‘I might still know her. What’s her name?’
‘Her name? Erm …’ I glance at Leo’s hair. ‘Curl … ina. I mean. Carlina.’
There’s a pause. ‘Is that her first name or surname?’
Leo mimes a cutting motion, likestop, you’re digging yourself deeper.
‘Erm, good question. I’ll ask someone. Anyway, got to go!’
I drop the phone and clutch my head. ‘Great. I just named my imaginary teacher after your hair.’
Before class starts, Silvia asks me to hang back at break time to ‘chat about some extra admin bits’.
I vibrate with tension for a whole three hours as she makes her way around the room, jotting notes in our project folders and taking photos of everyone in front of their portraits with a Polaroid camera.
The showcase is only two days away. I can’t bear the idea of it all falling apart now.
When the others start putting their coats on, Leo stays by my side.
‘Ah, Evie,’ Silvia says, joining me at my desk. ‘Thank you for waiting. I expect our chat may take a little longer than the others.’
I swallow hard. ‘Why is that?’
‘The paperwork mostly.’
My skin goes cold and clammy.
‘It’s the placement funding, of course, and the fact this is a new strand and you’re our only international student. The forms are never-ending.’ She fans herselfwith a stack of papers as if to illustrate.
‘Oh … is that all?’
‘Was there something you wanted to ask?’
‘The certificate,’ I blurt. ‘How do we actually get it? I mean … do we get it here, or does it get sent home?’
I can’t remember how Griselda got hers, only that it’s framed over the mantelpiece, like it grew out of the wall.
I need to get my hands on mine before Mum and Dad do, so I can prepare them for the wordartinstead ofscience.
‘You should be able to take it with you.’ Silvia reaches for something that looks like a checklist. ‘Now, let’s hear how this experience is going.’
Veronica materializes at my side. ‘Surprisingly well, considering the mix-up.’
‘Mix-up?’ Silvia looks up from the form.
‘Raeburn Academy, Raeburn the painter,’ Veronica explains. ‘You thought Evie’s school was connected to the Scottish portrait artist.’
My shoulders draw in. I took a place meant for someone else. For someone better.
Silvia’s brows knit for a second. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’ She turns to me instead. ‘Evie, do you feel you’ve benefited from the experience?’
Oh God – she’s literally asking if I’ve learntanything. ‘Yes,’ I say. Then, because it doesn’t sound like it’s enough, ‘Definitely. It’s been brilliant working alongside Veronica. And with Leo.’ He snorts and I shoot him a look. ‘No, really. I’ve learnt loads.’
She positions me for my photo, and I sneak a peek at my portrait, wondering if she can tell I’m a fraud just by looking at it. The brushwork is cleaner than anything I could’ve managed a few weeks ago. The proportions make sense, too. It looks … competent. But it’s neat when it should be alive.
When everyone breaks for lunch, Leo and I hang back together.
‘What if there wasn’t a mix-up?’ Leo says quietly.
