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28
Because itwasa massive mistake.
I’m surprised by how long it takes for everything to fall apart, however.
November is a blur of homework and revision. We sit test after test, each one more brutal than the last. I find myself grateful for my lack of hair, because my head is already too heavy, stuffed to capacity with facts and figures and terminology that I’m still not confident about using.
“I can’t cope with this,” Danny mutters, rifling through pages of a textbook during lunch as he shovels broccoli into his mouth. Physics is our next test and I’m already utterly shattered. “Seven tests in a singleweek. They’re deviants, I swear.”
These aren’t even tests for the exam board, but tests for Lochkelvin’s internal review, and they’ve managed to cow us into submission by emphasizing how very, very,veryimportant they are in the grand scheme of life.
In other words, it’s another aspect to the needless torture at Lochkelvin.
Mercifully, I’ve been detention-free for about two weeks. It’s the longest I’ve gone without upsetting anyone, but it means it’s also the longest I’ve gone without seeing Dr. Moncrieff in private.
And that worries me, because our politics presentation — the thing I’ve been stressing over since Day One — is almost here. Arabella still hasn’t shared her notes with me, even though I’ve asked and almost pleaded for them. She keeps promising that she’ll give me them after the tests are over, but I’m having my doubts.
There’s a component to the presentation that’s graded on solo performance. I think Arabella wants to take all the credit for that and leave me with absolutely zero.
Of course, she’d just scoff and tell me not to get involved in conspiracies. But after a thankfully easy physics test, I end up meeting with Finlay in the library to go over options.
There are dark circles under his eyes.
“I dinnae ken if I can dae this,” he says, slumping over his math textbook. “Like, English was bad enough, as if I give a fuck what a simile is — chemistry, I swear I nearly set fire tae the lab — and maths? The way things are going, sassenach, I’ll be gettin’ an F. Atleast.”
“Yes, atleast.” I roll my eyes. “Because that means you’ll do way better than an F. And anyway, politics will be a breeze for you.”
This seems to calm him down. “Aye, I guess. And I’ve got music tae fall back on an aw.”
“Arabella hasn’t shown me her notes. I think she wants me to suffer.”
Finlay scratches the side of his tired face. “Ye want me tae gie her the third degree?”
I laugh. “No. I just… I wish I knew what I could do instead.”
“But ye can daeanything. The presentation is on any aspect o’ politics. Ye could probably even dae US politics if ye want.” I make a face and Finlay laughs. “Aye, I know. But it’s yer perspective on any political issue. And Dr. Moncrieff is pretty chill, he might even let ye dae yer own presentation.”
I still haven’t gone to Dr. Moncrieff about Arabella yet. I’d been biding my time. But it’s getting worrying, because the more time passes, the more Arabella and Dr. Moncrieff are starting to appear like soppy long-lost lovers.
“Do you think there’s something between them?” I blurt.
Finlay raises an eyebrow. “Between who?”
“Dr. Moncrieff and Arabella.”
There’s a light to Finlay’s eyes, and I see his lips holding back a burst of surprised laughter. “Whit? Headmistress’s pet getting involved wi’ ateacher? I dinnae think so. Even her own aunt would turf her oot.”
I scratch my head. Maybe I’m seeing things.
With Finlay’s help, I end up drafting a presentation of my own in case I need it. I decide to do it on something close to my heart, something I’ve experienced a lot of while at Lochkelvin.
By the time I finish, Finlay’s looking at me like I’m a marvel.
There’s that same energy there, the one from the empty classroom. Something about the way he looks at me, the way I soften around him. He’s still a chief, and yet it would be the most natural thing in the world to reach over the table and kiss him.
But I resist. We’re in the library, and I’m not a complete freak like Li and Rory. Also, the library isn’t empty, and the last thing I need is yet more gossip trailing me around like a starving puppy.
“Ye’ll dae okay, sassenach,” Finlay says, giving my backup presentation a once-over. “If this disnae get ye an A, then maybe torturin’ Arabella is the way forward.”
