“Just to let you know, the lovely Leo says she came out of class very unhappy.”
My nose scrunches. “ThelovelyLeo?”
“Yeah.” She smiles softly. “I think he’s really sweet.”
“No, Prim. Don’t even think about it,” I say, flipping the diary closed.
“I wasn’t asking for permission.” She sighs. “But then, neither is he.”
“What?”
“He hasn’t asked me out or anything.”
“Good.” Because that would be awkward. I’d probably turn into Raif. Minus the jealous, of course.
“Daiz really doesn’t look herself. She didn’t even want to get ice cream.”
“Oof. Serious grumps, then.” Pulling open my desk drawer, I drop the diary inside. “I’m coming.”
“Hey, Daisy-do.” I flop onto the reception sofa next to her. On the other side of the sofa is her red blazer and straw boater hat. Her black shoes shine as though they’d just been taken out of the box, her white ankle socks still pristine. Polly used to say that when I came back from a day at school, I looked like a crow that had been stuck in a chimney. “Bad day at school, lovely?”
“It was okay,” she says in a tiny voice.
“You don’t look very happy for someone who had an okay day. Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head, refusing to look at me.
“Sometimes things seem much worse when they’re all bottled up inside. It can help to share a problem, to let all the icky stuff out.”
Another headshake, this one a little more adamant. “I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to go back to school.”
“Oh, I hear you on that,” I say, sliding wisps of her blond hair away. “School wasnotmy favorite place. But you like school, don’t you? You have nice friends and a nice teacher.”
“I just don’t want to go back.” Her whisper sounds harsh, her feet frantically bouncing over the edge of the sofa.
“Well, I suppose if you don’t want to go anymore, you’re going to need to give a reason.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, looking up.
“You can’t just say you don’t feel like it.” I shrug.
“You mean, I can justnotgo to school?”
“You could get a job, I suppose.”
“You’ve got to go to school. It’s the law. Uncle Raif said so.”
“Did he? He’s probably right.”
“He usually is.”
“Would you like to talk to him?”
Her gaze darts away. “He can’t help.”
“I bet he can. He’s very resourceful.”
“He can’t. And neither can you.”
