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“All I wanted was a scrap of power,” Arabella interrupts. “I mean, what was I supposed to do? Join a political party? One overrun by centrist cowards who do nothing with the own-goals they’ve been gifted by Munro’s government, or join Munro’s backwater golf club of a party run by retired ex-businessmen? Political parties are dead. I went with Antiro to force actual change.”
I have to admit, Arabella’s reasoning is sound. Whether good or bad, there’s no denying Antiro has forced change. They’ve made a loophole of the party system.
“I’m a no one. The world is so unfair. That’s why I joined Antiro. Not for the monarchy — I didn’t even care that much about it — just to have an ounce of the power that men wield so easily, using it to make God-awful decisions that affect us all. I had the tiniest sliver of power for the shortest second… and it felt like I could change the world. Belong to something bigger than me, bigger than them, than Lochkelvin, than the obscenely wealthy… I wanted to be part of a group, the way you are. I wanted to see people face justice, because God knows no one who’s bullied me ever has.”
The wind snatches Arabella’s words and tosses them straight at me. I feel responsible for her and for them, and so, in a soothing tone I insist, “You did good things with your power when you were Head Girl.” It takes effort, however, searching the back of my mind for examples of when she hadn’t been acting as a merciless dictator. “You changed the uniform for girls. Looked out for the younger students.”
But Arabella just shakes her head. “They hate me. Even my ownsidehates me.” Her voice wavers. This, above all else, seems to be Arabella’s rawest point of pain.
“Nobody hates you…”
“They’re men and they hate me.” Arabella takes a deep, shuddering breath, and I see tears glistening in her eyes. “I read the letters they sent when I went viral. The things they said they’d do to me for letting down our cause. Such poison. Vicious, sexual poison.”
I’ve heard the kinds of things said about Arabella on the radio, and her diary inferred to handwritten messages even more degrading. I shake my head. “They hate all women, it’s not just you. Their actions are on them, not you.”
Quietly, Arabella says, “You hate me.”
“No. I don’t. I wouldn’t be here if I hated you, would I? I think you wanted to do the right thing all along, and Antiro gave you hope even if it was a lie. I think you were just… lonely.”
Another rock breaks away and plummets into the sea, the vibrations rocketing through the small land mass we’re huddled on.
“You’re being nice to me,” Arabella murmurs, wiping her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“If you’d just told someone—”
“It was me, by the way, who did Operation Strikefirst. I’m the reason you were suspended. Becca and Freya, they only did a little, but I… I made sure to destroy the boys’ dorm.”
I take a deep breath. “It’s all in the past—”
“I had a key,” she blurts, the outpouring of an obsessively nursed confession. “Dr. Moncrieff gave me it. And he said I was to use it against the chiefs, because hehatedOscar Munro, and hehatedthe monarchy, and he thought it’d be poetic justice if the heirs of those positions suffered together. And then, in the end, he organized the attack on the school. He got his brother into the castle. And I wasn’t sure about it, I had my doubts we’d pull it off, but he said it’d be fine. He said everything would be fine…”
I stand, motionless and disturbed, not sure what I’m hearing. The waves crash below us like they’re shattering more rocks, and I get that topsy-turvy feeling once again. “What?”
“He arranged the whole thing with K— his brother. He knew he was camping out in the forest. They organized it together, and… I guess it worked?” Arabella looks at me with big, watery eyes. Her hair flutters like kite tails around her face. But at some point, I stopped listening, because the absolute trauma of that evening is something I’d never suspected lay at Dr. Moncrieff’s feet.
Puppets. Oscar Munro’s puppets. Because if there’s one thing I know for certain that I’m pretty sure Arabella doesn’t, it’s that Oscar Munro had been the ultimate mastermind behind the attack on Lochkelvin.
The world sloshes and slants. Games within games, men against men. I feel the need to get off this rock desperately, and for the first time since my arrival, I’m starting to think it might not be with Arabella.
“And now he has the nerve to go back on his word, after all we’ve done together, after all the guilt I’ve endured…” Arabella shakes her head, incredulous. “I don’t even recognize myself anymore.Idon’t have a way back.Idon’t have a way out.Myreputation is in tatters, it’smethey’ve crucified. But he decides Antiro’s not for him anymore and is still absolutely fine.”
“Arabella,” I say urgently, cutting through her tirade. It’s drizzling now. The clouds have dimmed the stars. “Let’s continue this elsewhere, yeah?”
“Don’t you see how phenomenallyfuckedeverything is?” Her desperate plea is a crack as loud as thunder, and she bursts into helpless tears.
I cross over to her, holding her cold, shivering frame, as she sobs wretchedly against my neck. The rain slides over her face, mingling with her tears. “I see your side making everything fucked, yes,” I inform her calmly, refusing to back down. I won’t flatter her delusions, even at this point. She has to see the truth, and I suspect she already does. “You were used. You were bullied. I’m sorry.” I squeeze her closer to me, marveling at the realization that Arabella’s shorter than me. For some reason, I’d never noticed this. She’d always paraded about, acting two feet taller than everyone around her. “But I’ll help you. Let’s get away from here, yeah? We’ll go back to the hotel and get changed out of these wet clothes. I promise, I’ll look after you.”
Arabella hesitates briefly before whispering, “Is the reason you’re with so many people because you keep taking in strays?”
I stare at her, startled. “Well, I’d rather that than be called a whore for the biggest dickheads in school.”
She laughs a little, and my heart lifts. Maybe this is the key to rescuing her — making her laugh, lightening her load. “Come on,” I urge, tugging her arm, but still Arabella remains fixed in place. I wonder if the police have reached Finlay yet, if the small town behind us is currently awash with whirling blue lights. “We should get out of the rain.” She grabs hold of my wrist, looking at me intensely, searching my eyes for something I don’t understand.
“You can trust me,” I promise, wondering if that’s her concern. “I swear I’m the best at keeping secrets.” She lets out another sad laugh as I try to lead her away, but instead she leans against me, shivering.
Her lips are almost blue from the cold. “Before I go,” she whispers, and I stare at her hard, alarmed by these three words. I shake my head, trying desperately to pull Arabella from the edge. She only digs her heels in harder, the grass beneath us turning to mud. For the first time since being here, something like panic swells inside me. “You asked me about the lockdowns. If I knew anything about what’s happening in the cities. I said I didn’t but that was a lie.”
I’m not even breathing. My blood feels heavy, curdled, in my veins. There’s nothing but the scream of the wind, the steady drip of colossal, catastrophic raindrops.
