Page 3 of Wicked Elites

Students strolled in and out of the main building, clad in bottle-green blazers with matching pants or skirts, a peculiar color for somewhere supposedly so exclusive.

As Uncle Trevor parked the car in a small victor’s lot outside the main building, he said, “Remember this, Willow. They’re going to need you a lot more than you’ll need them. Don’t accept Mrs. Benazir’s offer until you’ve asked for everything you could possibly want.”

I shrugged. “Why would the academy offer me money when Cummersdale Comp doesn’t give me anything to study. Shouldn’t I be paying them?”

“I’ll take the lead.” He opened the car door, and we walked across the courtyard, up a set of stone stairs and through oak double doors.

The scent of beeswax polished engulfed my senses, and a vast hallway of gleaming, herringbone floors stretched toward a grand staircase with wooden banisters that reminded me of the Titanic movie. Wood panels covered the walls, with the occasional carved sculpture, but there were no paintings or artwork normally expected of old buildings.

I wondered if that was to stop the students from lingering in the hallways between classes.

“Her office is on the left,” said Uncle Trevor.

Mrs. Benazir was a short, plump woman with olive skin and salt-and-pepper hair. From her name being the same as a Pakistani prime minister from the eighties, I was guessing she was also from Pakistan.

The headmistress wore the kind of academic robes people wore during graduations, but hers were red with blue satin instead of black. I chewed my lip. Shouldn’t someone wearing such elaborate robes have a title like Doctor or Professor?

She leaned across the table, clasped Uncle’s hand, then placed another hand on top. It was the kind of warm, overfamiliar greeting nobody used in this part of England. Uncle Trevor stared down at their joined hands.

“Thank you, Mr. Redbush, for bringing your niece.” She turned to me, compassion shining in her dark eyes. “And Willow, I’m sorry for your loss.”

My throat thickened, and I pressed my lips together. No matter how many times people said that to me—the policemen who visited the house to tell me about the accident, the people at the cremation house, Mr. Selby the solicitor, and countless others—I had no idea how to respond. None of these people had known Mom and Dad. How could they possibly be sorry about the death of a stranger?

Mrs. Benazir let go of Uncle’s hands and stared into my eyes, as though expecting a response.

Knots formed in my stomach, and I murmured, “Thank you.”

She gestured for us to sit, and a breath of relief whooshed out of my lungs.

“Mr. Brunswick from Cummersdale Comprehensive forwarded me your academic record,” said the headmistress. “It’s impressive, considering the amount of time you’ve spent in a state school.”

She tapped her French-manicured nails on her oak desk. “I wrote to your parents at the end of the last academic year, offering you a scholarship at the Brittas Academy. Did they ever tell you about it?”

I shook my head.

“It was very generous.” She clasped her hands and beamed. “A bursary of twelve thousand pounds, all tuition fees waived, and free equipment and textbooks. It’s more money than a seventeen-year-old could possibly spend.”

My throat dried. Ordinarily, twelve grand was a fortune, but I had the house and no income to pay for things like electricity bills or buildings and contents insurance. Even if I took up her offer, I needed double that amount for maintenance and to save a little extra in case of emergencies.

Remembering what Uncle had said—the academy needed me more than I needed them—I shook my head.

Her brows drew together. “Our current bursary is generous enough—”

“Willow isn’t the average A-star student.” Uncle leaned forward. “And she’s now solely responsible for maintaining a house.”

“I beg your pardon?”

My heart skittered in my chest. A place at this academy would change my life for the better, but I wouldn’t take it if it meant getting rid of Mom and Dad’s home. “I’ve just inherited a house, and I have an upcoming inheritance tax bill. Twelve thousand a year won’t be enough.”

She pursed her lips. “How else would a girl your age earn money except by wasting her talents in a minimum-wage retail establishment?”

“I have twelve A-star GCSEs. The university can employ me as a lab assistant or I can apprentice with a large company,” I bluffed. “That would pay enough to cover all my costs, and I can study for my A-levels in the evenings.”

Mrs. Benazir’s eyes narrowed. “Eighteen thousand. Tax-free.”

“Twenty four,” said Uncle.

“Eighteen thousand,” she repeated. “If you maintain an average score of ninety percent, I’ll pay a bonus of six-thousand at the end of the academic year.”