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11
My hair is damp when I sneak back to the girls’ tower. Arabella, who flings open her door the moment I tiptoe one decibel over the acceptability threshold, uses this to lambaste me.
“Using the boys’ showers?” she sneers, leaning against the wall. “You reallyarea disgrace.”
She sure does pick her moments. My bones are aching. I’ve just had the orgasm of my life and spoken loving thoughts to Luke, her mortal political enemy.
So I do what any sane person would: do not engage. Do not passGo. Do not collect $200.
I choose to ignore her.
“No,” she snaps, watching me fumble uselessly with my key. “This isnotgood enough, Jessa. I know what you’re doing! You’re with those…boys!”
I keep my mouth shut, wishing I could do the same with my ears. After such an enjoyable, restorative evening with the chiefs, it’s too late for this and I simply don’t have the energy to argue. Face-planting into bed is more my style right now.
“For one thing, it’s against school rules — which I’ve already taken time out of my busy day to remind you — but italsobrings the rest of us girls into disrepute.”
Finally, the door opens — but Arabella’s words stop me in my tracks. “What?”
Damn it, why can’t I just ignore her…?
“Slumming it around with those pathetic chiefs. What are you, their groupie? It’s tragic, honestly, and it reflects poorly on all of us. Lochkelvin girls should have standards.”
I shouldn’t have bothered asking. As I make it inside my room, I can barely contain my yawn. “Sorry, Arabella, should I be banging a teacher instead? Is that more Lochkelvin’s standards? Moremature?”
Her face tightens. Her eyes narrow. If it could, I imagine her long plait turning into a tongue of fire she wishes to strike me with. “I’m going to come down on youhard,” she seethes, her lip curling in disgust. “You forget your idiot chiefs aren’t the only ones with power this year, Jessa. The girls finally have it and balance will be restored. I will see you punished before the year is out — mark my words.”
When I shut the door in Arabella’s face, I only receive the briefest moment of satisfaction. I don’t understand her. She says she’s doing it for the girls — and yet it’s me, a girl, who’s on the receiving end of her threats. She’s gunning forme. Surely it isn’t out of jealousy? But whatever it is, Rory was right — nowadays she carries herself with an inflated sense of self-importance. The gold badge on her blazer has already spread poison to her mind. Now, as Head Girl, Arabella has license to do whatever she pleases.
Rorywasright.
The power’s gone to her fucking head.
* * *
It’s interesting to watch the plan from the night before unfold with my own eyes: during breakfast, in between our usual plain bowls of porridge, the chiefs subtly hand out frosted pastries to the gremlins. The gremlins act like they’ve never seen anything as delicious in their lives, which isn’t difficult to believe compared to the thick gloopy bowls of boiled oats beside them. Most of the gremlins are greedy, impatient fuckers who outright stuff the pastries down their gullet, but a few of the older and wiser ones shove the pastries into their bags for later.
Food bribes. Theywork.
It’s astoundingly simple. Food lathered in sugar might be the only currency that can be used in Lochkelvin to garner the support of adolescent boys and quash any direct opposition. A boy’s integrity, it seems, can be charmed by the amount of sugar in his stomach.
I watch Finlay and Rory converse quietly with each gremlin. I watch each gremlin give a solemn nod and an understanding glance at Luke, before they’re handed a pastry to scoff in one.
I watch as, one by one, the gremlins fall in line.
Luke is still a topic of fascination, with all eyes on him, but the hostility toward him seems to lessen with each delivery of these special pastries. Though they all look small and alike to me, not every Lochkelvin student is a gremlin — but enough of them are to steer Lochkelvin opinion. And they’re also an exceptionally large pool of support that the chiefs can draw on any time they want.
Rory isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
With all the covert bribing going on around us, I’m therefore surprised to discover that Danny’s watching me instead.
“What?”
He bites his lip. “Last night was good.”
I stare at him. He managed to say this in the tone of someone announcing a bereavement. “Yeah? Yeah, it was…”
“But I just…” Danny bites his lip again, like he’s physically trying to suppress his words. In one breath, he blurts, “I can’t help but think you’re doing all this stuff to bury whatever you’re feeling in the moment.”
