Noughts and Crosses by Malorie Blackman (historical books to read TXT) 📕

His skin was warm, almost hot – or was it mine? It was hard to tell. I handed him the book and watched as the pages on polygons instantly caught and held his attention.

Callum was the one person in the world I could tell anything and everything to without having to think twice about it. So why did I now feel so . . . out of step? Like he was leaving me behind? He suddenly seemed so much older, not just in years but in the things he knew and had experienced. His eyes were a lot older than fifteen. My eyes were different – they reflected my exact age, less than one month away from my fourteenth birthday. Not a day less and certainly not a day more. I didn’t want things to change between us – ever. But at that moment I felt as if I might as well stand on the beach and command the sea never to move again.

‘How does this bit work?’ Callum asked, pointing to an interior angle of a regular octagon.

I shook my head, telling myself not to be so silly. Nothing would ever come between me and Callum. I wouldn’t let it. Neither would Callum. He needed our friendship just as much as I did.

Needed . . . That was a strange way to put it. Why had I thought of it that way? As a friendship both of us needed? That didn’t make any sense at all. I had friends at school. And a huge, extended family with cousins and aunts and uncles, and plenty of great whatevers and great-great whatevers to send Christmas and birthday cards to. But it wasn’t the same as Callum and me. Callum glanced up impatiently. I smiled at him. After a brief puzzled look, he smiled back.

‘It works like this,’ I began and we both looked down at the book as I began to explain.

’We’d better be getting back – before your mum has every police officer in the country searching for you,’ Callum said at last.

‘Suppose so.’ I picked up my sandals and rose to my feet. Then I had a brilliant idea. ‘Why don’t we go back to yours? I haven’t been to your house in ages and I could always phone up Mother once I’m there and . . .’

‘Better not,’ Callum said, shaking his head. He’d started shaking his head the moment the suggestion had left my mouth. He picked up my bag and slung it over his shoulder.

I frowned at Callum. ‘We used to be in and out of each other’s houses all the time . . .’

‘Used to be. Let’s leave it for a while – OK?’

‘How come I never go to your house any more? Aren’t I welcome?’

‘’Course you are. But the beach is better,’ Callum shrugged and set off.

‘Is it because of Lynette? ’Cause if it is, I really don’t mind about your sister being . . . being . . .’ My voice trailed off at Callum’s furious expression.

‘Being what?’ Callum prompted, fiercely.

‘Nothing,’ I shrugged. ‘Sorry.’

‘This has nothing to do with Lynette,’ Callum snapped.

I immediately shut up. I seemed to have an acute case of foot-in-mouth disease today. We walked back in silence. Up the stone steps, worn to satin smoothness by the procession of centuries of feet and along the cliff side, heading further and further inland, away from the sea. I looked across the open grassland towards the house which dominated the view for kilometres around. My parents’ country house. Seven bedrooms and five reception rooms for four people. What a waste. Four people in such a vast house – four lonely peas rolling about in a can. We were still some distance from it but it rose like an all-seeing giant above us. I pretended I didn’t see Callum flinch at the sight of it. Is it any wonder I preferred the laughter of his house to the dignified silence of my own? We walked on for wordless minutes until Callum’s steps slowed and stopped altogether.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘It’s just . . .’ Callum turned to face me. ‘It doesn’t matter. Give me a hug?’

Why was Callum in such a touchy-feely mood this afternoon? After a moment’s hesitation, I decided not to ask. Callum looked different. What I’d thought of as a permanent teasing sparkle in his eyes when he looked at me was gone without a trace. His eyes were storm-grey and just as troubled. He ran his fingers over his short-cut, chestnut brown hair in a gesture that seemed almost nervous. I opened my arms and stepped towards Callum. I wrapped my arms around him, my head on his shoulder. He was holding me, squeezing me too tightly but I didn’t say a word. I held my breath so it wouldn’t hurt so much. Just when I thought I’d have to gasp or protest, Callum suddenly let me go.

‘I can’t go any further,’ Callum said.

‘Just up to the rose garden.’

‘Not today.’ Callum shook his head. ‘I have to go.’ He handed back my bag.

‘I am going to see you tomorrow after school, aren’t I? In our usual place?’

Callum shrugged. He was already walking away.

‘Callum, wait! What’s the ma . .?’

But Callum was running now – faster and faster. I watched my best friend tear away from me, his hands over his ears. What was going on? I carried on walking up to the house, my head bent as I tried to figure it out.

‘PERSEPHONE! INSIDE! NOW!’

My head snapped up at the sound of my mother’s voice. Mother came hurtling down the steps, her expression dour and fierce – as always. She’d obviously not had as many glasses of wine today as she normally did, otherwise she wouldn’t be in such a bad mood. I turned back to where Callum had been, but he was already out of sight – which was just as well. Mother grabbed my arm with bony fingers that bit like pincers.

‘I have been calling you for