shuddering. She had her mother’s gift to see into the future. This was a vision. Although it was the first premonition Grace had ever had, she knew exactly what it was, and she knew exactly what it meant.
‘I bet Shakespeare didn’t even write half of the plays he is famous for,’ Grace said, after taking a few minutes to pull herself together. Her heart hadn’t slowed yet, and she placed a hand on her chest to try and steady it.
Eliot threw his head back and laughed: a deep, throaty laugh that somehow managed to imply that he was sure of himself, affluent and popular.
‘I can’t believe you’re throwing that in! Nobody has ever proved that theory. Everybody knows it’s a load of bollocks.’
Grace shrugged, feeling a little fluttery and nervous, like a moth trapped under a glass.
‘I’m not going to defend the theory, because I haven’t done my research. Yet,’ she smirked. ‘But when I have, I’ll be in touch.’
The group of friends she was with went to a house party after that. Grace went with them and drank primary-coloured strong drinks that she hadn’t even known to exist before that night. She saw Eliot a couple of times. Once, in the kitchen, she dared herself to go up to him and kiss his cheek. She edged towards him slowly, through shards of conversation and a net of cigarette smoke. She caught his eye. He had green eyes, like a cat. She smiled. He smiled back, his face fractured by people moving around in front of him. Somebody called his name. He turned. And the moment was gone.
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