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“If activism were a sport, it’d be the most important one there is.”
“Then maybe teachers shouldn’t be activists.” He gives me a narrow look. “Maybe you should stick your noses out of our opinions.”
Dr. Moncrieff tilts his head to the side, considering. “There you may have a point,” he says quietly. “But it is my duty to guide the students here into dealing with tough subjects. To figure out what it is they support.”
“You’re not doing that, though, are you?” My voice is growing frustrated. “Whether you see it or not, you’re shutting down anyone who’s not on your ‘side’.” I make air quotes on the latter word. I don’t think therearesides to this stupid debate — unless there are so many sides it’s morphed into a circle. Everyone locked in this charade has acted like a clown.
“Obviously, it’s not my intention,” Dr. Moncrieff says blandly, and I tune him out. I tune out his false, skin-saving platitudes and wish the chiefs were here beside me. “I wish you saw reason,” he adds with a kind of pious pity. “History is being made and it’sexciting. It’s monumental. And we’re a part of that.”
I shake my head sadly. “I wish you saw the truth beyond your own ego, and that Luke isn’t the enemy you think he is.”
We’re at a stalemate. There’s nothing more either of us can say. All I know is that I don’t trust Dr. Moncrieff — and that he doesn’t trust the boy who, if history hadn’t intervened, would have been king.
* * *
That night I spend in the chiefs’ dorm. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s against the rules. It feels like I have eyes glaring into the back of my head as I descend from the girls’ tower as silently as possible. But I need the chiefs more than ever — I need their arms around me and their sweet kisses and the reassurance that everything will be okay. Frankly, Arabella can — as they say around here — do one.
When I enter the dorm, there’s a busyness in the air. Sugar permeates the whole room. A production line seems to have formed, consisting of pastries on one side and cakes on the other. I don’t exactly know what I’m looking at, but I watch as Danny passes across golden fresh pastries to Finlay, whose cheeks are dusted with white powdered sugar. Frosting is added to each pastry via the nozzle and piping bag in Finlay’s hand, and then Danny adds colorful balls of candy on top.
“I don’t believe anyone would give up their honor for that wonky iced bun,” Luke remarks dryly, inspecting the cakes Finlay decorates. Finlay snatches up the most recently made one and adds an extra luxurious dollop of frosting.
They’re so distracted, I don’t think they’ve even realized I’ve entered their dorm. Only when I catch Rory’s eyes and his big, pleased smile do I realize that at least someone’s aware I’m here.
“I’m sorry,” I say loudly, looking at the sugar-created carnage around the room, and all action immediately freezes. “Whatis going on? Are you opening a bakery for extra credit?”
“Och, fuck’s sake, sassenach,” Finlay mutters as he hastily attempts to wipe the sugar from his reddening cheeks. “This isno’how I wanted tae be seen.”
I raise a brow. “The question still stands.”
“Bribes,” Rory answers easily from the reclined position on his bed. He’s still wearing his school uniform, his tie askew and the top buttons of his shirt undone. “We’re lobbying my followers. Giving them the good shit.”
“…What?”
“Cakes, little saint,” he says with a gleeful laugh. “We’re giving them cakes. And okay, they might be a bit… homely… but Fin’s trying his damnedest. Danny nicked this lot from home ec. Apparently he takes the class but you’d never know it from his initial attempts.”
“I take home ec. for thesewing, not the baking,” Danny clarifies sullenly. “Why care about food when the needle is sharper than the spoon?”
“Put it this way, D-boy, Idon’tthink my followers are as into snazzy costumes as they are at stuffing their cakeholes with… well, cake.”
“It’s a pastry upgrade,” I say in awe, watching as Finlay squirts another blob of frosting onto the flaky pastry, before passing it on to Danny, who adds a selection of rainbow sprinkles and small chewy confectionery.
Luke lifts one for me to study. “Literally.” It’s bad, but my stomach rumbles like thunder the moment I see its bright white sugary glaze. I imagine it melting on my tongue, the sugar dissolving on my taste buds. Saliva floods my mouth expectantly. Pastries are decadent enough — but frostedcakes? Nothing like this is served in Lochkelvin. Lochkelvin is all about healthy eating, with the smallest of desserts — usually a fruit crumble of some kind — only served on Fridays.
I can barely tear my eyes off the chiefs’ creation.
Sugar addiction is a real and painful thing.
I force myself to look away. “And you’re bribing the gremlins because…?”
Rory rolls his eyes. “They’re young lads with their own thoughts and feelings. They also havenames. You don’t have to call them gremlins.”
“Yes, I do. They were pricks to me last year.”
He concedes the point with a tilt of his head. “It’s part of the plan, little saint. Keep them on our side, the good side, the side that offers them—”
“Free cakes?”
“Exactly.Everyonelikes cakes, little saint. Even those who pretend otherwise — and my followers don’t. So if we think they’re wavering in support of us, let’s bung a few more cakes in their direction and make them sing from the same sheet as us. And with them behind us then we can do anything in here.” Rory pauses, his grin a bright and dangerous thing as he looks at me. “Behold: the power of giving people exactly what they want.”
