“What did Val want just now?” Gideon draws me aside by the sleeve and nods toward a chair he’s been saving for me. Like Omar, he’s been on the rugby team for a few years now, and he can tell you a thing or two about what a waste of space Valentine is. Before I can fill him in on our conversation, Mr.Ward walks in.
Emma
“You have to put your phone up here during classes,” Tori explains, pointing at the little shelves where Henry and a couple of others have just left their mobiles. “Make sure it’s definitely on silent,” she adds, dumping hers in one of the pigeonholes. “Mr.Ward’s been known to punish us all if anyone gets a call or notification in class. He’s merciless.”
“Sounds like a nice guy,” I say, putting my phone on the shelf next to Tori’s.
She turns away, and I freeze. At that moment, a man walks into the room, and he’s looking right at me. His face is inscrutable, his beard perfectly trimmed. His jacket and the brown leather briefcase in his hand are seriously expensive. There’s no doubt that this is Alaric Ward, my future English teacher—and he probably heard what I just said. Shit.
Tori’s still talking, but suddenly I can’t move. He can’t be any older than Mum, but he walks with a stick and limps on his left leg. But the thing that sends an ice-cold shiver down the back of my neck is the way he looks at me. Dismissively, coldly.
Is there anything wrong with my uniform? I hastily glance down at myself, but everything’s just as it should be. When I look up again, he’s putting his briefcase on the desk. Two girls flit into the room as discreetly as possible, and one shuts the door. I turn as Tori pulls me by the hand. Silently, I follow her to a table toward the back. Mr.Ward hasn’t spoken a word, but his very presence has made everyone fall quiet.
I put my bag next to the table, but everyone else is standing up, so I don’t sit down.
“Good morning, all,” says Mr.Ward. It’s only after an almost imperceptible nod from him that everyone sits down. “And welcome to the sixth form.” He pauses. “How nice that you’ve all ventured to take A-level English.” Is it a coincidence that he’s looking at me again? “I’m sure we’re all going to have a lot of fun together.”
I gulp. When Mr.Ward turns away, I catch Henry’s eye. He and Tori were clearly right. Mr.Ward is hardly a ray of sunshine.
“Before we discuss the impending academic year, I’ll take the register,” he announces. He’s holding an iPad as he turns back to the class. “Gideon Attwell?”
“Yes.” The guy sitting next to Henry bobs up, then sits down again.
“Henry Bennington?” Mr.Ward sounds mildly irritated.
“Here.”
“Where else?” He doesn’t even glance at Henry as he ticks off his name. The same procedure is repeated twelve times, and in the end, I seem to be the only one left. But Mr.Ward doesn’t read out my name. He looks up from the iPad and directly at me.
Should I stand up? Should I have introduced myself at the start of the lesson, or is there some other process for new pupils? Have I forgotten something among all the new information that Ms.Barnett gave me yesterday? Oh, please, God, no, I should’ve asked Henry if...
“You’re the spitting image of your father.”
At first, I wonder if I’ve just imagined Mr.Ward’s voice. But as the others turn toward me, I’m sure he did say that. Heat builds in my cheeks as I frantically wonder what to say.
“Jacob Wiley... He is your father, yes?” Mr.Ward sounds almost mocking now.
“Yes, sir,” I manage. “He is.”
“I presume that you grew up in Germany with your mother. Correct, Ms.Wiley? Your accent is unmistakable,” he continues. “Not that you’re the only one, of course—thisisan international school, after all.” He doesn’t go into it any further, but it’s clear what he thinks of that.
My blood runs cold. He’s so rude. I’d like to reply, but my mind’s gone blank.
“You understand that this is A-level English? ‘A’ foradvanced. I only teach the best of the best here, and there will be no time to deal with comprehension problems.” Mr.Ward turns away, and I see Henry open his mouth in outrage. “All right, Mr.Bennington, there’s no need for any commentary from you. I’m quite sure that Ms.Wiley will need only a little extra tutoring to keep up. You appear all too keenly aware of your duties as school captain.” He looks back at me. “Ms.Wiley, what did you last read in Germany?” He narrows his eyes slightly. “In school, that is.”
Someone laughs.
I want to get out of here. I just want to get out of here.
“Have you studiedThe Picture of Dorian Gray?” he asks when I say nothing.
“No,” I admit.
“Very well.” Mr.Ward clicks his tongue. “It looks like you’ll have some catching up to do. We did some A-level preparation after GCSEs last year, so you’ll have to ask your classmates what you need to read. Alternatively, you still have time to switch courses. It’s your decision.”
“No, thank you. I’m sure I can cope. We covered a lot of English literature at home. Although I hope that here, we won’t just study books by dead white men.”
For a moment you could hear a pin drop.
