“You can’t hesitate.”
She tears her eyes away and wraps the thick fabric around her right hand.When she lifts her arm, she flinches slightly.And then she hesitates again.
I can feel her fighting with herself.Breathing hard, jutting her chin.But she does nothing.
“Accident,” she says suddenly.
It takes me a moment, but then I realize she’s answering my question.
“It was an accident.”
Aha.That old classic.Lose focus for one moment and bang go your dreams.Pity.
“Oh, OK,” I say.“Yeah, I’d be mad too.”
She gulps and stares back at the case like she could smash the glass just with her eyes.And I’d believe that.
“Were you good?”
She laughs.It’s a dry, arrogant laugh, and I like it.“I was the best.”
“Ouch.”
She lowers her arm.
“And now you don’t know who you are anymore,” I say.
Her shoulders start to shake.“It’s so fucking unfair,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Yeah.”
“Why did it have to be me?”
My throat constricts slightly.“Yeah, why you?”
As she turns back to me, I wrench my eyes off her face and reach for the sweater.I can feel the pressure in my chest.I can feelhertension.I know it’s not going away, but I also know that the first time is the hardest.
“You need to break something, or the anger’s gonna break you,” I say, and then I do it for her, without a second’s hesitation.The girl jumps back as the glass shatters and rains down on the floor.Relief floods through me, along with adrenaline.I can tell by her shocked face that she feels the same way.She stares at the case and then at me.I shake the glass out of my hoodie and reach for her arm with my other hand.
I don’t know if it’s wise to run back in the direction I came.I only know that we have to be out of here when the lights go on.Of course, I could just wait here to be caught, which might be the quickest way of getting kicked out on the spot, but now it occurs to me that my mom’s only an hour and a half away by plane, so she’d pop right back up to smooth everything over with a few dollar bills, then have me straight on a plane to Zurich, where the next boarding school would be waiting for me.I need a plan that’ll leave her with no choice but to let me come back to New York.
All those thoughts come up as we creep along the dark corridors.We stop on some stairs, the ones I just came down.Her accident can’t have been long ago because as we climb them, I see that my nameless fellow student is struggling.When I glance over, she’s gripping the banister, but her face is like flint.She hesitates as we reach the third floor.She looks at me, and my heart races.It’s dark.I’m alive.
“Thanks,” she says, then vanishes through the heavy door onto her wing.Downstairs, the light goes on.
6
Olive
I made it back to my room without being caught, and although I was churned up after my encounter with that guy, I must have fallen asleep eventually.It wasn’t restful sleep, though: I dreamed of breaking glass and screaming, with nobody hearing me over the noise of the flames.
I woke up dripping with sweat and was still feeling shaky half an hour later, during the morning assembly; I still am, even now that I’m sitting with the others for breakfast.
Of course, the smashed display case is the hot topic this morning.I felt like a traitor sitting motionless in my row as Mrs.Sinclair informed us all very seriously that vandalism would not be tolerated at Dunbridge Academy.She was disappointed that the culprits hadn’t owned up to their actions.Maybe it was coincidence that her eyes rested on me as her gaze swept over all our heads.Or maybe she knows me only too well and can put two and two together.But it’s not even true.She should have been aiming that reproachful look at the new lad, not me.Because, yeah, I was seriously raging, but I’d never have donethat.He did it, and I didn’t ask him to.But I can’t tell her that because I don’t want to grass on him.So I sat out the assembly and sneaked a glance around, but I couldn’t see display-case boy anyway.I didn’t see him afterward as we went for breakfast either.I followed my friends to the upper-sixth table like I still belong there.I feel like I’m playing a part, yet most of my former classmates don’t seem to know that I’m repeating the lower sixth.They wave to me, look genuinely happy that I’m back.My friends’ eyes weigh heavily on me, as do Mr.Acevedo’s.He’s on table duty today, but he doesn’t order me to join the lower sixth.I guess I should be grateful for this last period of grace, but I’m not.I’m just angry.
And my anger grows as I find I’m scanning the tables for him.The lad from last night.He’s not here.Or so I think, but after a while he strolls in, way late, and everyone turns to look at him.Because he’s new, and tall.His brown hair is still damp, and he’s got broad shoulders.He’s wearing jeans and a black hoodie, and there’s the fiercest scowl I’ve ever seen across his face.He looks a wee bit bleary and knackered, but there’s a remorseless expression in his chestnut-brown eyes that kind of goes with his razor-sharp jawline.He really stands out amid all the pleated skirts and dark blazers.We might have managed to overturn the strictly gendered uniform policy before the summer holidays, but we still have to wear full uniform on Mondays and special occasions.It felt weird to put on my pale trousers instead of the skirt this morning, and not to be told off by any of the teachers.
Gender-neutral uniform is one thing, but turning up to class or a meal in ordinary clothes is quite another.We’re only allowedto wear them at the weekend or after study hour during the week, which is the official end of the school day.
