Jelly Cooper: Alien
Chapter 3

I think about standing outside Pickle’s office and then I go to the library (hey, at least I thought about it).

Anyway, Miss Walsh isn’t going to want to push the whole ‘I let a student manipulate me into inadvertently insulting another of my students’ thing.

I grab a seat in a sunny spot, pull the book that I’m reading out of my backpack and replace my place.

Yes, this is much better than going to see Pickle.

A shadow falls across the table. Frowning, I look up and prepare to meet the perpetrator with my infamous steely glare.

Except that it’s Luke Jenson.

A wistful sigh escapes my lips. A second later I hear the sound in my head and, fighting the urge to slam the heel of my hand between my eyes, clamp my lips tightly shut.

Luke stares at me with clear blue eyes and the spit in my mouth decides to vanish.

Luke Jenson is fifteen. He’s in the year above me at school but he’s one of those kids that only just missed being in the class above. His birthday is in September, I think. Around the third, or something like that. OK, it’s the third. So what if I know that? Everybody knows that!

Luke transferred to Seabrook last year. His parents bought a cottage on the cliff top. His dad’s a writer and found the sleepy little village of Seabrook – get this – an inspiration! He only uprooted the whole family and replanted them here in double-quick time. I fear that the man is insane, but he did bring Luke here, so I guess I should send him flowers or something.

The object of my very secret affection looks down at me and I can’t stop my eyes sliding to his chest. I realise that I’m staring and blush to the roots of my hair. My red hair.

Sometimes, I really hate myself.

I dislike being flustered and embarrassed, so I channel the emotion into something more productive, like anger. Target one Luke ‘I’ve got a gorgeous body and the purrrrdiest blue eyes you’ve ever seen’ Jenson.

“What?”

Snappy, that’s good. Lets him know that I’m not in the mood for chitchat and that I don’t fancy him. Not one bit.

Luke smiles, flashing me a glimpse of his perfect pearly whites. Oh Lord.

Be strong, be strong, be strong.

“You’ve got five seconds, ballboy, and then I’m gone.”

That should do it.

“Jelly Cooper, right?”

He pulls up a chair and sits himself down. At my table!

“I’m Luke,” he thrusts his hand at me. “Luke Jenson. I think you’ve got History right after me.”

I ignore his outstretched hand. It’s not that I’m scared to death of touching him or anything, I simply don’t like to be interrupted when I’m reading.

“Is that right?”

“Yup. Every Tuesday and Thursday with Mr. Grim.”

There’s that smile again.

What am I doing? I seem to have lost all self-control. Daydreaming about sporting heroes will get me nowhere, unless you count the land of needless pain and humiliation. This is something I know full well. So why can’t I take my eyes off his chest?

“Look,” I say as tersely as possible, “if you’re planning on inviting me to the prom and then tipping pigs blood on my head, think again.”

For a second, Luke looks taken aback. For a second.

“What’cha reading?” He asks with a grin.

Wow, he’s dense. Sporty types often are. I wonder if the words ‘go away’ will have any effect at all.

“OK, I give up,” I snap, holding up the book I’m trying to read for him to see.

He whistles through his teeth.

“Hitchhiker’s Guide. Sci-fi fan.”

“Uh-huh,” I nod as if dealing with an infant. Perversely, this gives me a great deal of childish pleasure and I almost giggle out loud, which would ruin the whole effect.

“Thought so.”

I blink. What’s that supposed to mean?

Luke doesn’t grin at me, which is disconcerting. Smiling beefcake I can handle, serious beefcake is a whole different ball game, if you’ll pardon the pun.

Luke nods. “You seem the type.”

I sigh. It’s purposely exaggerated to show growing impatience.

“The type? The type for what?”

“You know, hitching a ride to a planet far away. Leaving all this behind.”

The flippant comeback dies in my throat.

“I…um…”

“JENSE!”

Spell broken, we swing our attention to the library door and I send up a quick thank you for the timely intrusion. As I turn, I catch a quick glimpse of Luke’s face.

He looks mad. How strange.

Squinting against the sunlight, I spy a huge silhouette in the doorway, bouncing a football on its knee.

Michael Marks.

It can be no other. Built like a shed (with an IQ to match), Michael is unmistakable. He’s a bully and a menace, my best friend Humphrey being one of the many people at this school to have been bullied and menaced.

I dismiss the beefcakes with a flick of my head and resume reading H.G.T.T.G.

“YOU COMING OR WHAT?”

Marks has only one volume: full blast. The library attendant scurries to the entrance and ushers him away.

Luke turns. I can feel his eyes on me, but I ignore him. I ignore him and I ignore him and I ignore him, but he just doesn’t leave.

“So, I’ll see you around sometime?”

I nod. Once.

“Yup. Every Tuesday and Thursday. Mr. Grim, remember?”

He stands there, looking at me. I try not to fidget, then almost swallow my tongue as he leans across the table, his lips grazing my ear as he whispers,

“You haven’t got me fooled, Cooper.”

The world starts sliding to the left.

“You’re not that tough.”

I blink and he’s gone, making his way to football practice without a backward glance.

What just happened?

I look at the book clamped in my hands and stare at the pages. I know that there are words written there, I just can’t make sense of them. My knuckles are unusually white.

What in hell just happened?

My eyes are stuck together with gooey sleepy stuff. I rub them open and blink.

Why am I in the library? And why is it so hot in here? It’s stifling and I’m sweating and shivering and I’m frightened and…and why is it empty?

Oh damn. I fell asleep in the library.

My bag’s gone and so is my book. The place looks locked up. Why didn’t someone wake me? That librarian has a questionable sense of humour - something I’ll be pointing out next time I see the sicko.

The doors are locked, front and back, but I replace my bag and book under the front desk. I whip out my phone and call home.

“Mum. I fell asleep in the library and I’m locked in. No, she’s gone home. No, I don’t see an emergency number. Can you call the caretaker? Tell him to hurry up, it’s boiling in here.”

The walk home takes twice as long as it should. I feel like a mass of blobby bubbles, ready to break apart and float off in different directions. I make some excuse to my worried mother and head up to bed, thankful that it’s Friday and I don’t have to face the world for a whole weekend.

I fall into bed, face down and fully clothed.

“Today sucked!” I murmur into a mouthful of duvet and promptly fall asleep.