he wasn't sure what he was going to say, what he could say in a situation like this. But then he feels guilty for feeling glad and oh God, he's regretting this already. Why didn't he just go home when he had the chance? He apologised, didn't he? Isn't that enough?

But it isn't and he knows it.

“How'd you find out?” Georgia asks suddenly. “About Nicole being the spy, I mean.”

“She told me,” Reuben replies, grateful for the change of subject.

She arches an eyebrow. “Really? Wow.”

And he tells her the whole story, about Tyler's party and the virus and everything else. She interjects a few times, mostly to express her shock or disgust, and on more than one occasion, Reuben has to tell her to shut up so he can finish the story. Not like Casey, who listens in complete, contemplative silence, only offering her judgement at the end. The comparison makes him grimace.

“So I broke up with her,” he finishes, with a resignation that seems final. “If you could call it that. I suppose you could say I put an end to something that never really got a chance to start.” He exhales slowly through his teeth. “That's not what's important, though, is it?”

Georgia shrugs. “You tell me. Sure, look at the bigger picture and your love life isn't exactly the biggest concern. But who cares about the bigger picture when your world, your tiny little world of school and friends and family and love, is falling apart in front of your eyes?” She sighs, tangling a clump of hair between her fingers. “Listen to me. I'm right, though, aren't I?” Reuben just nods, and she gives him a look. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Depends,” he says warily. “Do you want to listen to me talk about it?”

“Not really,” she replies, wrinkling her nose. “But I will. If you want me to.”

“Thanks.” He smiles, a tired stretching of his lips that tugs at the corners of his eyes, teasing life into the black holes. “Think I'll be all right, though. What about you? How've you been these past few days?”

“How do you think I've been?” she says incredulously, giving him a strange look.

“Um... not good?” he guesses. “Why? What happened?”

She searches his face for a few seconds, trying to work out if he's having her on. “You really don't know, do you?” He shakes his head, still confused. “I'm a Grade 3. Have been since Wednesday.”

“What?” he exclaims, disbelief painted on his face. “Why?”

“I found out about Nicole being the spy and we... well, we had an argument,” Georgia says flatly. “It ended with her making me a Grade 3. Let's just say life hasn't exactly been peachy for me since.”

“Sorry,” Reuben murmurs. “I didn't know.”

“Yeah, I realised.” There's an awkward pause. “Do you want some food?” she says suddenly. “I'm making my gran something, so you might as well.”

“I'm actually pretty hungry,” he admits.

“Come on then,” Georgia announces, jumping to her feet. “To the kitchen.”

***

By 'making her gran something', Reuben assumes she means a sandwich, or maybe even one of those microwave meals for two you can get down the supermarket in every processed shape or form for a pound or two.

Georgia has other ideas.

Once they reach the kitchen, she heads straight for the oven and hauls it open to inspect the contents. Reuben hovers in the doorway, unsure exactly of what's going on.

“Right,” she says eventually, shutting the oven door and twiddling a few dials above it. “Should only need about twenty more minutes.”

“What should?”

“The lasagne,” she informs him. “That's okay, isn't it?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he says distractedly. “You can cook? Like properly cook?”

“Don't look so surprised,” she chuckles, rolling her eyes at him. “It's not like lasagne's that hard to make either.”

“You just... you don't seem like the type,” he says finally.

She shrugs, turning away to busy herself with a chopping board, a pile of vegetables and a very, very big knife. “I didn't exactly have a choice. When my mum died, it was a case of learn how to cook or starve to death. My dad can't make toast without setting the house on fire and my gran, well.” She gives a harsh laugh and the knife slices through the air as it comes down on the tomatoes, slewing juices and seeds all over the counter.

Reuben takes a step back.

“Sorry,” he says awkwardly. “I know what it's like, losing someone. My brother...”

She just nods, understanding, and he sighs, relieved to not have to finish that sentence. “It was a long time ago, though. Nearly ten years now. I'm over it,” she says briskly, but he doesn't even need to see her face to know she's lying.

But she's got a razor-sharp knife in her hand the size of his forearm and he knows she'd have no qualms about using it on him if he pissed her off, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Want a hand with that?” he offers instead, nodding to the large pile of vegetables. There are more greens and reds and oranges than he's ever seen in his life, and that's saying something considering he has a health freak for a mother.

“Sure, go ahead,” she replies, handing him a knife and a chopping board. “Stick them in that bowl there when you're done.”

“It isn't all for us, is it?” he asks tentatively.

“Nah, they're for my gran. Should keep her going for a while.” Georgia smiles bitterly. “They're about the only thing she'll eat without a fuss.”

“She seems like a right charmer, your gran,” Reuben mutters, only realising what he's said and who he's said it to once the words are out of his mouth. “I'm sorry,” he blurts out, turning to face her. “I didn't mean-”

“Relax,” she chuckles. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

He smiles at her, and she smiles back before returning to her vegetables. He watches her for a few seconds, notes the look of concentration on her face as she slices a cucumber up into precise, equal sections. He glances down at his own, misshapen and ugly in comparison, and feels vaguely ashamed.

He starts on a fresh cucumber, and starts cutting it up into fine circles like Georgia's. But he's a poor judge of distance and his finger is just a little bit too close to where the knife is and if he isn't careful-

“Ow!” Red-hot pain sears across his finger and he swears loudly, bringing it to his mouth to suck on the rapidly blossoming wound. “Sliced my damn finger open.”

“Here, let me see.” Georgia tugs his hand away from his mouth with surprising gentleness and studies the cut on his finger. “It's barely scraped the surface, you big baby,” she says eventually, with a sort of affectionate contempt usually reserved for siblings and best friends and people being ridiculously melodramatic.

He snatches his hand away in indignation. “How come it's still bleeding, then?” he says defensively, cradling his finger in his other hand. “It's practically a war wound.”

She gives him an incredulous look. “Stick it under the tap and I'll get you a plaster. And for God's sake, stop acting like a complete wimp or I'll give you a real war wound to cry over.”

He obeys, unsurprisingly, making his way to the sink with his head bowed. Behind him, Georgia rummages in a cupboard for the first aid kit.

“Here,” she says a few moments later, tapping him on the shoulder to make him turn around. She's holding a colourful dinosaur-covered plaster, as if to add insult to injury. “No, it's okay,” she says when he moves to take it from her. “I'll put it on for you. Wouldn't want you to get a paper cut from the packaging, would we?”

“Oh haha,” Reuben says sarcastically, mustering up a half-hearted glare.

She chuckles to herself as she wraps the plaster firmly around his finger, her hands rough but not unpleasant as they brush against his skin. He flexes his finger experimentally, pleased to note he can still move it properly. Smiling, he looks up at Georgia.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” she says, biting back a smile. “I was worried we might have to amputate for a minute.”

He glances down, giving a nervous laugh, and catches sight of her bare wrists where the sleeves of her hoodie have ridden up. He frowns. There's a dark shadow on the underside of her arm where no dark shadow should be, and it is unmistakably thumb-shaped.

Georgia notices the direction of his gaze and promptly yanks her sleeve back down, her body stiffening.

Something horrible occurs to him. “You're not being-”

“Don't be stupid.” Her voice is harsh, sharp, and he instantly regrets his insinuation. “My dad's big but he's just a ball of fluff. And my gran... well, she prefers her weapons in the form of words.”

She halts, as if she's hesitating. But then she grasps her hoodie at the hem and tugs it over her head, revealing bare arms peppered with ugly, purply-green bruises, snaking underneath the sleeves of her t-shirt.

Reuben gets a sudden, unwelcome image of Casey after she was beaten up in PE at the start of the year, by Georgia, no less. It feels like a lifetime ago. Its hard to believe it's only been a few months.

“I've gotten in a few fights this week,” she explains, careful to keep her voice even. “What can I say? I was the most hated girl in school as a Grade 1 and as a Grade 3...” She trails off, unable or unwilling to finish her sentence. “Guess it's my own fault, in a way. What goes around comes around and all that.”

“Oh my God,” he says hoarsely.

“It's just a few cuts and bruises,” she snaps, folding her arms across her chest with irritation. “And it's not like I can't hold my on in a fight. I showed those bastards not to mess with me.”

She sounds defiant, proud almost. Reuben wants to vomit.

“You don't get it, do you?” he says quietly. “What is with you people? It's almost like you want to be beaten to a pulp. Like you want to be treated worse than shit. Like you actually want this screwed-up life Tyler's forced you into.”

Georgia smiles, but her eyes are empty. “It's just how it works, Reuben. This is all we've ever known.”

“But why do you just accept it?” he demands, his voice drenched with frustration. “Why do you let him use you like puppets?”

“You know why,” she says softly.

He falls silent, his burst of rage slowly draining out of his body until there's nothing left.

“No one really believes you can do it, you know,” she tells him, leaning against the counter. “Sure, they go along with it, because they're bored or because they're bitter or because they just haven't got anything better to do-”

“Or maybe because they need something to give them hope,” he says quietly, though he’s not sure he really believes it himself.

She acknowledges his point with a slight nod of her head. “But they don't really believein it. No one really believes in anything any more.” She stops then, gathering courage in the air she's breathing in through her lungs. “But I do. If there's one thing I believe in, Reuben, it’s you.”

He smiles briefly, his eyelids almost drooping with the effort. “Thanks,” he whispers, but it's more of an exhalation of breath than anything else. “That- that means a lot.”

He looks up at her then and finds she's staring at him, her head tilted to one side in a thoughtful expression. He's not quite sure what she's seeing, or why she's finding it so fascinating, but he kind of wishes she'd stop doing it because it's a little bit disconcerting.

“What?” he asks, shifting uncomfortably.

“You're kind of beautiful, you know that?” she says, her voice soft.

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, a real, genuine smile, and it strikes him then that she has a really nice smile. It changes her entire face, too; it smoothes the hardness around her eyes and mouth and brings a gleam to her seawater blue eyes. He wonders why he's never noticed before, but then he realises he's never seen her smile before. Not properly, at least.

“Um, thanks, I guess,” he mutters, glancing down at the floor. “You're not so bad yourself.”

But then he looks up and she's right in front of him and he jumps, shocked. He backs up a little, only to find he's pressed up right against the counter. Smirking, Georgia places one hand on either side of him, effectively trapping him.

“Georgia,” he says, his voice shaking, “what are you doing?”

“Something I should have done ages ago,” she murmurs as she leans towards him, closing the gap between them. She halts a millimetre away from his face, looking down on him with a sort of amused affection, and that's when she kisses him.

For a moment, he's too shocked to do anything but stand there as she assaults him with her mouth. But then he realises he's being kissed by a girl - and a not unattractive one at that - who has no other agenda except the fact that she wants to be kissing him. It's kind of nice, really. And it's that realisation which makes him wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her back.

It's nigh impossible not to compare it to kissing Casey, and he finds himself picking up on little things, like the fact that Georgia's wearing watermelon-flavoured lip balm whereas Casey usually just sticks with Vaseline. Georgia is much taller than Casey, only a few inches shorter than him, so they're on a much more equal level. It should be more comfortable, but somehow it's just... weird. Georgia's different, too: more forceful, more dominant.

But then she bites his lip, teasing his mouth open with her tongue to deepen the kiss and he moans, unable to form a comprehensible thought beyond oh my god, oh my godand asdfghjkl don't stop.

Typically, just as he's starting to enjoy it, the oven's timer starts beeping loudly and incessantly and she jumps away from him, startled. The heat evaporates instantly and he's left with nothing but a cold breeze on his wet, saliva-coated lips. Georgia turns off the oven and they're plunged into a terrible silence as she takes out the lasagne and sets it down on the counter.

Reuben slumps against the counter, rubbing his jaw for want of something to do with his hands.

“What was that for?” he asks eventually, looking up at her on the other side of the room.

She shrugs, smiling, and he can't help but notice her lips are a lot darker than before. He reddens and looks down, embarrassed.

“Look, Georgia, I'm not sure how to say this, but- I mean, it's not like I didn't- but you and me- we're just- we're not-”

She bursts out laughing, cutting him off mid-sentence before he can do it himself. “Reuben, relax. It was just a kiss, that's all. It's not like I'm expecting you to propose or something.”

“Oh,” he says, feeling distinctly foolish. “'Course.”

“You're sweet, really, and nicer than any guy I've ever known,” she says honestly. “And maybe, another time, I'd think about it. But I am sonot looking for a relationship right now.”

“Right, yeah. Me neither,” he mumbles. As it stands, he's had enough of relationships.

“Have to say, though, you're a great kisser,” she says casually.

A pink tinge creeps into his cheeks. “Thanks. You too.”

“This won't make things awkward between us, will it?” she asks. “We're still friends, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” he nods. “It was just a kiss.”

Nodding in agreement, she holds her hand out for him to shake, but he merely chuckles and uses the hand to pull her into a hug. They stay like that for a while, just holding each other, until Georgia pulls away.

“I'd better give Gran her food before she starves to death. Though on second thoughts, that doesn't sound like a bad idea,” she mutters with a long-suffering smile. “I might get some peace and quiet then.”

She separates the lasagne into several roughly equal squares and scoops one out onto a plate. Grabbing the bowl of salad in her other hand, she makes to head out of the kitchen.

“Need a hand with that?” he offers, but she shakes her head.

“I'm fine,” she assures him. “Get some for yourself and put a slice on a plate for me, then put the leftovers in the freezer. I'll heat it up for my dad when he gets home.”

He nods and gives her a mock-salute. Rolling her eyes at him, she slips out of the door and lets it swing shut behind her.

***

Once Georgia's returned, they eat dinner together in the living room in front of the TV. Suffice to say, the lasagne is delicious; it's thick and creamy and soft and crunchy and he asks for seconds. And thirds. Georgia seems amused by his fervent admiration for her cooking, and, if he's not imagining things, distinctly pleased.

They do a lot of talking. They discuss films and TV shows and even books to an extent, and find that they have next to nothing in common in terms of taste. Not that this makes a difference; the conversation seems flows easier when they're arguing about something.

Reuben likes animated films and films that make you question everything you believe in, Georgia likes intense action thrillers with a good dose of comedy thrown in for good measure. Neither of them are particularly keen on rom-coms, which Reuben finds a relief. They both like sitcoms and teenage dramas but while Reuben likes documentaries, Georgia loves science fiction.

“Wait, you like sci-fi?” Reuben asks sceptically when she admits to being a closet Doctor Who fan. “I'd never have guessed.”

“Star Trek too,” she chuckles. “And Babylon 5.”

Somehow, the conversation swings round to life ambitions - Reuben wants to do something in animation, Georgia would quite like to be a journalist - and it's all fair game from there. There's a liveliness to Georgia that Reuben's never seen in her before as she explains how she's always loved writing, and though she’s written a few mostly terrible stories, she decided a little while ago that she’d be better suited to non-fiction instead.

They talk about drawing and painting and fine art and modern art and cubism and impressionism and everything in between. They talk about guys and girls and Casey and Tyler until they're having a full on slag-off session, which ends in them dissolving into helpless giggles at their pettiness. They talk and talk until their half-eaten lasagne goes cold on their plates, forgotten amidst the sea of pleasant conversations and delightful discoveries about each other.

Her dad comes home at some point in the evening, and pokes his head around the living room door to say hello. He's a big man, like Georgia said, large and beefy and terrifyingly tall, but there's nothing malicious about him at all. He looks like one of those big, fluffy bears you see at fairs and theme parks, tired and drooping with age and grief and weariness because they’ve been left out in the rain for too long.

As he smiles at his daughter, however, his face lights up with renewed vitality, and Reuben realises something important. This is a man who's suffered, but who's realised that there's more to life than wallowing in self pity. He has a reason to go on every day, and that reason is a five foot eight brunette with a soft streak she keeps hidden deep, deep beneath her skin.

Reuben wonders what his reason is, and he smiles to himself as he remembers.

“Hey Dad,” Georgia says warmly, jumping to her feet to envelope her father in a hug. “Your lasagne's in the kitchen. I'll just warm it up for you.”

“Nah, it's fine, I can do that myself,” he assures her, ruffling her hair affectionately. “I'll leave you in peace, with your friend...?”

“Reuben,” he supplies, waving at him, and the older man smiles back.

“Reuben, in peace. Don't let her bully you too much, son,” he advises him, dropping him a casual wink.

“I won't, Mr. Turnstile,” Reuben replies, grinning when Georgia rolls her eyes at the two of them.

Her dad gives him a two-fingered salute before shutting the door behind him and heading to the kitchen, whistling. Georgia settles back into the sofa, lying across it so she's leaning up against one arm and resting her legs on Reuben's knees.

“Nice man, your dad,” he comments, absent-mindedly playing with her feet.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “he is. He's definitely not his mother's son, that's for sure. Just shows, we might be the product of our parents, but that doesn't mean we have to turn into them.” He starts tapping out a rhythm on her feet and she giggles, withdrawing her legs. “Hey, that tickles.”

He gives a mischievous grin and grabs her feet, tickling the soles until she's doubled over with helpless laughter.

“I - hate - you,” she wheezes eventually, tugging her feet out of reach. “That was mean.”

“Hey, you asked for it,” he points out, and in response, she sticks her tongue out at him. “Yeah, very mature.”

And she smiles, the ridiculously cute smile that transforms her from a vaguely attractive girl into something undeniably beautiful, and he wonders why she isn't like this all the time, why she's always so cold and careless and closed-off. But then he remembers Tyler, and the system, and all the people out to hurt you if you show so much of a hint of weakness. And he thinks of her grandmother, the cold, cruel woman who casually told her granddaughter she was worthless, and he thinks it's a marvel Georgia's managed to survive this long. That anyof them have survived this long.

“Hey Georgia,” he says softly, “do you think-”

But with typically bad timing, his phone buzzes in pocket and, with an apologetic murmur, he pulls it out and glances at the screen. As he answers the call, he catches sight of the time and realises with a shock that it's past ten o'clock. They've been talking for hours.

“Hey Casey,” he says, sobering up quickly. Georgia sits up at the mention of her name and touches his arm, her eyes soft.

“Hi Reuben,” Casey replies, and to her credit, she does sound sheepish. “I know you're probably still mad at me, but this is important, so don't hang up on me.”

“I wasn't going to,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. Beside him, Georgia mouths, 'Do you want me to leave?' but he shakes his head vehemently.

“Good, 'cause it's just about been twenty four hours so you should have the passwords on your computer pretty soon.” His eyes widen; he'd almost forgotten about that. “Have you checked yet?” Casey asks.

“Uh, no. I'm not actually at home at the moment,” he says, glancing at Georgia.

“Oh.” Casey sounds surprised, as if she expected him to be sitting in his apartment moping or something, and he feels a rush of resentment towards her. “Where are you?”

“I'm at Georgia's,” he informs her, deciding honesty is the best policy. “I thought I should apologise for the false accusations and well, we just got talking and lost track of time.”

“Oh, okay.” He searches for a hint of jealousy in her voice, or anything of the sort. Nothing. “How soon can you get back to the estate?” she asks.

“I'll be there in ten minutes,” he replies resignedly. “See you in a bit.”

She doesn't even say goodbye before hanging up on him. Reuben glares at his phone as he puts it back in his pocket.

“I have to go,” he informs Georgia, his voice tinged with reluctance.

“Yeah, I heard,” she nods. “Go do what you gotta do. Save the world. Get the girl. All that shit.”

He smiles briefly, wrapping his arms around her for a few moments before breaking away from her. She walks him to the door and opens it for him, but he doesn't simply stride out like she's expecting him to. Instead, he halts on the doorstep and turns to smile at her. “See you at school, George.”

She gives a start; only Tyler calls her George, and she never liked the nickname. But coming from Reuben, it sounds different. More... affectionate than teasing. And she decides she quite likes it.

“Bye Reuben,” she replies, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “It's been fun.”

“We've got to do this again some time,” he agrees, tipping her a wink. “The kissing is optional, of course.”

And with that, he turns and trudges down the path. She stands in the doorway and watches him leave, a shadow disappearing into the darkened street.