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I hate this stupid school. I really, really hate it.
If they want a school for boys, they can have it.
No girl in her right mind would be here.
I don’t cry — I’ve cried so much this summer that I ran out of tears — but I stare blankly down at my textbook, the lines and shapes blurring into something incomprehensible. At one point, Freya opens a pack of tissues. I think she’s about to hand me one just in case — instead, she sneezes into it.
I stare at Freya, watching as she continues to diligently answer questions in her notebook.
They’re all in it for themselves. Some of them just pretend they aren’t.
I can’t trust anyone here.
* * *
“That was a mean trick they played on you,” Becca says at dinner.
Arabella scoffs as she ladles Scotch broth into her bowl. “It wasn’t a trick, it was a bit of paper. And Jessa here was daft enough to look at it. Itoldyou, Jessa, don’t engage.”
“Right. Yeah. It’s all my fault.” I twirl my fork around my full plate, dismal. She may be harsh but at least I can tell where Arabella stands with me — she thinks I’m a complete idiot, far beneath her all-round brilliance. It’s Freya and Becca I have a problem with, people who act nice then don’t bother to put themselves out there and be supportive when required. Li sits furthest away from me. I haven’t spoken to her. I haven’tlookedat her. She probably thinks I have a problem with her, when I just can’t bring myself to recall the exact curve of her exposed neck as Rory feasted on her skin.
You could probably calculate the area of the curve using the formula Hodgson taught us.
I’m so tired.
At Greenvale, I never had a solid group of girls to hang around with. I’ve always been a bit of a loner, either happily ensconced in the library or relaxing on the bleachers, totally not watching Ethan Miller strutting on the pitch. That seems like a lifetime ago.
So being around four rich, perfectly presented, Lochkelvin-approved girls?
It’s unnatural.
“I’m going to detention,” I mumble, grabbing my book-filled satchel. My shoulder aches almost as much as my ankle.
Freya looks concerned, her big blue eyes filled with sympathy. “Do you want us to go with you?”
I shake my head and leave the hall. I’ve become so accustomed to the laughter that follows that I barely even realize it’s there. It’s wild and uproarious, like the sound of deranged chimpanzees.
The door at the side of the front hall, where my detention takes place, is already ajar. I knock but there’s no answer so I let myself in.
It’s a small, old-fashioned classroom. The smell of chalk dust infuses the air. I sit at one of the single wooden desks and take out my politics notes, thinking I might be able to revise before whatever ritual punishment is doled out at Lochkelvin.
My notebook falls open at a page with scribbled, looping handwriting I don’t recognize. Of course. Finlay had been looking through my notes earlier in the library. I’d almost forgotten. I’d been so stunned by what went on in the library to remember that comparably minor violation.
I squint down at Finlay’s words. At a passage where I described the role of the Scottish Prime Minister, Finlay’s written,You really have no clue, do you?
My brows furrow. Of everything I wrote in class this morning, I’m surprised that’s what he takes issue with. This was me at my most lucid.
They’re calledFirstMinister here.
I sigh, slumping into my chair, wishing the ground could swallow me whole. It’s basic stuff, and if I can’t get the basics right then what hope do I have of ever passing the subject? At least Finlay’s willing to help me, I guess. Normally I’m a lot sharper, a lot more focused, but the combination of this year and Lochkelvin is beginning to be too much.
The door opens and Headmistress Baxter walks in. My heart sinks. I hadn’t realized she’d be leading the detention.
I can’t wait to see what fun times she has planned for me.
But I decide I can wait a bit longer when she glares through her glasses and orders in a menacing tone, “Follow me, Miss Weir.”
