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Dr. Moncrieff might have woken up but his pigtailed protégée refuses to. Even in the days following our talk in the library, Arabella never ceases her Antiro love-fest. I pass her on the stairs, noting her disgruntled look at me, and the bigAscrawled across her hand resting on the banister. It looks as though she’s taken a leaf out of Finlay’s book, with ink stretching all across her skin.
“Why aren’t you in class?” she barks.
I roll my eyes as I pass her. “Go scream at a book.”
It’s become something of a Lochkelvin legend, that time when Arabella blew a fuse so completely she started arguing with books. The gremlins never fail to bring it up in Arabella’s presence, re-enacting it by shouting and falling about laughing at Arabella’s inevitable clench-jawed reaction. It makes me think that bullies can be brought down a peg by just outright laughing at them. There’s something about their inflated self-importance that means they always lack a sense of humor, especially when their ego is pricked in public. Arabella is no different. I haven’t seen her laugh once all year.
Humor is such a valuable quality in these crazy political times that, during our nightly meet-ups, I find myself actually enjoying the crass mockery within The Daily Toot. It’s refreshing. I find joy in their gleeful hammering of the usual suspects: Benji, Oscar Munro, the BRP, and Ponsonby. They run photo comic strips of each of them with entertainingly silly speech bubbles. I find that if I ignore all the half-naked women cluttering up the rest of the newspaper, The Daily Toot becomes a ground-breaking source of satire. No other publication is writing the things they do, and even their long-form articles are witty and incisive.
Also, some nights I don’t ignore the women. Some nights I find them hot.
I add to my mental wishlist my favorite lingerie pieces I’ve seen modeled. It makes me imagine wearing something more exciting than a plain black cotton bra.
There are only a few months left of Lochkelvin, and then I’m free — to do and wear and be whatever the hell I want. Albeit in a crazy dictatorship during something like a civil war, but still. Liberty only exists outside Lochkelvin. No more blazers and scratchy tights, no single beds and lonely nights. To run away and taste freedom… no wonder Finlay left. The whole year seems to have been infected by exam madness.
“And they say the male of the species is bad,” Rory drawls, observing me from underneath his swept blond hair. He raises a fair eyebrow and nods across at The Daily Toot. “Ogling women now, Weir? Should D-boy and I pack up?”
I flick the page, trying to disguise the twitch of my mouth. “You could always remind mewhyyou’re here, Munro.” And to help him get the ball rolling, I slowly uncross my legs.
Danny glances between us, trying to get a feel for the seriousness of our conversation. When Rory and I fail to contain our laughter, I believe he concludes we’re both a sandwich short of a picnic.
“Board needs updating,” Rory murmurs, standing from his chair and crossing over to the chalkboard. The date of the exam is stretched across it and underlined three times, while underneath are the topics Dr. Moncrieff recommends we study. I watch Rory pick up a piece of chalk and draw an exaggerated loveheart. He finishes it off by circling it with the initials of the chiefs, mine in the center.
I raise an eyebrow. “Moncrieff’s going to see that, you know.”
But Rory just shrugs. “Let him. Let them all see. I don’t care.” He sits on the surface of one of the wooden desks, polished black shoes brushing the stone floor. “If they’re going to thrash me every day, I’m done pretending to be a good student.”
“You got itagain?” Danny asks in disbelief.
In response, Rory raises his wrists. There’s a tinge of pride when he says, “Don’t even feel it anymore.”
“I haven’t had anything,” I say, feeling a strange combination of guilt and relief. If I could take away Rory’s pain, I would. “Not since the first time.”
“Baxter’s fully aware of who the arsehole of the chiefs is, and as badass as you both are, it isn’t either of you. She still thinks she can get information about Luke out of me.” He bites his lip in thought as he focuses on the loveheart. “I think she’s been waiting a long time to do this. Woman’s got a lot of hate to get out her system.”
“I got information today from Moncrieff,” I say slowly, and Rory turns from the board to look at me. “We were discussing the Miller case and he said something about free speech.” I frown, trying to recall it word for word. “Something like, ‘If you aren’t allowed to say anything other than support, then nobody’s able to say a fucking thing.’”
Rory stares at me. “He said that?Him?”
“Yeah.”
“Our teachers canswear?” Danny asks, sounding like his whole worldview has shattered.
“He’s kidding himself if he thinks he hasn’t been part of it,” Rory murmurs. “He’s practically smothered debate inside his own classroom. But I guess it’s about time he stopped humping the fence — his arse must be on fire from all those splinters.”
Quietly, I suggest, “Maybe we should do something to show we approve?” It’d be worth doing something nice for him, to make him realizeoursideisn’t the violent festival of hate that the media and Antiro paint us.
“Like what?” Rory asks. “He can’t stand me.”
I stand up, taking the chalk from Rory’s fingers. “Danny, can you draw something? His face, maybe? With a crown?”
Danny frowns in thought, then crosses over to the chalkboard. Carefully, he outlines a border away from any writing, and the sound of chalk scraping against the board fills the air. As Danny meticulously sketches, Dr. Moncrieff’s face begins to emerge. It looks detailed, professional, and somehow reminiscent of a British stamp. The soft chalk strokes bring his features to life — shrewd eyes and the faint smile he indulges me with whenever I over-egg a point.
Danny’s talent lies in portraiture; he captures faces so well, dappling them with light on one side and allowing shadows to loom on the other. I watch in fascination as Dr. Moncrieff materializes on the board from nothing but chalkdust.
“He wasn’tbrave,” Rory harrumphs, still looking unimpressed. “From what you say, he whispered it and ran away.”
“You know in the current climate eventhinkingsomething like that is brave. Not everyone’s a natural-born rebel, and the consequences for him, with Arabella… I mean, he’s Benji’sbrother. It’s huge.”
