She was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Yeah, well, I suppose you were just jealous Noah and I were getting along so well," she said finally.

I swallowed. "Maybe...yes. That must be why." I tried to keep sarcasm out of my voice and just about managed it.

She jumped on my admission like a defence lawyer. "So you admit you like him then?"

Oh God. Why did I make this phone call?

"I'm not saying that," I said. "I mean, he's okay-looking and everything, but I didn't really get to know him."

"Well, I don't think you're his type."

My hand holding my phone was shaking. "And why is that?" I asked quietly.

"Well I don't think he goes for the brooding, sarcastic thing. I think someone like Noah likes girls with a bit more sass."

Of course you do. "Someone like you, Ruth?"

"Yes, well, probably," she snapped. "Although he's not going to be interested now, is he? Not after you told him I was an STI-ridden TRAMP."

I switched my phone from one ear to another. It would be over soon.

"Ruth, as I said, I'm truly sorry. I was just jealous at how easy you find it to talk to boys and I acted out. I hope we can be friends again."

Another pregnant pause.

"Yeah well, don't do it again, right."

Relief.

"Anyway," she continued, "I don't actually like that Noah guy. Much too pose-y for my liking."

I stifled a laugh. Honestly, you couldn't make people like Ruth up. No one would believe you. Her own self-belief was extraordinary.

"Of course. Much too pose-y. So what time you starting college tomorrow?"

We talked for another few minutes, getting things back to normal, before I hung up. I tilted my head back in relief, inhaling the fresh summer air. I'd thought she would make me suffer much more than that. Maybe there was a tiny shred of her that felt bad. And then I laughed aloud at my own naivety and startled a passing dog walker.

With the Ruth fiasco sorted, I let my mind drift to Noah. My memory was drowned immediately the curve of his jaw, the intense look in his eyes when they met mine. I firmly pushed this to one side, determined to compartmentalize whatever these emotions were and deal with them practically.

I supposed it had to happen at some point. There had to be at least one boy out there who got attractive before the age of nineteen. But the strength of my attraction concerned me. I'd only just met him and I couldn't get him out of my head. As I saw it, there were only two possible outcomes. One the much more realistic option: he'd barely remember me, let alone feel anything, and I'd feel rejected and awful. Or two: he'd fall for me, soon realize I was way below his league, dump me for someone beautiful and I'd feel rejected and awful. So there was only one solution: to remove him from my brain entirely. I didn't have the mental strength to be hurt by a guy, not now. My head was already too preoccupied trying to stop me from passing out.

So no. I wouldn't let myself fall for him. For anyone. I wasn't ready.

With my decision made I felt lighter. I watched another plane disappear through the thin cloud layer. The sun was going in so I slowly made my way across the clearing, savouring every last moment of the view. And then, checking first that no one could see, I skipped down the alleyway towards home.

When I woke up the next morning, I groaned. It was Monday.

I hit the snooze button, pushing my head under the pillow to block out the light shining optimistically through my window. Lying on my front, I practised my breathing exercises again. I breathed in and out slowly, but it was difficult not to doze off. For a moment I slipped back into sleep and my thoughts floated elsewhere.

Noah's eyes appeared before me the moment I closed my own. In a dozy haze I let myself imagine how it would feel to have his arms wrapped around me those same strong arms I'd seen playing the guitar...

The frantic trill of my alarm jogged me awake properly. I took my time getting ready for college, as I had a free period first thing on Mondays. I'd washed my hair the night before and plaited it into four sections. I slowly unravelled them so my hair was wavy and dabbed on some make-up. I pulled on some light blue jeans, a white vest, and twisted my long turquoise-stone necklace around myself. After breakfast, brushing my teeth and checking I had all the right books, I set off. It was a gorgeous day, the sort that rarely bestows itself upon England. I wondered if anyone would bother with lessons or just sit in a beer garden instead. I put my iPod headphones on and turned the music up loud. It was definitely a morning for The Beatles and I picked "Here Comes the Sun". Dad had once said this was the only song that really summed up a British summer, and he was right. Everything looked beautiful. The roads were quiet, green leaves burst from trees, birds sang out like ambitious reality-show auditionees, and everyone was wearing summer clothes and had a grin across their face.

I played my favourite walking-alone game where, in my head, I pretend I'm in a music video. Imagining myself leaning into a wind machine and practising my dramatic-singing face made the journey go quickly and soon I was walking up the college path. I was enjoying myself so much that I didn't really notice somebody tapping my shoulder. I was singing under my breath, oblivious to everything, when I felt it again.

I turned round, music still blasting in my ears, and there he was. Right in front of me. Noah. Wearing a rolled-up pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt. Looking perfect. My heart started thudding and I felt out of breath. I stared at him gormlessly, music still roaring. I couldn't hear what he was saying; I was too busy concentrating on staying upright. So, so perfect. His so-dark-brown-they-were-almost-black eyes were wide and questioning. My breathing was getting faster and I was scared I was panting. Noah motioned to me but I just stared back like a fool. Then he was reaching towards me. The pace of my heart picked up as his arm approached the arm I'd fantasized about only this morning. He reached for my face. Was this happening? Was he going to cup it? Was this morning's daydream actually a premonition?

And then the reassuring sound of The Beatles disappeared and I realized he was just taking my earphones out.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to shock you. Can you hear me now? Poppy, isn't it?" He was smiling but it was strained. I think he was nervous. Probably scared I would yell at him or pass out again.

I gulped and nodded idiotically. Memories of the other night whirred back. The humiliation, the hurt. I felt my face turn tomato.

"Hey," he continued. "I tried to call you Saturday night but you didn't pick up."

I didn't know the correct response so I stayed silent. My heartbeat was so loud it was stopping my mind from thinking of anything coherent to say. It felt like a warning drum and all the hairs on my arms stood on end, like when I'm home alone and I hear an inexplicable bang a primal fear reaction. But Noah was just a boy. He wasn't dangerous, was he?

"I feel really bad about what happened." His smile had gone. My silence was obviously bothering him. "I didn't really understand what was going on. Your friend Ruth just dragged me over. I only laughed out of nervousness."

His speech sounded rehearsed, like he'd been practising alone. That made me feel good. He had been thinking about me. I glowed and then focused on being normal.

"It's okay, don't worry about it." I'd just about held it together enough to get those six words out. But if I hung around much longer I would completely give myself away. "Bye then," I stammered, then turned and walked off.

"Wait," he called.

And then my hand was burning like it was on fire. Noah had grabbed it. His touch scorched my skin. I looked up in confusion and his eyes met mine. They looked tortured, burning with intensity, and my insides turned to blancmange. He kept hold of me and the fire coursed up my arm. We stared at each other for a few seconds, both silenced. My breathing got quicker, matching my panicked heartbeat, and the familiar feeling of sickness drew in. Wrong wrong wrong. Something was wrong. My whole arm was screaming. Just as I was about to pull my hand away, he withdrew his and shook his head as if to restore clarity.

"Sorry," he said again.

"S'okay." My heart rate slowed the moment the physical contact ended. I looked down at my arm and it was normal again, like nothing had happened. Had it?

He stared at his shoes and scratched his head, looking embarrassed.

I cleared my throat and tried to break the atmosphere. "Umm, I didn't know you went to Middletown College."

He looked straight into my eyes and my heart went into overdrive again. But, as if he knew what he did to me, he quickly lowered his gaze. "I don't go here."

"Oh. Then why are you here?" It was a direct question and it came out nastily.

He flinched and I felt guilty.

"Erm," he said, "I was hoping to see you actually."

I hadn't expected that reply. I blushed and tried to hide my face with my hair. "Oh," was the only reply I could muster.

"Look..." he said. Again I got the feeling he'd rehearsed this. "I couldn't stop thinking about you and what happened. No one's spoken to me like that before. I've never known anyone to speak their mind so bluntly."

I kept my face down, not trusting myself to look at him. "It was stupid," I muttered. "I'm sorry I was rude. I just lost my temper."

My chin began to burn and he was touching me again. Pushing my face up, forcing me to stare into his dark eyes.

"You don't understand," he said, his pupils blazing into mine. "I liked it."

All I could do was stare back. He still had his hand on me. It felt like a thousand watts were sprinting through my body, like when you touched that static machine in primary school science lessons. I felt a little sick again.

He spoke again. "Will you come out for a drink with me tonight?"

My brain was foggy. All I wanted to do was say yes. But something stopped me the deal I'd made with myself yesterday, up on the common, when Noah wasn't there to distract me.

I analysed what he'd said. He liked that I was rude to him. Scepticism began to replace the adrenalin. I'd become a challenge. I hadn't fawned on him like he was used to and that intrigued him. My self-preservation superpowers kicked in. Once Noah had won me over, he would lose interest and piss off. It was textbook stuff. Well, if your textbook was Cosmo magazine.

Ignoring every physical impulse in my body that wanted him, I opened my mouth to speak.

"I don't think that's a good idea." And for a moment, that actually felt like the truth because suddenly an instinctive part of me was telling me to leave. Get away. Now.

Noah looked shocked. More than shocked. His eyebrows stretched up across his forehead in disbelief. This was probably the first time he'd ever been refused.

"Not a good idea?" He tried to smile, laughing it off. "Why not? I'm not going to drug you or anything. I just want to take you out for a drink."

I forced myself to look directly into his eyes, ignoring the feelings it stirred. "I've got class in a minute."

His face wavered with anger but he controlled it and pushed out another forced smile. He removed his hand, and shook it, like the movement would dislodge his embarrassment at even touching me in the first place. My skin still tingled from where it had been.

"Yeah, of course, sorry," he murmured. "I should let you go."

I stepped past him towards college. A few groups of students were milling around, wasting time before the bell went. I made about three metres' progress before he called after me.

"Oh, Poppy?"

I hated myself for smiling when I heard him call my name. I quickly arranged my mouth into a more neutral expression before I spun round.

"What is it, Noah?" I tried to sound nonchalant.

He jogged over. "Hey," he said, running his hands through his hair. "Maybe I was too...forward. Sorry about that, I'm not used to being turned down."

I scowled and he noticed.

"Okay. That sounded really big-headed, didn't it?"

I giggled. "Just a bit. Okay, a lot. Just because you're in a band doesn't make you an irresistible Adonis, you know." I thought of Ruth, and smiled, wrinkling my nose. "Well, not to everyone."

I was bluffing, of course. He was an irresistible Adonis. Anyone with a pair of working eyeballs could see that. But the bluff appeared to be believable. Noah didn't look happy.

"Yeah well, I realize that now."

I paused, waiting for his next move. The bell had just gone and all the other students had disappeared, but it didn't seem important.

"Well, if the thought of going on a date with me is so repugnant, how about a drink with friends then?" He attempted another grin.

I shifted my bag from one shoulder to another. "I don't understand."

"After college," he said. "I'm meeting the band in the Lock and Key for a few drinks. You could come along? Bring a few of your mates as well?"

I thought about it. The girls would kill me if I said no. Yet I was nervous. Seeing more of Noah wasn't exactly going to help me exorcize this crush.

"I don't understand why," I asked.

"God to be friendly?" he snapped. Then he shook his head. "Sorry, this is going all wrong. I shouldn't have just sprung out on you like this. It seemed like a much cooler idea in my head. I just feel bad about what happened and I want to make it up to you and get to know you..." He saw me raising my eyebrows. "...And your friends much better. It's a lovely day, it will be a lovely evening. The lads are really friendly and it will be fun."

I found myself nodding.

"Is that a yes?"

"Erm...okay then."

"Brilliant. See you at the Lock and Key at five-ish."

Then he smiled a huge genuine smile, turned and jogged off, leaving me standing there open-mouthed like a fish.

I was late for my English lesson. I burst through the door to a class full of unimpressed and stony faces. I apologized to my teacher, who waved me away and continued teaching.

Frank had left a space for me and I scuttled over to him.

"What have I missed?" I whispered, getting my A4 notebook and biro out.

He handed me a copy of a book. I grimaced at the front cover. Ergh. Romeo and Juliet.

"It's our Shakespeare play for this term," he said. "Aren't you supposed to simper and gush on about how romantic it is?"

I raised an eyebrow ironically at him in reply. He raised one back and we both laughed. He knew "simpering" wasn't part of my vocabulary.

Frank Dayton was one of those friends you make out of convenience when you don't know anyone in your class. None of my friends took English, so luckily I'd sat next to Frank in my first lesson, who didn't know anyone either. We quickly discovered we shared a mutual love of sarcasm, passing judgement on everyone, and weird sci-fi loner novels. I sometimes spent time trying to decide if I fancied him. He was technically good-looking. Blond hair, green eyes, worked out, all the usual box-tickers. But he just wasn't my type. And he played rugby. Ergh. It was one of the things we argued about, as I usually couldn't bear rugby players and their massive egos.

If I was really bored I would wonder if he fancied me, but was mostly certain we only mutually used each other to get through English A Level. We didn't really speak outside of class and he never went to Band Night. He was into trance music. Double ergh. I regularly teased him on his musical choice. Why bother liking clubbing music when you live in Middletown? Where are you going to rave? In your Renault Clio?

My teacher, Ms. Gretching (very important you remember the Ms., she goes nuts otherwise) was still talking. She was droning on about how Romeo and Juliet were meant for each other but "true love" always self-destructs. I had an inkling this academic point wasn't actually on the syllabus, and had rather more to do with the white strip of skin on her finger where her wedding ring used to be.

I groaned and lay my head on the table.

"Do you really hate Romeo and Juliet that much?" Frank asked, finding amusement in my dismay.

"Yes," I whispered back. "The whole story is ridiculous. It's just about a pair of melodramatic teenagers high on dopamine ruining their lives because of some adolescent crush. I wish we could have done Macbeth instead."

Frank looked at me for a moment. "You're really not like other girls, are you?"

I looked at the row of girls sitting opposite us. They were four identikit blondes Frank and I regularly took the piss out of because they obviously spent about two hours getting ready for college full face of make-up, GHD ringlets, fake eyelashes EVERY day. They were hanging on Ms. Gretching's every word, simpering whenever she used the words "soulmate" or "true love".

I gestured towards them. "Thank God," I replied.