The Aftermath (The Hurricane, #2)(81)

That was the nearest that I ever came to breaking down. Part of me wanted to scream at her that, if she knew, then why didn’t she tell social services so they could get me? I think we both knew that would only have made things worse though.

I didn’t scream at her or cry, but actually setting out the bare bones of a plan was terrifying. The fear of being caught, and of my stepfather, Frank, discovering what I was doing, had me feeling sick every minute of every day. Using Mrs. Wallis’s address, I had applied for university places and identification. When I turned eighteen, I changed my surname legally. I accepted a place studying applied mathematics at University College London, and now, eighteen months later, the only person who could ever connect Emily Thomas from Cardiff, South Wales, with me was Mrs. Wallis, an elderly home economics teacher who was the only person I’d ever trusted.

I’d breezed an access course in accounting over the summer, but my heart was in math. It was clean and pure, and in my world of gray, it was black and white. If I had any chance at building a future, then I needed qualifications.

The dread of being caught was always ever present though. I guessed that Frank was looking for me but getting my degree was worth the risk. If I committed to staying in one place long enough to finish university, I had to keep a low profile. It was my best chance of evading him. So I did what I’d always done. I made no eye contact and never initiated conversation.

It had worked in high school, but university was a completely different kettle of fish. The guys here were relentless. Politely turning down unwanted advances, without causing offense, had become an art form that I’d perfected. It was the safest way to live, but I was lonely. There were days that I desperately wanted someone, anyone, to call a friend. In lecture room three, on that frosty Tuesday afternoon, I got just that.

“This seat taken?”

I looked down at cherry red leather boots with a killer heel and looked up to see that the voice belonging to them liked to coordinate her cherry red hair with her outfit. Clearly I was more than backward when it came to accessorizing. My hair didn’t go with anything.

“Um…” I looked around, desperate to say yes, hoping to remain as anonymous as possible. The lecture theater was only a third full, at best, and there was no reason why this girl would want to sit next to me. She wore a denim miniskirt, a fitted black top, and a leather jacket that I would have given my left arm for. With the killer boots and her glossy hair layered artfully around her face, she looked edgy and hot. No wonder half the man-geeks were drooling. My first thought was that she was in the wrong place.

“No,” I replied. Could I have been more socially inept? If she was in the right place, it looked like she’d be beating off the guys with a stick, so what better place to take cover than beside the only other girl in the room.

“Nikki Martin,” she said, sliding into the adjoining seat.

“Sorry?” I mumbled.

“I’m Nikki Martin,” she stated, expectantly awaiting a response.

“Oh, hi,” I replied, as I went back to copying down the equation from the projector.

“Oh, my God, you really are one of them,” she laughed, teasingly.

“One of them?” I answered, glancing up in confusion.

“The freaks who only speak in numbers and have no social skills whatsoever.”

“Wow, rude much?” Oh, my God! I’ve never been confrontational, ever, but with this girl, it just slipped out.

She laughed again, probably at the look of sheer horror on my face. “So the kitten has claws. You know, you and me are going to get on just fine.”

I had no idea what to say to that. This girl was like a beautiful steamroller.

“Okay, a name would be good about now, unless you want me to call you Mathlexy all term.”

“Mathlexy?” Yep, I was getting good at repeating everything she said back to her as a question.

“I can tell you’re a math fiend by the stack of handwritten notes you’ve got there, and you’re the sexiest thing this lot has probably ever seen.”

She gestured around the lecture hall, and I wasn’t convinced that the guys would actually wait until the end of class to pounce on her. The wide-eyed looks of disbelief, appreciation, and finally hunger reminded me of starving hyenas, eyeing up their appetizer. I giggled at the image and snorted through my nose at the absurdity of the name. Snorting was neither sexy nor attractive.

“Emily McCarthy,” I offered up in return, hopeful of rejecting that ridiculous nickname before anyone heard it. The last name was new. I’d only had it for a year, and I was still getting used to it. But I figured that keeping my first name wouldn’t hurt. Emily was a pretty common name, and people got suspicious if you didn’t answer to your name when called because you didn’t know it.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emily McCarthy,” she answered.

By the end of the lecture, I had three sides of crisp clean notes, and Nikki had half a page and some lovely heart and floral murals.

“What’s your next class?” she asked, as we were stuffing things into our bags.

“I don’t have another one for a couple of hours,” I replied. “I was just going to the library to study.”

“Perfect, I have a couple of hours free. Let’s go and grab a coffee. My treat.”

She looped her arm through mine and all but dragged me out, clearly not caring about my plans.