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He’s given me everything I’ve needed and said fuck the rest of you.
I switch on the light to the small, dingy washroom. In the grimy mirror above the sink, my cheeks are bright red, almost luminescent. I grab a cloth and run the tap over it, trying to cool myself down, listening all the while to Rory as he finally opens the door.
“What?” he drawls, and I hold back my smile. I can picture him so clearly, lounging against the wall, his tie reluctantly straightened, his hair neatened, his badges glittering, all to give Arabella the impression that she’s the one in the wrong.
“I don’t think your behavior is at all appropriate,” Arabella says. I clutch the cloth to my face, enjoying its gentle chill, as I sink against the stone wall and feel my legs slowly gather strength. “As Head Girl, I could report you.”
There’s stunned silence from the doorway. “Christ, you must be joking. She madeyouHead Girl?”
“Yes,” Arabella answers, as though it should be obvious. “So if you’re going to continue letting boys enter the girls’ tower, or, indeed, the girls themselves—” and here she raises her voice, “which, by the way, Jessa — because I know you’re listening back there — contravenesallthe rules in the Lochkelvin handbook — then I’ll be forced to report it to my superior. The headmistress.”
“That’s a shame,” Rory drawls, “because then I’d have to reportyourreport to the highest authority in Lochkelvin, which — as we both know — is my father.”
It’s a bluff. I can tell from the edge in his voice, the breeziness that isn’t usually there. Oscar Munro has indicated he wants precisely nothing to do with his son, never mind petty disputes at the school. Besides, he’s going to be far too busy these days tempering a political crisis than dealing with Lochkelvin admin.
“Is he.” It’s a statement, not a question. Even Arabella doesn’t sound convinced. “It’s a shame, but it seems like your stranglehold on Lochkelvin is finally coming to an end. And you can relay that message to the rest of the chiefs — particularly the lanky fraud calling himself the bonny prince.”
Damn, Arabella’s turned into a rude little weasel over summer.
“My God,” Rory breathes. “You always were an obnoxious bigmouth, Belly, but you’re unusually emboldened today. Look at you. The glee in your tiny eyes, your synapses big and drunk on power. All that from one small gold badge?”
“Problem?” Arabella asks. “Can’t handle a wee bit of competition?”
“No. No problem at all,” Rory says, though I wonder if he’s as unbothered as he professes. “Of course, headsaresupposed to work together constructively, and competition is discouraged for the good of the school. I wonder if you really understand your position, Belly. After all, if your aunt had the forethought to realize how opposed to everything the two of us are, then I don’t believe she’d have promoted you like this.” He pauses and then adds, “Bit nepotistic, isn’t it?”
“Did you say that when your dad picked you?” Arabella snipes. “Fortwoyears? No one should be Head Boy in fifth year!”
Rory’s voice turns bored. “How is it my problem if the year above were lacking in merit? Besides, being Head Girl when there are only three girls in the school seems something of a patronizing vanity project, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Idomind,” Arabella responds acidly. “No doubt you’d erase the position entirely.”
“No. I can think of exactly one girl who’d be my perfect counterpart in every way,” Rory says easily, and his voice is filled with so much pride and triumph that I feel myself growing stronger. “And let me give you a hint, Belly: it ain’t you.”
My room fills with the sound of the slamming door.
