I glance around, then press the latch and climb the narrow spiral staircase. It’s chilly up on the roof, but bearable with the last rays of the setting sun. I sit beneath the low parapet, which shields me from the wind. The view from up here is my favorite, but—more importantly—I only know this place because Maeve showed me. I remember sitting up here beside her when I was in the first form and homesick every night.
Do you know why you can’t see all the way to Mum and Dad from up here?Maeve had asked, staring hard into the distance. It was a clear day and you could see across the rooftops of Ebrington to the sea.Because the Earth is curved. But maybe, right now, we’re standing in the exact same place as them, except that they’re on the other side of the world.
Back then, I didn’t see any reason to doubt her words, so I believed them. I still believe it in some way, even though I know perfectly well that her geography was way out. Surely it’s New Zealand on the other side of the world, not Africa.You’re such a spoilsport, Henny, Maeve said when I told her that, a few years later. But she’d been smiling, so I smile too. I think about Mum and Dad, working a hemisphere away to save lives. I think aboutMaeve, who’d done the same. I think that although it’s still not fair, at least she died while living her dream. She did the thing she’d been working toward all those years. It wasn’t for nothing. Nothing was ever for nothing.
I lean my head against the wall and study the rooftops and turrets of the school, behind which the sun has set. It’s only then that I look down at the paper.
I like to imagine myself as a bridge. I have always found it easy to be a go-between, a link. That is probably because I have two brothers, one younger and one older. Oh, the neglected middle child, you’re probably thinking, but the fact is I have never felt neglected. On the contrary. Because I am always in the middle of the sandwich, I have someone to learn from and someone to pass things on to.
This is exactly why I want to be a doctor. I would like to be a bridge to get medicine to the people who need it. I would like to learn to help others. At this point, I could write about how fascinated I am by the human body and the miraculous way the heart beats and the mind thinks. That would all be true, but I think it is the most basic prerequisite for wanting to do this job. And I am aware that there are very many young people who want that. But those are not the only reasons why I am a good candidate. My reasons are the people I was lucky enough to meet as a child. Thanks to my parents, I grew up in eight different countries. I therefore speak six languages, three of them fluently. They also acted as bridges between me and my surroundings. They enabled me to satisfy my curiosity and expand my knowledge. Going to a boarding school has taught me to be independent, to take responsibility for myselfand my brothers, and also for my fellow pupils through my work in the sick bay and on the peer mediation team.
I keep reading Maeve’s words about her A levels and the volunteering she did during the holidays. It feels like a part of her that I can hold on to.
I like to imagine myself as a bridge.
That really was Maeve. A bridge-builder, a mediator, the person I always wanted to tell everything to. And she always will be.
I lower the paper and look up into the sunset-painted sky. Maeve never saw me play in my first rugby match; she won’t be there for my prom or able to show me around St. Andrews in my first year. And that hurts, but this pain has belonged to me for a while now, just as Maeve always will. I will no longer fight it. I will live with it. Today’s a day when I’m confident that I can do this.
38
Emma
“Purple, same as last time?” Sinclair asks as Tori slips through the heavy curtains into my changing room with another floor-length evening dress.
“Shut up,” she yells, then lowers her voice to ask me, “Does this color clash with my hair?” She holds the fabric up to her long, coppery locks, and I immediately shake my head.
“I love it,” I declare. “Definitely try that one.”
“I will. Could you...?”
I nod and unzip the dress she’s wearing.
“Em?” I hear Henry’s voice from outside. The short green dress I’m in looks hideous, so I just stick my head through the curtains. “Blue?” he asks, holding out a long dress in a dark Oxford blue. “I think it would match my suit. Or would that look silly? I could...”
“No.” I grab the dress. “I’ll try it on. Thanks.”
“God, he’s taking this so seriously,” murmurs Tori as I pull the curtains properly closed again. “Unlike a certain head teacher’s son.”
“Do you two know we can hear you?”
“Shut it and get me a dress as stunning as this one,” says Tori, holding Henry’s dress up to me experimentally. Her lips form a silent “Wow!”
“I don’t even know what you’re looking for,” yells Sinclair.
“Just think,What would Harry Styles wear?and you’ll be right every time.”
I hear Henry’s quiet laugh and Sinclair muttering something as he heads back out among the rails. Tori and I slip into our dresses. She doesn’t seem particularly satisfied with her choice, but when I glance into the mirror, she puts both thumbs up.
“Show them,” she whispers, giving me a shove out through the curtains. I almost stumble over the length of it, and stop outside the changing room where I can see myself in the mirror. And oh, it really is pretty. It fits perfectly, and the color makes my eyes bluer. I twist to one side slightly. Sometimes you don’t know what you’re looking for until you’ve found it. This dress is the one. I can’t remember ever having worn anything so elegant.
Henry’s sitting in one of the armchairs beside the mirror and looks up from his phone. He opens his mouth but says nothing. His dark-green eyes wander from my face to my body and back again.
“He’s speechless but would like to inform you that he finds you extremely hot.”
I laugh. “Thanks, Sinclair.”
Henry has stood up. He wipes his hands on his trousers as he comes closer. “Does it feel good?” he asks.
