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“Yes, but Luke can stay,” Freya adds quickly.
Li rolls her glamorously darkened eyes and snaps her mirror shut. “Kindly fuck off or I won’t so kindly boot you in the balls, and I don’t need a referendum to dothat.” There’s a terrifying glare on her pretty face, and for some reason I begin to examine my politics notes in a cold sweat.
Luke’s smile stretches as though he likes what he’s hearing. “I understand what you are doing, Li. Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen.” He winks down at her and mutters, “Sure, baby. I am most keen.”
I note that Freya doesn’t look overly happy about this, but something softens in Li’s eyes.
“Ladies,” Luke says, walking away from us and over to a table where Rory sits, ignoring us, surrounded by his fortress of books. Finlay follows, almost stumbling over his feet as he tries to glance back at me. I’d managed to get my blush under control but now I don’t know where to look.
There isdefinitelysomething there.
“Your face is red,” Becca points out, but to my surprise she’s talking to Li.
“Yeah, it’s called anger.” But Li doesn’t sound angry, and from the flick of her gaze to the table opposite us, I believe we’re suffering from a similar affliction.
Boys.
We study in silence for a few minutes, but nothing in my politics notes makes the slightest bit of sense to me. I give up, staring over at the boys’ table.
“So did you all know each other before yesterday?”
Freya smiles. “Elly and I went to school together.”
“I’vetoldyou, call me Arabella in here.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry.Arabellyand I went to school together. And a lot of the different families already knew each other from moving in the same circles, so most of us were on familiar terms before joining.”
“You’re completely new,” Becca says to me, sounding amazed by that. “I don’t think I could cope with that. A completely new world, a new country, new people and faces. This must be overwhelming for you.”
I look down at my scribbled politics notes, which feels like it’s written in another language. “Yeah. Just a bit.” I can’t show that I’m overwhelmed. This is a school forhigh achievers, and although I’m starting to believe there may have been some kind of mix-up, I can’t let any weakness shine through. None of the others are.
“So what’s America like?” Freya asks, sounding excited. “What was your high school like?”
Gone.Destroyed.
“What did you write to get in here?” Li interjects, her eyes lasering into my soul.
The sharpness of her question takes me aback and I decide to ignore it. She isn’t entitled to know the weepy sob story my heart poured out to a stranger across an ocean.
“Greenvale? It was, um…” I launch into a description of everything that made Greenvale home. The technology, the cafeteria, the bright airy halls. Things made from plastic and metal, not stone and wood. The security scanners and ever-watching cameras, which Lochkelvin seems to lack. I almost mention dancing, but I stop short of that. As I’m describing Greenvale’s old football stadium, I notice the table opposite. Finlay’s moving his mouth every time I speak so that it looks like a poor ventriloquism act. When I stop, the three of them crack up, staring at us, unable to hide their bright, hyena-like laughter.
“Never mind,” I mutter. My voice, my accent, is apparently hilarious.
Freya glares at them. “They’re just being stupid. Ignore them, Jessa.”
I want to pull my hair out. Ignoring them is what I’ve beentryingto do, but clearly I’m so mockable whether I speak or not that it’s not working.
The other girls leave for lunch until it’s just me and Arabella left. Arabella, who readsWar and Peacefor fun. She’s still taking furious handwritten notes from the many open books around her. It seems like shereallywants to impress Dr. Moncrieff.
“Can I help?” I’m not sure whether I should bother her or not, but itissupposed to be a paired assignment, right?
Reluctantly, Arabella sets her pen down like she’s prepping herself to have a difficult conversation. “Look. This is a graded assignment and I’m looking to get top marks this year. And unfortunately — no offense — I’m not going to get that if I have to supervise you as well. So let me do all the work and I’ll get us both a hundred percent on this. Okay?”
She continues writing as if I have no objections to this. And in theory, I don’t: she’s willing to do all the work for me. That’s a generous offer. But…
How am I supposed tolearn?
If I don’t learn, then I’ll fail politics. And without advanced politics, there’s no way I can study politics at St. Camford, the natural path for Lochkelvin students.
