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23
Politics is no less intense than usual. I sit as far from Arabella as I physically can, lest I insult her sensibilities by reminding her of my deep and flagrantly immodest skirt-wearing.
At the back of the room, Rory’s swinging lethargically on the hind legs of his chair. His arms are crossed behind his head and he radiates such easy confidence, looking as though he’s more suited to a hammock than a classroom.
“Big day, sir,” Rory declares loudly when Dr. Moncrieff arrives, his eyes tracking him like a hunter. “Were you making preparations?”
Dr. Moncrieff lowers his briefcase onto the table. When I look at him, there’s a spark of minor concern. With each new lesson, he appears more and more ragged.
“Preparations, Mr. Munro?” He slips off his tweed jacket and places it meticulously over the back of his chair. He rolls up his shirt sleeves as though he means business, but his voice is muted as if in dismay. “Preparations for what?”
“The coronation,” Rory says, all wide-eyed innocence. Beside him, Finlay’s biting his nail to hide the spread of his grin. “Surely you’re invited, sir, having played such a significant role in the… promotion?”
Dr. Moncrieff falters. He ignores Rory, rifling through his briefcase and bringing out our assignments from last week. I have no desire to see mine, and I sink deeper into my chair with a newfound sense of doom.
“A range of marks across the board,” he says wearily, as though Rory hadn’t spoken. Beside me, Arabella shoots Rory a poisonous look. Dr. Moncrieff walks between the aisles, handing out each assignment. I twirl my pen around my fingers, expecting the worst. “Some of you really need to pick up the pace this term. I did warn you that your final year would be relentless.”
Arabella’s assignment is placed in front of her — gently, unlike everyone else’s slammed-down paper. On the front of hers is the letterAcircled in red, and she beams in delight. I even make out a small plus sign beside theA. It takes all my strength not to roll my eyes.
“Jamie Crieff, though,” Rory interjects loudly, and Dr. Moncrieff pauses. “Or haven’t you heard, sir? Apparently he’s our king now. Do you support his claim to the throne, sir?”
“I’m not engaging in this discussion with you, Mr. Munro.”
Despite the hindrance, Rory persists like a dog with a bone. “You know who he is, though, right? Or maybe you know him by his former name? Benjamin Moncrieff?”
You could hear a pin drop. The classroom suddenly feels claustrophobic.
My assignment falls in front of me, and for a long time I stare in confusion at its front cover. Everything in the classroom fades around the edges, and the only thing I see with any clarity is the bright redAin front of me.
Arabella leans forward and furrows her brows at my paper, as though this must be some mistake.
I don’t getAs in politics. In my whole time here, I’ve only ever achieved oneA— during my speech when it mattered the most — as well as too manyCs and a few failures by default.
I glance up at Dr. Moncrieff, uncertain. He doesn’t meet my eyes.
“The name Jamie Crieff is not to be used in this classroom,” he says instead, shuffling the assignments in his hands.
“I didn’t say Jamie Crieff, though, did I? I saidBenjamin Moncrieff. Do you know much about him, sir?” He pauses, as though relishing the deep, awkward silence in the classroom that he drags out. I turn my head to find Rory’s gaze glittering menacingly, the color of molten silver. “Because I can tell you, if you want.
“Benjamin Moncrieff,” Rory begins in a grandiose tone, “is a fucking nutjob.”
There are gasps from around the class, most prominently from Arabella. “You can’t say that!” she hisses, looking scandalized.
Rory decides to humor her. “Why?”
“That’s not even his name. He’sJamie Crieffnow. It’s disrespectful.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Rory mutters. “So he has a frivolous name change and thinks he’s a big shot. Is he going to send his flying monkeys after me?”
“Detention, Mr. Munro.”
Rory’s eyes narrow. “But heisa nutjob, sir. At the very least, he has some type of narcissistic personality disorder to think he can become king and everyone just accepts it.”
“Another detention, Mr. Munro.”
“Are you denying basic psychological facts, sir?”
“A week’s worth of detentions, Mr. Munro. I’d advise you to keep quiet now.”
