A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews on Part One! And I'm sorry it took so long to update, I was thoroughly distracted with Untamed, which… was actually an accident… but now at last I can return to the kingdom of Eustill! (Long may they reign~)
As always, dedicated to Tori, the Jill to my Eustace and CEO of all Eustill content. Happy (late) second friendiversary my darling!
Enjoy!
xXx
PART TWO: PEPPERMINTS
"Who are you waiting for, Pole?"
Jill started up from the brick wall as five older students rounded the corner, strolling down the little overgrown path behind the gym and whacking at laurels with broken sticks, sending showers of yesterday's rain pattering onto fallen leaves.
She should have heard them coming. She'd grown slow since last term.
"None of your business," she snapped, too sharp, too loud in the musky air. Silently she cursed her wandering mind as the chill of the shade came back to her and she stuffed a notebook and pencil into her jacket pocket.
At the head of the little gang strutted Edith Jackle, the telltale lilt in her voice dripping with trouble. The kind of trouble Jill could somehow never seem to avoid.
Of course the worst of the bullies had been expelled last year, but it hadn't taken long for their simpering underlings to claim the mantle of newfound power.
"Well, somebody's touchy today. Waiting for your beau, perhaps?"
"I don't have a beau, Jackle."
The crunch of wet leaves stopped in front of her, crowding the narrow space as boys eyed her with casual amusement and her skin tingled, itching to turn in on itself, itching to shrink away as Edith stepped off the path, dark curly hair gathered over the perfectly pressed red school jacket draped daintily over her shoulders, bare arms crossed in front.
Jill's collar hung open, cuffs grass-stained and tie loose around her neck, and she stiffened as the taller girl cornered her against the wall, pressing into her space until their boots stood toe to toe, but Jill rooted herself to the spot, didn't budge, didn't press her spine to the rough brick no matter how she wanted to.
"You know, Pole, you really are a frightful liar." Edith smirked, the high-pitched whine in her voice just as spiteful as ever, and glanced around the little green path, overhanging bushes dotted with wilting pink flowers—and beyond that, a high stone wall, grey against the grey sky. "What do you do back here, anyway?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
That was the wrong thing to say.
Edith's squeaky laugh bounced dully off the soggy undergrowth. "Oh, come off it, everybody knows about you and Scrubb. Are you still pretending you're not all over each other?"
Jill's face flushed hot. "Excuse me?"
"We've all seen it." The girl's pink lips thinned into an innocent smile. "Sharing notes in class, eating together, sneaking off, honestly I'm shocked we haven't heard of an engagement yet!"
Before Jill could even begin to gather the right words, Edith's mocking eyes turned hard, the lilt vanishing as her voice lowered.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you two were keeping some kind of secret."
Jill blinked. "What are you talking about?" Her insides flipped over.
"I know what you did."
"What I— what—?"
"I was here, you know, last year."
Jill racked her brain, panicking, grasping for any clue as to what she could be talking about, heartbeat thrumming in her ears.
"Edith told us everything," said another girl, black braids flopping as she cocked her head. "We all know you got the others expelled. They were after you, right? When everything happened?"
Jill sucked in a sharp breath and it all rushed back.
Glorious blue sky beyond crumbled stone, riding crop clutched tight in her fist as the Lion's shivering golden form settled in the wreckage and metal flashed on either side, boy king grinning in dull autumn air.
"I mean, I knew you were odd, but that's a bit far, don't you think? Making a scene just to get the school investigated?"
Jill shook her head slowly, furrowing her brow. Had Edith been there? She remembered those two perfect minutes better than any in her entire life, but she couldn't seem to recall… oh. Of course. Of course she had been there. But not in that memory. In fact Jill had almost forgotten, so far removed were the two moments in her mind, but for Edith it would have been no time at all between her petulant, mean-spirited voice calling up into the laurels, and the shattering of the wall.
"Making a scene?" She swallowed, re-schooling her expression. "Scrubb and I weren't there, I'm sorry, were you looking for us?"
Edith let out a short burst of a laugh and stepped closer.
This time Jill's spine really did hit the wall.
"Maybe nobody else recognized you in all that ridiculous getup, but I saw you. I saw you at that party over the hols, and I'm not about to forget it, that bright awful thing, you wore it then, too. Do you think I'm stupid or something?"
Yes, Jill wanted to spit back, but the sudden thought of her perfect, robin's-egg Narnian dress eclipsed her ability to speak, tiny jewels showering in a rainbow kaleidoscope from fluttering sleeves, skirt flaring out with the slightest movement even without a crinoline. Her treasure, the only reason she'd agreed to go to the party in the first place.
"Carter said you draw weird things in class," said one of the boys, "Messed up stuff, monsters n' the like. Are you a witch? My mum thinks you're a witch."
"Really?" Another boy's voice broke in, and for the first time Jill looked away from Edith long enough to recognize George Turner.
Her stomach dropped as he stepped off the path and Edith moved aside to make room.
"I want to see." A smug grin spread over his handsome face, green eyes matching the leafy slope behind him. "Show us your drawings, Pole."
Her hand flew unconsciously to her jacket pocket, cheeks tingling as she tried to collect herself, standing straighter, squaring her shoulders. "Mind your own business, Turner."
He only laughed. "Now, that's no fun. I just want to know how you did it." He leaned in and Jill's heart rate quickened, silky dark hair falling over the boy's eyes as he practically whispered in her ear. "Where did the lion come from?"
"I said I wasn't there," she snapped and pulled away, but his hand slammed into the wall and she stiffened, jaw tightening, heart racing, just like it had back when They cornered her, ripped her apart piece by piece until she broke.
It was Turner who'd ratted her out that day, before Eustace found her crying behind the gym. It was Turner who'd asked her down to the library. And like the idiot she was, she'd thought perhaps he'd taken an interest in her, perhaps he thought of her like she thought of him, perhaps she was something more than the invisible girl for once. But it had only been a trick to get her alone, for Them. He'd never even turned up.
"I mean it," he said, leaning over her, "You can tell me. Don't you want real friends? I mean, honestly, Scrubb? You could do better. You're not even bad looking, Pole. Besides, I heard you fancied me."
Jill's well formed retort caught in her throat, and the boy grinned.
"That's what I thought."
Edith giggled behind him.
"I don't even know how you can stand to be near him of all people," he drawled, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "Pasty, know-it-all, freckle-faced Scrubb."
And then something snapped, echoing like matchwood in Jill's chest as the green afternoon turned red. "Take that back!"
She shoved him off, brick digging into her back.
"You frightful, cowardly bully! I wouldn't fancy you in a million years, George Turner, why, I've never met a more repulsive rat-faced boy in all my life!"
And before anyone could react, before the spark of ugly anger even fully ignited in his eyes, someone else shouted from the corner.
It happened too fast to see.
One moment a boy laughed "Well, look who it is," and the next George Turner's knee slammed into the dirt.
Edith squeaked, Turner clapped a hand over his face, and Jill's eyes snapped wide to Eustace Scrubb, standing in the middle of the path, shoulders wide, chest heaving, glaring down at the boy, fists balled at his sides, white lightning snapping in eyes so fierce and dangerous that Jill almost cringed away.
For one moment everything hung frozen, a hush sweeping through the bushes, and then Eustace ducked just in time to miss a swing from one of the other boys.
Jill bolted and the thud of body on brick echoed with a chorus of shrieks from the other girls as they scurried up off the path. She spun back after only a few paces, and the second boy lunged just as Eustace turned and threw the full weight of his shoulder into his chest.
She could have cheered, she almost clapped, but then a burst of movement beyond the tussle caught her attention, and she only managed to cry out "Scrubb—" before Turner's knee caught him in the gut.
The girls gasped.
One boy latched onto Eustace and yanked him up just as Turner struck him square in the eye, and in an instant they all went down, the smack of impact in the mud accented by the grunt of air knocked from Eustace's lungs.
"Who do you think you are?" spat Turner, pinning him under one knee as blood gushed thick from his own nose, the wildness in his eyes erasing any hint of handsomeness that had been there a moment before.
"Hey!" shouted Jill, and took a step toward him before another sharp voice broke in.
"What's going on here?"
All heads snapped up as the pin-straight figure of Madam Hall appeared around the corner of the building, syllabi in hand, hair done up in a tight bun.
Turner shot up at once, and Eustace kicked the other boy off his throat.
The air of a classroom overtook claustrophobic hedges, Turner wiping his face hurriedly as the girls clasped their hands behind their backs. The history teacher wasn't someone you messed with, though Jill had always liked her in particular.
"I don't know, Madam," said Edith, and Jill had to do a double take to verify that those were, in fact, tears. "We were just talking to Pole and— and— and Scrubb came out of nowhere and socked Turner!"
Jill opened her mouth in disbelief but Madam Hall had already fixed Eustace with her shrewd gaze, picking himself gingerly off the ground.
"Is this true, Scrubb?"
"It's true," cut in another boy, "I was standing right here, he hit me too!"
"I asked Scrubb."
Eustace spat out a mouthful of blood that made Jill flinch, and pushed himself up to his feet. His perfectly combed hair now hung loose and wild over his forehead, uncut for well over a year, straw-blond tips now brushing the bridge of his nose. When at last he regained his breath, he nodded. "I struck first."
Jill opened her mouth again but the boy's steely grey eyes snapped to her so sharply that she shut it with nothing more than a small, pathetic squeak.
"Is that so?" asked the woman, looking him up and down.
"I'm sorry," he said stiffly, "It won't happen again."
Madam Hall only nodded, glanced around at the group, and several faces quickly went suddenly straight and solemn again.
"See that it doesn't."
Edith piped up as she turned away.
"Aren't you going to suspend him or something? He ruined my jacket!"
Jill blinked in confusion for several moments before her eyes fell to the red school jacket trampled into the muddy path.
Madam Hall turned back, expression unchanged. "Perhaps if you wore your uniform correctly you would not find yourself in such a predicament."
Edith gaped, and Madam Hall looked at Eustace.
"You're off with a warning this time. If I catch you fighting again it will be a call to your parents and a week's suspension, understood?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Good, now get yourself cleaned up. And get that eye looked after."
He nodded again, his temple already turning purple under the smear of mud that hid another trickle of red streaking down his cheekbone, and the teacher turned and disappeared around the side of the gym.
As soon as she vanished, Turner shoved Eustace's shoulder. "You wanna try that again? Huh?"
Eustace slapped his hand away. "Stay away from her."
The tall brunette raised both eyebrows. "Defensive, are we?"
"Shut up," snapped Jill, but Eustace grabbed her arm before she could raise it. Lanky though he was, his growth spurt last summer put him on a level with the other boys, and his glare met theirs evenly while his words fell to her. "Don't bother. They're not worth it."
Turner smiled wryly, blood spreading over his teeth.
"There's something wrong with you," spat Edith, keeping her distance despite the venom in her voice, "You should have been the ones they expelled."
Eustace breathed a deep, slow sigh, jaw muscles working as his hand tightened slightly on Jill's arm. And then without a word he turned and pulled her down the path.
Behind them Turner laughed, muttered 'freaks,' and Jill's shoulder blades stiffened.
It wasn't until the walls and hedges fell away to the open world of a vast, pale autumn sky and the dull silhouettes of gabled dormitories that her wits rushed back to her.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," said Eustace dryly, letting go of her arm and pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket even though the coppery stains had already marred the cuffs of his sleeves. "Just dandy."
He mopped up the trickle down his chin, and for a moment she saw a younger grimy face in the torchlight of a faun's cave, coated in the black dust of Underland instead of the mud of a chilly October afternoon, the bite in the air only heralding ten weeks of term yet to come.
Back in Narnia she'd never noticed the natural squint of his eyes, the sharp angle of wide brows over the stark silhouette of a flat nose running even with their ridge. She'd never noticed the freckled splotchiness of pale skin, or the color of his mouth seeping into the rigid lines of his chin, but she noticed it now, and quickly averted her eyes when he caught her staring.
"I'll live," he said, and loosened the tension in his shoulders.
But that wasn't why she'd been staring.
"You know you got off easy," she said, shaking off her restless thoughts, "You're lucky it wasn't one of the other teachers."
He grunted, and Jill turned toward the boys' dormitory.
"Where are you going?"
"Madam Hall said to get yourself looked after."
Eustace pulled up short and pressed his mouth into a flat, irritated line, forcing Jill to turn back toward him. "I thought today was supposed to be relaxing."
"That was before you decided to break your face on Turner's fist."
"I'd like to think that was the other way around. And anyway, you're welcome."
"Yes, thank you, my knight in shining armor."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to the nurse."
"What? Why not? You really should, or at least let your housemother look at you. It could get infected, or—"
He caught her hand again before she could reach up to touch him. "The last thing I need is anybody poking and prodding."
"Alright, alright." She took her hand back and huffed indignantly. "You really have changed since last year."
"You're just getting that now?"
"I mean— back then you would have gone running to the nurse at the slightest excuse."
He scoffed, the slightest tinge of pink creeping into his cheeks, almost indiscernible from the purple of his temple and the red streak running down his cheekbone. "I don't see why you've got to bring that up, I'd rather not think of what a dreadful little attention seeker I was."
"Take it as a compliment. You've gotten more…"
"More…?"
She shrugged. "I don't know."
"Gee, thanks."
She shoved him and started walking again. She'd been about to say gallant, but that seemed a bit ridiculous when it actually came to saying it aloud. A few moments later another thought popped into her head. "Why didn't you report them?"
He had to follow to reply, trailing just behind her. "The usual."
She knew what he meant. Experiment House was not yet as good a school as the new Headmaster wished it to be, and the wealthiest of the parents still made sure no punishment ever stuck for long, launching accusations at whoever got their precious angels in trouble. It wasn't fair, and it was a hassle, and it wasn't worth dealing with.
The usual.
She turned toward the other side of campus.
"Where are we going now?"
"My building. I figure the kitchen will be empty this time of day, and you're getting that eye taken care of if I have to do it myself."
He sighed but didn't argue, and that was better than she'd expected.
Most kids would be outside on a Sunday afternoon, so it was of little surprise but great relief when they met none on their way in through the back entrance to the girls' dormitory, or the halls leading through to the kitchen which was also satisfyingly empty, pots and pans shining in the wide sink basin, sunlight splashing in through square windows.
Jill moved at once to pull a cloth napkin from the drying rack and run it under the cold tap as Eustace lowered himself begrudgingly to the bench of a low table beneath the window, sunlight playing through his tousled hair and catching dust motes in its pale glow.
He'd taken full advantage of the lack of strict dress code—in fact lack of strict rules in general—and though his parents complained endlessly at his refusal to cut his hair, Jill couldn't deny the unruly licks behind his ears matched his new persona.
She wrung the cloth out and moved to wipe the blood from his temple before he snatched it from her.
"I do know how to wash my own face."
"Of course, how could I forget, Mr Hygiene Award."
"Shut up."
"Two years running."
"I said shut up." He swatted her with the wet cloth but she fended it off with a dismissive wave and shoved it back toward his face.
His eye itself seemed to have been missed, miraculously, and the reddish purple scrape only carved along the bone from his temple to high cheekbone.
"He didn't break your nose, at least."
"Lucky me."
"Is your hand hurt?"
"What? No, why?"
"I mean, you did punch him in the face."
"Oh, no, it's fine." He shook it out and flexed it to show her. His knuckles weren't even skinned.
"Where did you learn to swing like that?"
"Edmund showed me a bit of hand to hand combat last summer." The aggravated edge left his voice like it had never existed. "On the Dawn Treader actually, when we had good weather for a few days and not much else to do. We practiced some when we got back, too, until they left."
Jill smiled and moved to dig a chunk of ice out of the icebox, wrapping it in another napkin and handing it to him as he discarded the first, now grimy and pink, but his face was clean, ruby-red droplets gleaming even brighter against raw skin.
"I suppose we'll have to avoid the gym, now," she sighed, settling beside him at the table.
Eustace furrowed his brow, gingerly pressing the icepack to his temple. "Why? Because of them? Don't turn coward on me now, Pole."
"I'm not. I just… don't feel like dealing with it."
He nodded and eventually muttered "I guess it'll be too cold soon, anyway."
"There, that sounds more like you."
At least for a few weeks the unused path had been a perfect hideaway. They'd picked right up from last term, drawing and writing and talking, and sometimes sitting without talking; making crowns out of laurel leaves, checking the door in the wall, just for fun, they'd said, though she thought they'd both secretly hoped to find it unlocked again.
But it seemed this year would not be quite so exciting as the last.
"Did you tell George Turner I used to fancy him?"
Eustace's eyes snapped up as the same shock burst in Jill's chest at the hastily blurted question.
"What?" His hand fell away from his face.
Jill grabbed his wrist and repositioned the ice against the purple blotch by his eye.
"Why would you think that?"
"Because he— well, he said he knew… and— you're the only one I ever told, what was I supposed to think?"
"Gosh, what's a chap got to do to prove his loyalty these days? You really think I'd snitch? That's nice, really that is, after everything? I'm not like that! I'm not one of them, not anymore, you know that! You'd think I didn't just—"
"Okay, okay, fine, you didn't tell him, I get it." Suddenly she felt terrible for asking. Because he was right, she did know he wasn't like them. But still the uneasiness plagued her gut, twisting into knots at the thought of that boy's smooth voice, the confidence in his tone, his actions.
Eustace scoffed. "A lot of trust you've got. And you didn't tell me, I guessed it. You weren't exactly subtle back then, he didn't need to hear it from me. Why, I haven't even—"
"What do you mean I wasn't subtle?"
Eustace rolled his eyes. "Really? Staring at him every time he so much as walked across the room? Anyone watching you would have noticed."
"I—" she tried to retort, but he cut her off.
"Why would he even bring that up?"
Jill fell silent, poisonous words flooding back into her head, much too clear for comfort. I don't even know how you can stand to be near him of all people, pasty, know-it-all, freckle-faced Scrubb.
"They wanted me to tell them about… uh…" She shook her head. "I guess Edith recognized us, that day, last year. I denied it," she added quickly when Eustace's eyebrows shot up. "She saw me at that party in that dress, and I guess…"
He sighed.
She looked down. "They think there's something wrong about us."
"Well…" Eustace cocked his head, taking in a slow breath. "I suppose we are rather odd."
Jill gave a small smirk, but it wasn't genuine. She ran her hands over her jacket and bumped against the hard edge of the notebook, pulled it out, turned it over in her hands, then opened to flip through.
Messy sketches, centaurs and castles and owls blurred past, a prince, a marshwiggle, a boy with tousled hair. Gnomes, big and small and sharp and round, horned and webbed and beaked. Messed up stuff, monsters n' the like. Are you a witch? My mum thinks you're a witch.
Eustace glanced down over her shoulder. "You know, you're turning into me, carrying that thing around with you everywhere."
She shrugged and snapped it shut, but not before landing on a sketch of Eustace, the way he'd looked that day they came back, Narnian clothes and all. "It only makes sense we'd rub off on each other." She said it much more sharply than she meant to, and stared at the back of the notebook, Jill M. Pole printed in her clear handwriting at the bottom. But in her mind it was still that sketch, wide Narnian collar and high trousers. "You could've at least kept those clothes instead of burying them, you won't find boots like that at any shop in London."
"What would I do with those clothes here? I can't blend in like you can with your dress."
Jill swallowed.
I'm not about to forget something so bright as that awful thing.
"Yeah, well, maybe I should've stayed home."
Eustace shifted beside her. "Hey."
She glanced up to meet his eyes, sharp and grey and snapping with the ghost of invisible lightning.
"Why do you care what they think? It's all humbug if you ask me, Jackle is just miffed your dress was nicer than anything she'll ever own."
"But the things they said about us—"
"They don't understand, Pole. They can't. I don't care what they think, and neither should you. They don't know what they're talking about."
"You really don't care?" Her brows knit as her stomach tightened, flooding with the utterly strange sensation of adamant sincerity coming from Eustace Scrubb, but his stormy eyes met hers steadily, glinting silver blue in the pinpricks of light dancing through his hair.
"Not anymore."
And although it was far from the first time she'd thought of it, he really did strike her as brave.
How many times had she wished for someone to come to her rescue, to say something, anything? How often had she longed to be accepted, tolerated, anything but shoved aside, laughed at, lonely for something she'd never known? How long had she wished for that boy to step in and send them all running, that gallant knight to catch the arrows for her when she'd taken enough? How foolish of her to think the eyes gazing into her soul would be green.
"Well," she said, settling back against the table and crossing her arms, "In that case, you should have come to the party and we could have been a matching set. You know, if you hadn't thrown away your Narnian clothes."
Eustace scoffed and it was almost a laugh. "I did not throw them away."
"As good as!"
"It was ceremonial."
"It was a waste."
"What, do you want to sneak out in the middle of the night and dig up mouldy old boots?"
"Well they're ruined by now. Besides," she added primly, "That certainly wouldn't help the rumors, now would it?"
"Which rumors? That we're odd? I don't think we can help that, Pole."
"No, that we're in love."
Eustace slammed his hand involuntarily down onto the table, the thud accentuated by a crunch of ice. "What?"
"I know, it's ridiculous."
"Yeah," he choked, "Where did that even come from?"
"I don't know. I mean, I suppose we do spend an awful lot of time together, but it's not like anyone else talks to us, so it's really their fault."
"Exactly. No offense but— well, you know."
She shot him a dry look. "I'm really not the worst you could do here."
"Well, out of our class," said Eustace, wrinkling his nose. "But that's not saying much."
"Thanks a lot."
"Thanks yourself, it's not like I'm your worst bet either."
Jill sighed. "It's alright, I've probably outgrown it by now anyway."
Eustace furrowed his brow, almost affronted. "What?"
"My dress."
"Oh."
Jill grabbed his wrist again and pushed the ice against his forehead. "Do I need to do this for you?"
"No ma'am, sorry ma'am." He leaned back against the table, and Jill had almost drifted off into thought when he asked "What's the M stand for?"
"Hm?" She followed his gaze down to her notebook, the name printed on the back. She'd almost forgotten she was holding it. "Oh, Marie. It's Jillian Marie."
"Wait, your name is Jillian?"
"Yeah."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah."
"You mean I didn't even know your name?"
"It's not like anybody calls me that, why are you so bothered?"
"I think a chap ought to know his best friend's name, at least, why've you been hiding it all this time?"
"I haven't been hiding it," she snapped, "I just don't like it. I mean, it's a bit much for me. I'm too plain for a Jillian."
He looked her up and down, silver gears turning behind his eyes, then gave up and shrugged. "Yeah."
She shot him an ungrateful smile.
"What? You said it."
"I take it back, I'm amazing."
Eustace snorted. "Whatever you say, Jillian."
"Ew, don't call me that." She shuddered. "Only my grandmother calls me that."
"Well, maybe I'm your grandmother now."
"An idiot is what you are, Eustace Clarence Scrubb."
He bit his lip and looked away, suppressing a shudder of his own, and she grinned to herself at the easy victory.
"Hey, does that count as a secret?"
"What? That you're amazing or that I'm an idiot? I think it has to be true to be a secret, Pole."
"No, my name."
He looked at her sharply. "I don't think—"
"It counts," she squealed, "It does, you're the one who said I've been hiding it!"
"But—" He paused mid-word, clearly racking his mind for some kind of argument, but deflated at last. "Sure whatever."
Jill clapped her hands. "Great, then I'm winning. Seven to six."
He pursed his lips.
She settled happily back into place with a triumphant wiggle and flipped through her notebook again, turning the pages until something else pulled her up short. "Am I really your best friend?"
"Do you see anyone else lining up to be friends with me?"
She squinted. "Yes, actually, Spivvins follows you around like a dog."
"That's different."
"How?"
He scoffed, stammering silently. "He— well, he hasn't been to Narnia, for one thing. Imagine trying to explain that to anyone in our class!"
"You explained it to me."
"Yeah, well... like I said, it's different."
That wasn't anywhere near a satisfactory answer, but before she could challenge it he dug around in his pocket and pulled something out.
"Peppermint?"
"Thanks." She accepted the packaged candy and turned it over as he pulled a second out for himself. It was a distraction, but it worked. "How do you have any of these left?"
"I'm rationing them. They've got to last till Christmas."
"Oh. I guess this is a special occasion, then. Cheers." She lifted hers in a small toast before dragging the plastic through her teeth and extracting the sharp minty candy onto her tongue.
Eustace sucked on his own, and a comfortable silence settled between them as Jill smoothed the wrapper between her fingers.
"What is it with you and peppermints, anyway?"
He shrugged. "Alber— uh, Mother read that they were good for stomach aches and headaches. She used to send them every term... guess I just got into the habit."
She'd never known him to be without a pocket full of candy. This year he'd bought his own at the train station before they left. No packages had yet come from Cambridge.
She thought if he ever stopped buying them, she'd buy them herself. Peppermints tasted like late nights in the library, like the clear stars over her house and dew-soaked stockings. They tasted like another autumn day behind the gym, a day that belonged almost to a different world, an awkward boy who said all the wrong things, but stuck around anyway.
Now they tasted like tousled hair and bloody lips and silver eyes.
"What on earth are you smiling at?" His voice interrupted her thoughts, one sharp brow raised, a droplet of coppery ice water running down his cheek.
"Oh, nothing. Red looks good on you, that's all."
He rolled his eyes and turned the makeshift ice pack over to use the other side.
Jill arched her back to rest her head on the surface of the table, peppermint lodged in her cheek as she stared up at the empty ceiling.
"I have a secret, too," said Eustace at length.
She lolled her head to the side, gazing up at him expectantly. "It better be a good one, I told you my whole name."
The corner of his mouth curled up as if fighting a smile, and he looked down at his candy wrapper. "Punching him felt really good."
Jill scoffed. "Oh, boys."
He nudged her leg in mock protest, and she grinned.
Maybe she didn't need anyone else to understand her. To accept her. Maybe it was just one person who had mattered all along, no matter what they called him. "You're right."
A confused smile crossed his face and he glanced down at her. "I'm right a lot, which instance are you referring to?"
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but her smile tasted like peppermint. "They don't know what they're talking about."