You too...
It’s what everyone thinks. That I’ll work my arse off, get straight A stars, so that I can take my pick of offers from Oxford or Cambridge colleges. But it’s not like that.
“Olive and I went down there during the holidays and looked round St. Hilda’s. The college is dreamy, Henry.”
St. Andrews is lovely too... But I don’t say that. Because we’ve had this conversation too often already. Because I don’t want Grace to make any decisions for my sake that’ll make her unhappy. Even if I don’t want to think about what that means for us.
“I really think I could get in,” she says as I pull her onto my lap.
“Of course you will. Your grades are good, and Ms.Kelleher will write you a great reference.”
“Yes.” She swallows. “But—”
“It’s what you want,” I interrupt.
“And you’re really set on St. Andrews? I mean, you could put Oxford down too, keep your options open.”
“Grace,” I say quietly, but she’s still talking.
“I get that you want to be near Maeve and Theo. But...” I know exactly what she wants to ask. Don’t I want to be near her too? And of course I do. I really do. But maybe not quite enough. I don’t even know. Because, yeah, Grace is part of my life, and I can’t imagine not being with her, but at the same time, when I think about my future, I don’t know if I see us both there. I just know that Grace wants to get away. From Ebrington, from Scotland. And I don’t. I’ve been on the move long enough, and I’ve finally arrived here.
I raise my head and see it all in her amber eyes. Those few nights when I secretly slept over with her and we painted a picture of moving in together after school. She was going to study history and politics and I’d do English or biology. Everything would be weird and unfamiliar—leaving school, starting at uni—but we’d conquer this new world together.
I brush a hair off her face. “We don’t have to decide anything for ages yet.” I don’t know why I say that. And I don’t know why Grace nods. We’ve known each other six years. And we’ve been together for three. Three years, and sometimes I get the feeling we’ve kind of run out of things to say. After all, there’s only somuch you can talk about when your everyday lives are practically identical and you have all the same friends. But that’s probably normal. Normal for things sometimes to feel more like a habit than a relationship. To keep having the same conversations and the same arguments too, these days. If we argue at all. Sometimes I’m afraid it’s all gone too flat even for that. OK, I can’t think about this anymore. It’s driving me crazy. But I can’t admit to her that I’m not seriously considering Oxford, that I can’t see myself changing my mind. We know each other through and through. We know when the other is lying. Grace knows that. I know that. And we ought to talk all this through, even if it’s uncomfortable, and it’s bound to hurt a lot. I really wish I could just change the subject now...
“Hey, did you see that Ms.Buchanan’s wearing a wedding ring now?” Grace asks.
9
Emma
I don’t know where the time’s gone as my first week at Dunbridge Academy draws to an end. It’s Friday, my lessons are over for the week, and now it’s considerably quieter in the corridors. The day pupils have gone home and a lot of the boarders seem to have left for the weekend too.
“Have you made any friends?” Mum asks.
It’s the first time we’ve Skyped since I arrived last Sunday. I nod and lean back against the wall beside my bed as I place my laptop on my lap. “I get on really well with Tori, in the room next door,” I tell her. “We’re in some of the same classes and she’s shown me everything this week.”
“That’s great, darling.” Mum smiles.
“Everyone else is really nice too. Especially...” Especially Henry. Henry, who I spend more hours a day thinking about than is probably good for me. Will he be here over the weekend? Or will he spend the days with Grace?
“Uh-huh? So who’s ‘everyone else,’ then?” Mum asks casually.
Obviously she’s seen right through me. “A few others in my tutor group. Tori, Olive, Henry, Sinclair...”
“Sinclair? Like the head teacher?” Mum asks.
“Yes, he’s her son. Do you know her?”
“No, not really. She was a year or two older than me, but I spoke to her on the phone when they offered you a place. It’s nice that she came back to the school.”
“Yes. I like her.”
“So how are lessons? Is Mr.Ringling still there?” Mum asks.
“Yes,” I say, in astonishment. “Henry has biology with him, and I had him for PSHE yesterday.”
“How nice. Say hello to him for me—he might remember me. He was new to the school in my day.”
