‘Emmeline, Leo. Leo, Emmeline. Leo, be nice. Please.’
The boy called Leo looks at her. He has maybe the most interesting face and most beautiful eyes that she’s ever seen.
‘Who are you?’ He asks. ‘And why should I care?’
‘Nice,’ Felix says again, bordering on desperate. Then to her, ‘Yeah. Sorry? I’d say he gets nicer but he really doesn’t. You just become immune.’
She nods and looks back at Leo. He is unmistakably magnificent, but in a way that’s cruel. Almost in the way of a marble statue- untouchable, exquisite. He stares at her. She feels it in her stomach.
‘Felix already told you who I am.’
‘No, he told me your name. Not the same thing.’
She takes a breath. It fills her, she imagines growing roots. ‘I’m a poet.’
His mouth quirks. She can’t tell what it means. ‘Marvellous,’ he says, and leans in. ‘Are you a good one?’