Between the Lives - By Jessica Shirvington Page 0,46

said.

I raised my eyebrows.

‘That new hair has earned you quite a few admirers.’

I smiled sweetly. ‘Jealous?’ I teased.

He pulled me closer – a fast, possessive move. ‘Not at all,’ he growled and kissed me again quickly before stepping back. ‘You’re mine and everyone knows it.’ He planted another kiss on my forehead. ‘You better get to class.’

I nodded, a little thrown by his behaviour.

Final class of the day was French. Mademoiselle Moreau seemed to accept no one was really concentrating on classes this week. Essentially school was finished. This last week was more a matter of collecting teacher references, getting our yearbooks signed and preparing for the graduation ceremony. She told us to put away our books, and simply asked each of us to take it in turns to explain in French what we’d be doing during our break and what our plans were for the year ahead. If only she knew what a complicated question that was.

Luckily she started from the opposite side of the room and I knew it was unlikely we would get through everyone before it was my turn. Just in case, I jotted down a few points. As I did, I flashed back to the night before – to Ethan, smiling, joking about my coming back and speaking in German. Suddenly, instead of summarising a future I wasn’t even sure I would have, I was scribbling something else entirely.

My name is Sabine. I live in two worlds. I want Ethan to believe me.

I hoped I’d remembered it right. I was sure it was the general gist of what he’d said. When the bell rang and everyone filed out singing, ‘Au revoir, Mademoiselle Moreau!’, I approached the front desk.

‘Excuse me, Mademoiselle, I was wondering if you might be able to point me in the right direction to get a German translation?’

Mademoiselle Moreau glanced up from her papers. ‘Parler en français, Sabine.’

‘Je suis désolée,’ I apologised, then repeated my request, this time in French.

She shook her head. ‘Je ne sais comment me présenter en allemand,’ she said, explaining that she only knew how to introduce herself in German.

I took out my pen and wrote down her translation for ‘My name is Sabine’. Mein name ist Sabine.

‘Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle,’ I said and headed for the door.

‘Sabine!’ she called out.

I turned to face her.

‘There are lots of translation sites online, but they are not so reliable. The library will have a good German translation dictionary.’

‘Oui, merci,’ I said, not daring to reply in English.

I rushed through the halls, keen to collect my bag and get straight to the library. Miriam and Brett were waiting by the lockers.

‘Hey, we’re going to the mall. Want to come?’ Miriam asked, while Brett snuggled her from behind. For some reason, their easy togetherness grated on me today.

‘Ah, no,’ I said, feigning disappointment. ‘I have to go meet Mom for a coffee.’ And then, in case they decided to hound me, I smiled and added, ‘But maybe after.’

‘And let me guess, you’d like to be chauffeured to your coffee date?’ she offered.

I did a quick calculation. I was sure I could have coffee with Mom and still make it to the library in town before it shut.

I threw Miriam a sheepish look and she rolled her eyes. ‘Come on.’

Sala’s Patisserie was the best coffee shop in Wellesley – famous for their afternoon teas. By the time I walked in, Mom was already seated, a tiered cake stand of finger sandwiches and delicate pastries in front of her. My stomach rumbled, still hungry despite my pasta-salad lunch.

I sat down, ordered a mocha and let Mom do all the talking – which was exactly the way she wanted it, pausing just long enough to enjoy dainty mouthfuls of the miniature éclairs and tarts, which she dissected and critiqued from every angle. For my part, I scoffed the too-small sandwiches and what was left of the pastries, and tried to marshal my scrambled thoughts.

For the first time in forever, I was going to try to actually prove it – that I lived in two worlds. There had always been reasons, good ones, to keep it a secret, but those didn’t apply anymore. Not in the same way.

As each minute passed, I grew more determined. Ethan didn’t believe me. He didn’t want to believe me. But what would he do if I managed to deliver what he’d so easily joked about? For the first time in my life, I wanted someone to believe me. And not just anyone