I turn away and look out of the window.“Whatever.”
“And you’ll see each other just as much as before.”
Right.Till they do their A levels at the end of the year and leave Dunbridge.Without me.
I gulp, but don’t reply.There’s no point.I know when it’s not worth arguing with Mum and Dad anymore.They made this decision without me.I can’t do a thing about it.Not while I’mseventeen, at least.Which is another seven weeks exactly.So the end’s in sight.It won’t be long before my parents have no say and I can make my own decisions.Seven weeks.Not forever.I have to tell myself that over and over.
Dad turns into the driveway and drives through the gate onto the cobbles of the Dunbridge inner courtyard, and my heart is starting to hammer.It just is.I can’t stop it.I’m suddenly only too aware that this is the first time I’ve been here since the summer.The first time since my entire life went up in flames.
My eyes are drawn straight to the west wing.My body goes numb as I catch sight of the scaffolding over the facade.The dark-brick walls are covered with a semitransparent plastic sheet emblazoned with the name of the company doing the repair work.It’s kind of a miracle that the fire brigade got the flames under control before they spread to the other wings.The damage is manageable.The school reopened in time for the start of term, although the tragedy meant that the hundredth-anniversary celebrations didn’t go ahead as planned when the new academic year began in August.They’ve been postponed until next summer.How thoughtful, how extremely tactful to forgo a glittering party, seeing as I was onlynearlykilled and nobody but me was seriously hurt.A wee bit of smoke inhalation among the few fourth- and fifth-formers who were still in the west wing at the time.The only other damage was to property.And to my heart, now thumping because I can’t tear my eyes off this building.I was in there.I could have died.That feels so unbelievable now that I just can’t grasp it, and although I spent weeks in hospital thinking about it, it feels like I’ve had no time to come to terms with anything.
“Olive.”I jump as Dad takes my hand.I immediately snatch it back.I’ve got nothing to say to him because apparently anything that matters in my life can be decided over my head now.“Please don’t be angry, pet.”
The sympathy in his voice makes it almost impossible for me not to cry.So I have to focus on the rage.Anger is better than helplessness.Anger drives you; helplessness holds you back.And I can’t be held back anymore.I was paralyzed long enough.I can’t go back to those seconds I was standing on our corridor, waiting for my flight reflex to kick in.I have to get a grip on life again.
I reach for the door handle and pain shoots down my arm.I still haven’t learned that my shoulder is not OK with sudden movements.Everything is still sore—the grafted skin is supersensitive, and the scarring restricts my mobility.But sure, I was lucky that the burns aren’t even bigger.They cover the area from my right collarbone, over my shoulder to my chest.I’ve often seen myself in the mirror since then.With the bandages at first and then without them.I wanted to, but I never cried.I studied my body, but I think part of me still hasn’t twigged that that’s really me.Still, I’ve got loads of time to accept that at my leisure now.In the lower sixth, on my own, without my friends.
Dad looks at me as we get out of the car.He opens the boot but doesn’t speak again.He takes the only bag I’ve got.I didn’t need much stuff in the hospital, and most of my things are still here.By some miracle, the rooms at the far end of the west wing were undamaged.The fire mainly spread through the lower floors and the stairs.But that means the girls’ dorm wing is largely unusable.Mrs.Sinclair and the houseparents must have had a job findingplaces for everyone in the fourth to the upper sixth to sleep in the meantime.Some rooms in the new block have been turned into temporary dorms for the fourth-formers, and people in the south wing have had to budge up to make room for the fifth.And the impossible has happened—the sixth-formers have been moved into the east wing.Yep, with the lads!
There’s never been anything like it in the history of Dunbridge.I can hear Tori’s excited voice as if it was yesterday.She came to see me in hospital the moment she was allowed, and she and Grace spent more time with me than anyone else.Thanks to them, I know that the boys in the east wing have been moved around so that the whole third floor is now home to girls in the lower and upper sixth.The larger single rooms have been made into twins, and though it’s bulging at the seams, nobody’s had to be housed outside the school grounds.Henry’s sharing a room with Gideon, and Charlie Sinclair’s currently the only boy with one of the new twin rooms to himself, greatly to Tori’s joy.She’s sharing with Emma.
It feels all kinds of wrong to turn right through the arcades into the east wing, instead of the west as I’ve always done.It’s Sunday evening and everyone’s already had dinner.The juniors are running around the second courtyard behind the old church, which is now the dining room, as if this school had never been on fire only a few months ago.Is it possible that everyone but me has already forgotten the disaster because the sun’s shining and life’s good?Am I being melodramatic?Difficult?If so, then I’m sorry, but I think I have a right to be.
Little groups of pupils wander toward us, people say hello andstare at me, then whisper to each other.I can hear them behind us, all the way along the arcade.Dad walks slowly, regularly glancing doubtfully at me.
“What?”I mutter, because I can’t deal with his worries.Like I can’t deal with not being the same person I was before the fire.My dad’s seen me cry—with pain, with despair, after nightmares that were worse than the reality.He’s seen me at my absolute lowest.The fear that this image of me is now seared on his mind, replacing the one of the old Olive, is driving me crazy.The old Olive who managed on her own.It’s high time to change that.
“I’ll text you if I need anything,” I declare as we reach the foot of the east-wing stairs.I see the disappointment on my father’s face as he realizes what I mean by that.
“I thought I’d just bring your bag up to your room, pet.”
I take it from him.“No need.”It’s heavier than I thought, but I don’t let that show.It’s important for him to see that it’s not too soon for me to be back at school, the way he constantly fears.“Thanks for the lift.”
Dad hesitates.“Olive, are you sure you...?”
“Yeah,” I lie, “Tori’s waiting for me.She’ll give me a hand.”
He doesn’t need to know that that’s not true.I did message Tori while we were on our way to school, but she hasn’t answered.She’s probably with Sinclair.I’ll find out soon enough.
“Don’t forget that you’re meeting Mrs.Sinclair tomorrow morning.”
I bite back a hollow laugh.How could I forget that?That I’m meant to sit in the head’s office, like a little kid, to discuss how I’m going to manage back in the lower sixth.What wouldhappen if I just joined my pals in class?Would they drag me out and chain me to my desk?Or suspend me if I won’t play ball?
Seven weeks, Olive...Then this problem will be a thing of the past.
“I won’t forget.”I put my foot on the bottom step.“See you.”
“See you tomorrow, love.Call any time you need us.”
I turn away so that Dad won’t see me fighting to stay composed.
Why would I need you?I mean, seriously.Even Dad can’t do anything about the nightmares.
I walk up the stairs in silence.I can’t remember when I last did anything entirely alone, unaccompanied by nurses, physios, medical students, visiting friends or parents.And now I know why.After just two flights of stairs, my heart is pumping so hard in my chest that there’s a moment I’m scared it’ll stop.I wish I could sit down.But I can’t show weakness.Least of all now that I can hear voices and footsteps at the bottom of the stairwell.
The corridor on the third floor of the east wing looks almost exactly the same as in the west, but it still feels weird to walk into it.Most of the doors are shut and it’s quiet, which might be because dinner’s only just finished and people like to hang around a wee while before coming up to their rooms to get ready for wing time.Besides, it’s Sunday.Anyone who goes home for the weekend generally gets back as late as possible to have as long as they can with their families.
Arriving now isn’t the least bit like coming back after the summer holidays when all the corridors are crowded with pupils, their luggage, and confused-looking parents.My academic yearmight only be starting now, but everyone else has been back for yonks.And nobody’s here to meet me.
