Jamie didn't think Julia had to be more nervy, nor did he think she had to be more naked. Sitting in the choir room crying about not having a boyfriend, however, was not going to get her kissed unless she wanted Jamie to do it. She seemed to think that nobody fancying her made her invisible, but Jamie reckoned it was the other way around – she was made herself invisible, and that was why nobody fancied her. After all, she did spend time with Jamie, who tried his hardest to keep abreast of the school's scandal without getting himself caught up in it. He didn't like giving people reason to gawk at him. In the past it had only landed him in bed with a bag of frozen peas on his face. Even so, he had enough sense to know that if he wanted a girlfriend he'd probably have to leave the common room.  

He turned to straddle the piano bench and watched Julia as she picked up his guitar. He wasn't nervous about her breaking it or anything like that, though it was older than they were and he'd be naïve if he thought it would remain in one piece forever. His foot bounced idly below him as he kept his eyes on her, wondering what she was attempting to do with it. He had a pick in his pocket, and he had half a mind to toss it to her, but he didn't think it would make a difference, since she didn't really play anyway. 

“Maybe I should ask for tramp lessons from somebody like Emma Briar. All the boys like her.”

“You should ask for guitar lessons, if you ask me. It looks good on you,” he remarked casually, attempting to (mostly) change the subject. Trying to get an agitated girl to stop being agitated was often futile, but it was better to attempt it than to bug her further. He was fairly certain that Julia didn't actually want tramp lessons, so talking about it was just going to get her knickers in a twist. “Emma plays a little guitar. Maybe that's the ticket. I bet you'd pick it up fast. You can serenade your lad, Nat Warwick, or whichever one you decide on, and he won't be able to refuse.” He shimmied on the bench until he could stick his hand into his pocket and began passing the pick within between his fingers. “Is it almost dinner?” 


a simple rule that every good man knows by heart: its smarter to be lucky than its lucky to be smart