Page 98 of Second Story

Isaac turns back to them to mime winding down a window, leaning out the same way Lenny used to. He reminds me of his brother again, only by getting chatty in front of strangers like Lenny doesn’t struggle with these days. “Come on,” Isaac encourages these ex-teachers. “Hop in so I can tell you how I didn’t score my happy ending until I got here. It was a hell of a journey.”

Luke’s summer school candidates still hang back until Isaac tells them another truth I could also vouch for after joining the team here to share Hugo’s workload. “Listen, I could do with some company, because that’s what we do here. We work together.” He still doesn’t get any takers, and starts to roll up that imaginary window just as a candidate stalks forward.

“You got space for someone sick to death of exam results being the only measure of success? I can’t go back to letting kids think they’ve failed before their lives have really started.”

I hear Wintergreen loud and clear in Isaac’s answer. “Those are the kids that need you the most. Hop in.”

Another candidate steps forward, her hand shaking as she pushes her hair back. “How about for a teacher who can’t breathe at the thought of walking into another lesson observation?”

Isaac softens. “Oh, not breathing is my speciality. Definitely got space for you on my struggle bus.”

I don’t know about the rest of these teachers, but when it comes to Isaac, I’m all fucking aboard already—have been from the very first day I saw him wrap a cape of care around his brother. And it’s Lenny who spots me through the library window that must have given him a clear view of that kiss his brother blew to me.

Lenny cracks up at spying on our soppy moment, and he isn’t alone—my brother stands beside him, rolling his eyes, but I don’t mind. It’s a reminder of old times, and I’m so here for that instead of our old avoidance.

I go inside to join them, passing a pastoral care room with my name on its doorplate to reach the library where the view through the window means I promptly forget every storybook hero ever written.

Isaac’s so much more than it for me. More than my past and present combined. He’s my future, I hope, and I can’t help grinning.

I also can’t help shoving my hands deep in my pockets. Not to hide them from my brother. These days, we address what makes us different. We’re still identical everywhere it matters. And I don’t hide my hands from Isaac. He’s too busy in the courtyard to notice. Instead I wrap my fingers around what I’ve brought home from London to ensure he gets the ending he deserves. One that I’m pretty sure he wants as much as me, but that will have to wait.

Right now, these interviewees need him. And Lenny needs me to talk at a mile a minute. I know he tells me all about Sealife School and a visit to his favourite island. I’m pretty sure he also shows me new pictures he and his classmates have drawn to illustrate emotion. They cover the walls of a space Isaac has made his own after a year of managing dual roles.

And once Lenny is done talking my ears off and leaves the library with Josh, I discover that Isaac must have finished with those candidates in the courtyard.

It’s empty.

He’s gone.

“Hey,” he says from somewhere behind me. Isaac is hidden from sight by bookshelves, and labels on nearby artworks match how I feel about him.

I kiss him besideLovedrawn under a portrait of Emma Webber. Happiness is pinned to the wall right beside it. This version ofJoyhas wings thick with glue and glitter. Maisie’s work, I bet. Asa has labelled his image of a crab withExciting, and that’s how Isaac’s tongue sliding next to mine still feels each and every time we reconnect like this.

“Two weeks was too long,” he grumbles once we both need to breathe. I don’t know if he’s aware of how his hand on my chestalways gets to me. All I’m sure of is that he’s right. I was away for too long this time, even if I had a good reason.

“I won’t need to go away again until the new school year.” That isn’t until next September. “We’ll have a whole summer together.” That’s months. Right now, I kiss his lips, his cheek, the place under his ear where a pulse beats, and time slows. At least, it does for me.

Isaac isn’t done asking questions. “What kept you away?” He’s as suspicious as my brother, eyes narrowed, and I’m as bad as Pavlov’s dogs, forever programmed to respond to the uptilting of a chin and conditioned by care he can’t keep inside. “Is your dad okay? I worried when he said he couldn’t make it.” His chin dips a little further. “And Meera and little Sammy.”

“They’re all fine, especially Dad.” He’s also the reason I’m late back, but not for any of our old not-talking reasons. “He tagged along on a few of my school visits this time around. Think he enjoyed getting to see what I do firsthand.”

I distract Isaac with another kiss, with telling him, “Happy birthday,” and with finding the silk of his tie. I wind it around my fist until there’s no parting us, and he does the same with mine.

“Love you,” he tells me when we finally break off. His eyes aren’t narrowed now. They’re the real windows into Isaac’s soul, and I wish to fuck I could meet the librarian who saved him.

For me.

I’d tell her thank you. Tell her how special Isaac is to so many children. Most of all, I’d tell her how she gave me back two families. She toppled a first domino in my direction, even if not all of them fell as easily as I fell for him. Right now, I need to kiss him again with relief that we got this chance to pick them up together, only those dreamy doe eyes have sharpened to focus on something behind me.

Not on a student, thank fuck. And not on Luke Lawson, who I glimpse passing the window in a hurry.

Isaac is focussed on a wall clock. “It’s almost time for Mum’s talk.”

That’s who we head to the school chapel to support, although we aren’t needed.

She’s a different woman compared to the shadow I brought to Cornwall on a fast train from London. Today, she spits facts instead of becoming voiceless, and my brother listens while standing beneath a stained glass window featuring a protective angel.

He stands guard for her even if she doesn’t need him. She’s plenty brave enough to face rows of teens to slice to the heart of her story—how growing up in care left her wishing for a fairy-tale family life, including her own Prince Charming—but it’s my own fairy-tale ending I itch to hurry away for, and it isn’t too long until I get to set those wheels in motion.

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