AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Why?” Rory’s assessing gaze sweeps around the classroom at all the other students, most of whom have their heads bowed in mortified silence. “Why am I the only one telling the truth here? Why am I the one being punished for it? That’s what children are taught, aren’t they, to always tell the truth?”
“Another week of detentions, Mr. Munro.”
“Your. Brother. Is.Insane.”
In the quietest voice I’ve ever heard from him, Dr. Moncrieff murmurs, “If my brother is insane, Mr. Munro, then what does that make your father? He’s the one who appointed him to the post, after all, no?”
For a moment, Rory looks slightly stunned. My mouth drops open and Finlay glances warily between the two of them.
As though going in for the kill, Rory’s assignment is the last one that Dr. Moncrieff hands out. It falls in front of Rory’s face, a rustle of paper flopping onto the desk.
Rory stares at the front page for a long time. The pale skin of Rory’s cheeks flushes red and, in a terse voice, he eventually bites out, “Why’ve I got a D?”
My eyes widen. Beside me, Arabella cackles with delight. Rory Munro doesn’tgetDs. Never, ever has Rory achieved anything less than an A — his sparkling academic record is a point of pride, as is the fact he barely has to study to maintain it.
“Perhaps you should concentrate on your own work before casting aspersions on others,” Dr. Moncrieff says smoothly.
“No.” Rory shakes his head and stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone. “Fuck this.”
“Then go to the headmistress. If you don’t wish to be here, I am under no obligation to teach you.”
Rory hauls his bookbag over his shoulder. After a moment, and without being prompted, Finlay does likewise. I’m about to do the same, grabbing my bag under the desk, but Rory shakes his head at me. His eyes are fierce, rage simmering beneath his cool facade. Reluctantly, I settle back down in my seat and watch them leave.
In the hallway outside, there’s the sound of a wall being kicked, the thick thud of a boot colliding with stone.
Dr. Moncrieff releases a small sigh as he returns to the front of the class, and his tone is light when he asks, “Shall we continue…?”
All I want to do is follow Rory and Finlay out of class, but I force myself to sit still, half-listening as Dr. Moncrieff instructs us on the subtle differences between political systems. When he contrasts the definition of totalitarianism with fascism, the temptation to look at my assignment grows overwhelming, and so I covertly open the paper to read his comments.
‘Remember to examine BOTH sides of the argument with the same energy, else risk debasing your inquiry into something more polemical, bordering on prejudiced. Overall, however: sound reasoning followed by a strong analysis — a significant improvement from previous essays. Well done!’
I try to control my surprised smile but it’s difficult. No teacher in Lochkelvin has ever told me “well done” before, like they’re too scared to acknowledge the existence of girls in the first place. My gaze flits across the rest of my paper, and I see the parts Dr. Moncrieff has circled as particularly noteworthy, with several occurrences of “well-written” and “nice turn of phrase” and “strong argument.”
When class finally finishes, I approach Dr. Moncrieff at his desk.
He casts me a sharp look as he files his papers into order. It’s the kind of stare that could only be enhanced by a pair of glasses, a stare that could easily eviscerate someone on the spot. “Yes?”
“‘Examinebothsides of the argument with the same energy,’” I recite quietly, glancing at my assignment. “That’s what you wrote on my paper.”
“I know what I wrote.”
“Then why…?” I gesture at the door. “You just kicked out Rory for no reason.”
“Mr. Munro was disrupting the class.”
“He wanted answers.”
Dr. Moncrieff shoves the stack of papers into his satchel. “He wanted to cause a scene. I wasn’t going to stand for it.”
I stand there, torn, rolling the corner of my assignment between my fingers, forming it into a curl. “But your brother,” I begin gently, and Dr. Moncrieff instantly holds up a hand.
“I told the truth. I’m a whistle-blower. That’s it.” He slides his satchel over his shoulder and grabs his tweed jacket, slinging the thick mass of fabric over his forearm. “What happens afterwards is none of my concern.”
I’m shaking my head before he’s finished speaking. “You keep saying that — that it was just a research project, that it’s nothing to do with you, blah blah blah.But you’re the instigator. Must be nice to wash your hands of this and somehow end up as the king’s brother.”
“It’s ceremonial,” Dr. Moncrieff replies flatly, striding away from me.
“Is it.” It’s not a question and my voice has turned to ice. “Do you want another attempt to happen on Luke’s life? Because that’s what you’re enabling. You don’t even see it because you’re not even looking at both sides of this ridiculous argument.”
