Page 7 of Exchange of Heart

I wiped her saliva from my cheek. ‘I don’t know who Freddie is, but maybe he’s good at his job, too.’

‘Or maybe it’s because there’s one similarity between the two of you.’ She grabbed her laptop and directed her gaze to my groin for clarification.

‘Don’t you wanna eat your pasta? You said you were starving.’ My plan to put aside our juvenile jabs wasn’t working.

‘I’ve lost my appetite.’ She picked up her bag and stormed a few steps, then backtracked. ‘Actually, I’ll eat it later.’ She grabbed the plate, tipped the pasta into a free to-go container, and left without looking back.

Her refusal to put aside our differences left me with no choice but to indulge her ill-cast judgement and crucify every word that fell from those ridiculous, rosy lips. If she wanted to keep playing this game, I’d take every piece she tried to put on the board. Consider them hotdogs, I’d take the lot. I returned to my seat in front of her in the classroom and prepared to challenge every question she answered like the disgraceful scum she considered me to be.

‘Do you mean a spreadsheet? A regular formatted table wouldn’t work with that specific formula.’ I raised an eyebrow.

Nora mumbled something about how she didn’t need to clarify her answer for me, but her pink cheeks of anger were like a sticker for my reward chart.

‘What if you had a power outage? Could you still prepare the report?’ I again interrupted as Nora demonstrated how she prepared her financial statement for the class.

Next, her forehead turned pink; another sticker for me. The teacher tutted his tongue and raised his finger in warning at us before we broke out in another argument. The subtle shake of his head showed he couldn’t wait for class to end, either.

‘Oh, a junior role wouldn’t need to worry about something like that, anyway,’ I assured her a few minutes later.

‘A data analyst is not a junior role,’ her voice rose an octave and her nostrils flared.

Even her chin was pink now. My reward chart was almost full of pink stickers. When the teacher dismissed us, I caught her reflection in the window where she dabbed a tissue against her nose and blinked back some tears. A block of concrete sat heavy in my stomach as I realised, I’d pushed her too far.

CHAPTER THREE

Nora

My claw-bent fingers gripped my laptop, pretending it was Corey’s head as I slammed it closed. I snatched my phone from my bag and jotted down some items to pick up from the store on my way home.

DUCT TAPE.

Two underlines.

Next week, I’d stumble and slap a strip of it to the hairs on Corey’s arm like the junior he made me out to be. I’d known he was trouble from the moment he’d stepped into the classroom on our first day earlier this year and sat in the chair I’d been eyeing.

For the next ten months, I’d glared at the back of his golden hair, daydreaming about trimming the curls, hiding gum in there, and straight up smacking the smug look off his face every time the teacher congratulated his answer. Brad never praised me. But when Corey suggested an asterisk as a wildcard character to help searching the status of a data entry form, he looked like he wanted to give him a standing ovation. No amount of motivational reading had cleansed the hatred poisoning my body each Monday when he took his seat in his entitled designer clothes – especially after his absence on his birthday, like a six-year-old taking the day off school. You’d think he walked around with a get out of jail free card based on the way he played by his own rules.

Now, from the door, his jeans hung from his hips, perfectly tailored to his sculpted physique, which made me want to terrorise him with a hack saw. He pulled his trademark green cap from his bag and placed it backwards on his head despite the sunset, apparently horrified at the idea of allowing the rays to touch his delicate skin. Or perhaps the poor soul worried he’d get moonburnt. His head turned in my direction and he glared at me with his lifeless grey eyes.

‘Do you need a pen or something?’ His ego was so big it spilled out his mouth.

My face turned every shade of pink, then ramped up to red when desks rattled as the remaining students packing away turned to face me. At this point, it would have been rude for them to ignore yet another argument between us. As if it wasn’t enough that he’d tried to one-up me the entirety of that last session, now he tried humiliating me before I’d finished packing to flee the classroom? I don’t think so.

‘Actually, yes, please. Mine ran out of ink.’ A shitty lie, but I couldn’t flush my pride down the toilet without a fight.

Signing up for this advanced diploma had turned out to be the worst decision, and I cursed myself for not thinking my Diploma of Finance was enough. I couldn’t back out though. My mother was delighted that I’d grabbed the idea by the balls (her words, not mine) and helped complete the form on my phone before she’d dished out dessert. She’d harped on about how this would solidify my résumé and help me climb the ranks, and that little motivator was all it took for me to arrive to class on time to continue building a life that didn’t rely on a man, so my life would not turn out like hers.

After all, when your single mother insists she wants the best for you, you commit, because the woman who gave you life, along with every ounce of support you’ve ever wanted, deserved that kind of love and commitment. Even if her husband hadn’t followed through and failed to ever contact me or my twin brothers again. He could be living in the Bahamas for all we know.

Peppermint invaded my nostrils as Corey now stood in front of me with a disgustingly attractive smirk on his face.

‘Mind if I try for you?’ He reached forward and grabbed my pen before I could say ‘no’ and throw the working pen out the window. A smooth black line marked the top of my page, followed by a satisfied raise of Corey’s eyebrow. ‘Huh, seems to be working fine to me.’

‘Well, it, uh – it wasn’t working before.’ I snatched my pen back from his fingers, which were as cold as his soul.

His peppermint scent left as quickly as it had arrived, and when I dropped my shameful gaze, I noticed the time on my phone. My bus was due any minute. Fumbling with my textbooks, I pulled them into a shambolic pile and stuffed them into my bag with no time to zip it up. I shoved my ancient laptop under my arm and raced out past Corey.

By the time I made it to the bus shelter, the bus was nothing more than a speck in the distance. To make matters worse, Corey’s voice echoed down the street behind me.