Sophie couldn’t bear to look. She was just going to stare in the opposite direction and wait until Delphine told her. While she didn’t know, there was still a chance … The voices rose, screams of “Lucky you!” or “That will teach you to be rude in geography!” rolled around her. The tension was unbearable.
“Well?” She nudged Delphine’s back. “Where are we going?”
Delphine got as far as saying, “Cooking Country-Style —” when the bell rang for the start of classes.
Sophie’s heart sank. A familiar feeling of disappointment. She was so stupid to have thought anything beautiful or even different would happen in her life.
“Bad luck,” Marianne said, looking sympathetic.
Sophie turned away — and was confronted by Mr. Tweedie, no longer looking remotely understanding.
“I meant it, Sophie,” he said, his voice strict. “Change your sweater!”
“Mr. Tweedie!” Sophie and the deputy head jumped as the figure of Mrs. Sharman, the headmistress, strode toward them, the embodiment of female determination, excellence, and academic achievement. Her highlighted hair was blow-dried into enormous flicky curls that the morning’s rain had done nothing to deflate. Accompanying her was a tall, thin woman wearing a silk headscarf and improbably large sunglasses.
Mrs. Sharman launched a brief professional smile, like a rocket, at Mr. Tweedie. “Could you spare me one of your girls? Delphine, perhaps?”
“Girls? Girls?” the deputy head replied in confusion, as if, in a school full of them, he had never heard of such a thing as a “girl.”
Mrs. Sharman, extending her smile, nodded graciously at this hapless example of the more feeble gender. “To give our prospective parent here a tour of the school, of course!” she cried, waving her hand loosely in the direction of the visitor. “Mrs…. Mrs….” The woman said nothing, and merely examined her nails, which Sophie noticed with fascination were painted navy blue. Mrs. Sharman pursed her lips in irritation.
Sophie said, “Delphine’s gone to physics.”
The headmistress’s head swiveled to take in the child who had spoken without being spoken to.
Sophie swallowed. “I could go and get her for you.”
Mrs. Sharman gasped. Her eyes widened. “Sophie!” She managed to make the name sound like a curse. “Your sweater!”
Mr. Tweedie cleared his throat. “We were just discussing the sweater …”
Mrs. Sharman pulled Sophie’s arm toward her as if it were a scientific specimen. “There areactual holes!”
“I’ll change,” Sophie mumbled.
“You most certainly will!” the headmistress snapped. It was clear that she was not just referring to the sweater. She dropped Sophie’s arm and clamped the professional smile back in place. “Bring me Delphine! I will see you later, Sophie Smith.”
“Sophie Smith?” The visitor turned sharply, peering over her sunglasses at Sophie. Her eyes, Sophie saw, were enormous and very pale blue, surrounded by feathery lashes. The voice was rich and low.
Sophie felt her cheeks burning as the woman looked her up and down, taking in everything, including the holes in her sweater. Oh, why hadn’t she looked in Lost and Found before breakfast? But just as she turned to go, the visitor’s hand shot out and clutched her elbow. Sophie looked up. The pale blue eyes were fixed on her. Unless she wrenched her arm out of the woman’s grasp, she was stuck.
“I am happy withthisyoung lady …”
“Oh, you don’t wanther.” The headmistress frowned. “She is not the pupil for you.” When the woman didn’t let go of Sophie’s elbow, as expected, Mrs. Sharman explained. “We have a very few places at New Bloomsbury College for Young Ladies for students who are onreduced fees.”She mouthed the last two words as if this might somehow spare Sophie’s feelings. “Due tofamily circumstances…” She raised her eyebrows, implying this would explain Sophie’s orphan status, her unbrushed hair, and the holes in her sweater. “We take our charitable status very seriously! However, I must stress that the majority of girls at New Bloomsbury College come from impeccable families.”
The woman seemed to consider what Mrs. Sharman had said. Then she smiled slowly. She included Mr. Tweedie in this gift, and Sophie noticed with astonishment that he blushed. The visitor bent toward him like a heavy tulip and, lightly touching his arm, said in her exotically accented English, “We seeyourclassroom?”
Mr. Tweedie stammered something, and the headmistress hissed, “It might be better if you started with the science labs. But Sophie is not available. She has a class.”
“Sophie Smith is girl for me!” the woman laughed. “We will make good team!” Still gripping Sophie’s elbow, she maneuvered her toward the door to the playground. “He has stopped raining! Now I see ground where youplay!”
Sophie glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Tweedie’s face was looking crumpled again, and Mrs. Sharman’s smile had vanished, her mouth a perfect O.
Then Sophie felt herself pushed through the door, the visitor’s hand firmly in the middle of her back.
They stepped into the cramped courtyard that passed for a playground. The woman seemed to forget Sophie immediately. She took off her sunglasses, opened her bag, and got out a pack of cigarettes. The box had a large red heart on it, and the wordKiss.
“Oh, but you can’t smoke!” Sophie gasped.
