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“Formulas are cheats,” Finlay declares when I teach him how to calculate the area of any triangle. “Ye’re just pluggin’ a bunch o’ numbers intae a stupidly long formula. That’scheatin’.”
I raise an eyebrow. If he thinks the formula to find the area of a triangle is stupidly long, then I can’t wait to blow his mind with the one for quadratic equations. “It helps you solve the problem. And judging from your recent test scores, you have a lot of problems to solve.”
Finlay gives me a dark scowl but he continues to answer the questions in his textbook, asking me for help whenever he gets stuck. I read Callahan’sPolitics of Scotlandfrom the very beginning, delighted to find it isn’t half as dry as the books Arabella had recommended. I revise the Scotland Acts from 1978 to the present day, while Finlay occasionally mutters in a pained voice about how much maths makes himgreet(cry, I think). We work together and end up relatively unscathed, which I count as a minor victory.
So I’m able to deal with one of the chiefs, though as the most down-to-earth, it could be argued that Finlay is on easy mode. The other two remain a mystery, and for the moment I vow not to engage with them.
But I don’t have a choice, because when the students return from October break, it seems like the school is rowdier than ever. Danny says his bruises have completely healed, which he eagerly rolls up his shirt sleeves to show me, though strangely I note a new one at the base of his elbow. There’s more spirit to him than before he left, but even he shakes his head at the noisy chatter in the dining hall.
“They’ve all come back from the big cities. They get to mess around in luxury for their Instas and do all the fun, exciting things their parents’ money can buy. Happens every year. Every break turns them all into headcases.” He peers glumly into his porridge. “You don’t get much of a chance to go wild when you live as far north as humanly possible.”
“John O’Groats?” I ask, testing out my geography knowledge.
Danny grimaces. “It’s a common misconception that John O’Groats is the furthest place north on the mainland. But I actually live evenfurther, in a small place with a stupid name.”
It doesn’t take long for life to resume as it had before, as though the attack on London had been a mere blip. Even Luke seems buoyed up and unaffected, the proud tilt to his chin having returned, and there’s a fighting gleam in Becca’s eyes like she wants to take on the anti-royalists with her bare hands.
Even Headmistress Baxter is in high spirits. I swear I see her crack a smile with Mr. MacDonald, the physics teacher, before she stands up at the wooden lectern.
Silence slowly begins to fall, though it takes at least a minute before Headmistress Baxter can be properly heard.
“I trust you all had an enjoyable and relaxing break.” Her clipped Scottish accent is as brisk and no-nonsense as ever. “For the remainder of the term, I hope you will be as diligent and hardworking as you were before. We have a series of events taking place in the following weeks, starting with Lochkelvin’s traditional Samhain festival.” Headmistress Baxter’s lips purse slightly. “Or a Hallowe’en party, for the less discerning among you.”
There are happy gasps from the directions of the girls, and I see Freya and Li excitedly whispering to each other. Danny and I look less enthralled. I can already sense this is going to go badly for us.
“It’s okay, babe,” one of the cockiest gremlins mutters beside me, sounding thoroughly entertained. “You won’t need a costume. Your face is scary enough.”
I shuffle away from him. Babe, really?
Headmistress Baxter holds up a hand for quiet. “A series of rigorous academic tests will take place in November, which I hope you’re all currently preparing for, and December of course will be a time of goodwill and cheer.” There’s such a dry twist to Baxter’s voice that I almost snort. I don’t think she believes her own words. “To celebrate such a momentous year in the school’s history, the Lochkelvin staff and I have agreed that the school should hold both the talent showandthe inaugural Christmas dance.”
I chance a glance at Rory, and he’s scowling at Baxter like this is the worst news he’s ever heard.
“I expect every student to be on their best behavior.Don’tmake me take these privileges away.”
“Great,” Danny mutters. “A whole bunch of things that’ll suck for us.”
I slump into my chair, dismal. He’s right. It’d be nice to go out and have fun, but there’s no way we could without being hassled. Not surrounded by the chiefs on one side and the girls on the other. I nudge his leg with the tip of my boot, trying to cheer him up, but my foot collides with something else entirely.
“Oww.”
I freeze to the spot. That voice sounded far too close to me. I quickly cross my legs before peering beneath the table.
A gremlin’s pale face blinks up at me.
“What the hell?!” It’s louder than I intended and people glance over at me to see what the fuss is about. Danny looks beneath the table and, horrified, begins to shove the gremlin away with his foot. “Get out of there, you perv!”
“I’m not a perv!” the gremlin mutters back. “I’m justtryingto draw on your boot, you fucking Yank bitch.”
I watch in disgust as he hauls himself back up onto the bench as subtly as possible.
Headmistress Baxter still notices him, however. I think most of the school does, too. Rory’s shooting him daggers, probably because he didn’t get the job done properly.
I tug my giant plaster boot to the side to see what’s written on it. In bright red ink is a scribbled penis and the wordFAKER.
“What is the meaning of this disruption, Mr. Collins?”
The gremlin gives Baxter a sickeningly reassuring smile. “Dropped my spoon, miss,” he says, smiling like he knows he’s a silly little thing. “The mean American gal knocked it out my hand.”
And then Headmistress Baxter’s gaze slides over to me. “Miss Weir?” she says, her eyelids heavy with disinterest, as though the very thought of my existence puts her to sleep. I can predict her next word long before she says it. “Detention.”
