Courtney is slumped over her books, legs folded in a basket for too long, they should be numb if not sore, but she turns into a statue.
And all I can see is Dray reaching out to stop Grandmother’s cane from striking me.
It’s all getting too real, too serious—too close.
This is the only scheme I’ve thought up.
The only door to an escape I’ve found.
It might not be the best one, but it might just be the only one.
The question is, what am I willing to sacrifice?
Courtney folds the textbook over, then slides out a sheet of paper from under it.
“The tagline,” I start, “can be…Where you see bullies turned friends, I see a cage of witches I can’t escape. I see my future—trapped with my enemies.”
Courtney doesn’t prompt me.
Doesn’t speak a word, probably scared to spook me into silence, into changing my mind.
But I can’t let myself drown in the fear of consequences. I need to spin this interview, this article, into an angle that works for me.
Make Dray look desperate.
Make him look needy for me.
Obsessed.
Pathetic.
The way I made Mildred look in the grand parlour, the way everyone laughed at her because of what I said—that is what I need to do to Dray.
I need to back him into a corner, where his only option is to save face—and walk away from me.
Thatis my way out.
The key was never to get Father to reject Dray’s offer, it was never for me to pick another suitor.
The key has always been to getDrayto end it.
14
Walnut desks are stroked through the draughty classroom.
Eric Harling moves between them, lowering marked assignments in front of every student he passes. He started moments ago, at the back of the classroom, working his way to the front.
The cordial pace of his brogues is almost soothing on the wooden floorboards; the fluttering of parchment through the air is soft, and blends with his lecture.
It’s soothing.
I sink deeper into my wooden chair. It creaks with my movements.
Courtney tosses me an annoyed look.
In the chair next to me, she’s slouched over, looking like the Hunchback of Bluestone.
My mouth purses as I run my gaze over her curved spine, her inwards shoulders, the frantic scribbling of her pen over paper, desperately trying to keep up with Eric’s lecture.
