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“Uni’s overrated,” Finlay concludes with a shrug. “They should justmake meCEO o’ Very Important Company wi’oot the faff o’ a degree.”
Rory turns his bright gray gaze onto me. “What about you? What are you thinking?”
I don’t want to tell him that my future feels like a vague, fuzzy thing. Like it’s something that may not even exist. That the only future, and world, that I desire is one where all of us are united, entangled together like the weft and weave of an ancient tapestry.
How do proper grown-ups manage this? The willpower to get out of bed and do something for the good of society, to ignore hormones and sex drives and the temptation of naked skin, when you could be wrapped up in bed with lovers instead, telling the rest of the world and their stupid demands to go to hell?
“I don’t know, I guess I haven’t given uni much thought…” It’s a lie, of course, and not a very good one. I don’t miss Finlay’s soft frown.
“Are you talking about next year?” Arabella’s bright voice loudly interrupts. “I trust you’re all aiming for St. Camford?” She pauses, her attention turning to me, and worries her lip. “Well, perhaps notyou, Jessa — no offense but we’ve all seen your recent percentages.”
“Get to fuck,” Rory growls, leaning on his fists and standing tall enough to tower over Arabella.
“Besides,” Danny says coolly, “an A is an A whether it’s seventy percent or a hundred percent.”
“That’s all very well and good, but if you can spell actualwordswith your grades then I don’t think we’re talking about a set of straight As. Which, as we all know, is what St. Camford expects of candidates as the very minimum entry requirements.” Arabella beams brightly at us like the world’s most patronizing elementary school teacher, while I drag a fork aimlessly through the grains of couscous. “Have you begun your personal statements yet? I finished mine last night and found it a thoroughly rewarding experience. I’d be interested to read what you write, Jessa. Clearly you were able to enroll in Lochkelvin on the strength of your scholarship application despite your much lower academic record. Are youpositiveyou wrote it yourself?”
I sit and seethe. Rory’s stony glare doesn’t lessen from Arabella, who does her best to ignore him yet still manages to flinch every time Rory enters her periphery.
“Belly, speakin’ o’ shite takes, whit are ye even wearin’? Contravenin’ the uniform code in the handbook, are ye no’?”
“It’s been updated,” Arabella declares primly, and it’s only then that I realize Arabella’s wearing a smart pair of black pa—trousers. “All girls are now permitted to wear trousers.” She smiles down at Finlay. “You helped enormously with my case, by the way, because of your… fashion statement. The headmistress couldn’t say no after I pointed out the blatant double standard regarding your so-called freedom of expression.”
“It isnae a fashion statement,” Finlay drawls. “It’s my national dress. Yours, tae.”
“Dress, skirt, whatever it is, I thought I’d better dosomethingafter Jessa criticized my authority. So now it looks like the only ones still wearing skirts are yourself and Finlay.”
“It’s no’ askirt,” Finlay declares in a loud sing-song.
“And that?” Luke asks, pointing at a large red plastic toggle dangling from Arabella’s belt. “Surely that goes beyond freedom of expression.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t take questions from traitors.”
Rory’s eyes narrow, and he leans closer to Arabella to get a better look. “That red thing on your belt. It’s the Antiro logo.”
“That’s a political symbol,” Luke adds.
Arabella doesn’t even acknowledge Luke, turning to the rest of us instead. “If you can have your crowns then I can express my support for an alternative cause. It also helps others who are suffering in private to know that I’m a safe, judgment-free person to come and talk to. Isn’t freedom of expression wonderful?”
“Your freedom of expression is for a bunch of crooks.”
“Our badges aretiny,” I say. “Yours is the size of a tennis ball and may as well be neon.”
Arabella must be feeling cocky if she thinks she can strut around school wearing political propaganda without reprimand. At least our crown badges could be justified as mere crowns — hell, they could have even been crowns for the new King Benji. But Antiro’s blood-redA? The intentions are a lot clearer.
“Say what you want but know that this is all for you,” Arabella says, looking down at me smugly.
“I just don’t understand.” I stare at Arabella’s new uniform. I saw too much of her legs last semester, when she decided to follow Li’s example and hike her tartan skirt up to her rib cage. “You didn’t have a problem with skirts last year.”
Arabella blinks several times, looking thrown by this statement. “Can I talk to you in private?”
Suspicious, I tell her, “Whatever you want to say to me, you can say in front of the chiefs.”
“No, I’m serious.”
Despite myself, I’m beyond curious. I stand up and follow Arabella to the middle of the dining hall. In the background, Rory makes a scoffing noise at Arabella.
“What?” My voice is blunt, and just seeing that ridiculousAclipped onto her belt is enough to induce rage in me.
