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“All that over some stupid boy,” my father says, shaking his head.
I shake my head and take a sip of my drink. “All that over my freedom to make my own choices.”
Tomygreatdisappointmentand sadness, I don’t get to see Noah for the next few weeks. We only have a week off school for half-term, which I’m forced to spend with my father and lawyers, looking over contracts. Luckily, I also get to spend a lot of time with Luana—the one redeeming feature of being around him.
When I return to Spearcrest, the story of what happened at the gala has spread like wildfire, and I’m forced to face the consequences of my actions. The girls I used to consider friends talk about me right in front of me, barely bothering to hide their gossip behind their hands. Everyone’s pulling their weight by spreading the gossip all across social media, but I keep posting every day, refusing to let myself be bullied into deleting all my accounts like so many disgraced socialites before me.
“What’s the opposite of a gold digger?” Giselle Frossard says loudly one afternoon at the end of a class we share. “A dirt digger? A bottom feeder?”
“I think it’s just called having low self-esteem,” someone replies, to the tinkling of girly titters.
I close my eyes and remind myself of what Noah said.If I crumpled every time I took a punch, I'd never get off the ground. That gives me the strength I need to ignore them as I pack my things away.
“Do you know what having low self-esteem is?” The classroom suddenly falls silent even as everyone is getting ready to leave. “Judging other people and making fun of them because you have nothing better going on in your own life.”
I turn my eyes to the door. Cammie, with her long black hair falling on her shoulders like a superhero's cloak, is standing with her shoulder against the doorway. Her eyes fix Giselle and her hangers-on with an icy stare. They don't say anything.
“You coming, Rose?” she asks.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I saunter after her, my steps suddenly featherlight. We walk silently down the corridor for a moment, then Cammie breaks the silence.
“Ignore those bitter hags,” she says lightly. “They're all jealous because your boyfriend's making you come and their aren't.”
It's not a formal apology—but it's aCammieapology. I loop my arm through hers and toss my hair over my shoulder.
“You're not anybody until they're talking shit about you,” I say with a laugh.
“Oh great, I can't wait until it's my turn,” she says with a roll of her eyes.
A smile lurks on the corner of her mouth. I pretend to examine my nails with an over-the-top flourishing of my fingers.
“I can always ask Noah is he has any hot friends.”
“Ugh, don't start!” she exclaims, poking her elbow into my side.
But we're both smiling now. I know Cammie regrets our argument—and she knows I was also in the wrong. Neither of us needs to say it.
My friendship with Cammie is enough to keep me going for now. As for the mocking and insults… Rumours in Spearcrest are like wildfire: they spread fast and burn bright, but they are also over quickly. Once there is nothing left to consume, the fire just burns out, leaving only ashes and smoke.
I just need to wait for that to happen. And until then, I have things to worry about. Coursework, exams, university interviews. I’m expected to build a portfolio to present at interviews, so I have to work on that as well.
It keeps me busy enough to ignore the pointing, the insults, the giggles. This isn’t my real life, I remind myself.
My real life has barely started.
Oneday,I’msittingin the Arts section of the library, flipping through glossy books of watercolours and looking for inspiration for some prints, when a dark figure glides silently past my aisle, startling me.
Sophie Sutton.
Even though my life feels like it’s changed completely since the last I saw her, she hasn’t changed at all. She wears her long, thick hair in that strict middle parting of hers, her uniform free of any adornments or style, heavy black brogues on her big feet. She’s always been so tall and gangly, standing out wherever she goes.
I peer at her from around the corner of the aisle I’m standing—hiding—in. She finds a desk and sits down, setting her books and papers out in front of her. I can only see a bit of her face, but she has that serious expression she always has, like the weight of the world lies on her shoulders.
My chest feels like it’s caving in as I watch her. I think about Noah and all the jobs he has, and how he never worries about anyone judging him because, in his world, he’s just like everybody else. Just a nice, normal guy trying to get through life the best way he can.
But Sophie has to live the same life as Noah, except surrounded by people who have everything she’ll never have. People who rub their wealth and privilege in her face and shame her for having none of it.
Part of me wants to go up to Sophie, to ask for her forgiveness. But she’s probably heard about the rumours. She’d just think I was covering my tracks because I’d been caught out with a poor person of my own. She might even think I’m fetishizing my prejudices the same way Cammie does.
