Boarding School Girls Page 9

  ‘But we need him!’ I say. ‘We require a male Lower Sixth Council member as Head Boy-elect. Should I talk to him?’

  ‘You could try,’ Avery says. ‘But it’s best to keep a six-foot distance. He carries an electric cattle prod, and he can be quite jumpy.’

  ‘So who’s going to be Head Boy next year?’ I ask. ‘We need a new Council member.’

  ‘In the circumstances, we have permission to look outside the Council for a candidate,’ says Ambrose. ‘I’m sure we’ll find someone just as charismatic as Eric.’

  ‘You might consider dragging the Headmistress’s pond,’ suggests Siena. ‘You’ll find plenty of life just as charismatic as Eric, if you go deep enough.’

  I look furiously at her, but she only taps her pen. ‘What important issues are on the agenda today?’ she asks.

  There’s a terrified silence, which I break with a sigh. ‘Could you give a summary of what you’ve done while I’ve been away?’

  ‘We campaigned for a new floor in the Woodlands girls’ bathroom,’ Avery ventures finally. ‘The lino is cracked.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I say encouragingly. ‘I haven’t seen it yet – what’s it like?’

  ‘We didn’t get it,’ she admits. ‘There were … other priorities. It was decided to have a new home strip designed for the Stripes instead. It’s tighter than their other kits, and the shorts are smaller. The Starlets campaigned for it.’

  I ignore Siena’s approving nod. ‘What else?’

  ‘We devised an orientation programme for the Shells, to help them make friends quickly,’ Ambrose offers.

  ‘What a great idea!’ I say.

  ‘Hardly,’ says Siena. ‘No offence, but why would any of them look to you for ideas about being popular?’

  ‘No one said your notion of popularity had anything in common with making friends,’ I tell her. ‘I’m sure it was a success. I’d love to hear about it.’

  ‘No one signed up,’ admits Ambrose sheepishly. ‘We had to cancel it.’

  Siena laughs. ‘So the point of the Student Council is…’

  I refrain from reminding her that the Starlets’ main priority this week appears to be choosing Phoebe a new eyeshadow following the discontinuation of her favourite cerulean.

  ‘Let’s focus on the future,’ I say instead. ‘We all went through a lot of changes last year, I’m sure. What’s first on today’s agenda?’

  ‘We’re discussing the library catalogue.’ Avery turns to Siena. ‘The Council is given a budget to choose books and journals.’

  ‘Books and journals?’ Siena asks alertly. ‘That’s very interesting.’

  ‘Is it?’ says Avery in surprise.

  I can read Siena as if she were a book herself. She’s planning to order coffee table souvenirs about the Olsen twins and the history of Chanel, to force us to transfer our Economist subscription to Vanity Fair, and to educate the Shells to revere Grace Kelly instead of Hillary Clinton.

  ‘Academic books and journals,’ I clarify. ‘Not fashion and celebrity magazines.’

  ‘Anyway,’ cuts in Ambrose after a quick conferral with Avery. ‘Your return does give us an important discussion point, Romy. As the longest-serving Council member, you’ve become the Head Girl-elect.’

  ‘Really?’ I say doubtfully. ‘Yesterday you said…’

  ‘Never mind that,’ Avery says with a hasty glance at Siena. She couldn’t be more misguided if she thinks Siena would ever take my side, but there’s no need to tell her that.

  ‘Romy was thrown out of school for anti-social behaviour,’ Siena argues. ‘What’s going on here?’

  Avery crumbles instantly. ‘Mrs Denbigh believes this responsibility will be good for Romy,’ she whispers.

  Siena rolls her eyes, and I almost join her, because the image of Mrs Denbigh plying the Council with Garibaldis and guilt-tripping sentiments of Christian forgiveness is embarrassingly easy to visualize.

  ‘You don’t have to do everything Mrs Denbigh says,’ claims Siena, as if she isn’t here as a punishment imposed by the very same. ‘She has no real power.’

  ‘Mrs Denbigh also reminded us that Romy is the only remaining Lower Sixth Council member,’ adds Ambrose. ‘Until you arrived, Siena, of course.’

  He frowns as we take a moment to remember the fallen: the procession of bookish, idealistic girls driven out of the Council as fast as their Mary-Janes would carry them by name-calling and ridiculing, and, in some cases, with apples embedded in their heads.

  ‘But you’re so … anti-establishment,’ Siena complains. ‘Like that Russian punk band. Or Jessica Simpson. Isn’t this a little conformist for you?’

  ‘The only way to change a system is to be in it,’ I tell her.

  ‘What do you get for being Head Girl?’ Siena looks Avery up and down. ‘Nothing, I presume? Not even a shoe allowance?’

  ‘There’s a special presentation assembly.’ Fifth Former Nicole speaks up for the first time. She and her best friend Bethany harbour a particular fascination for the Starlets, sitting exams for them, taking their places during wintry PE lessons, and acting as Siena’s official stand-ins and seat-fillers at formal events. Her voice trembles slightly and she addresses her words directly to the table. ‘It’s called Elevation.’

  ‘Why have I never heard of that?’ Siena asks.

  ‘Because, I believe,’ I remind her, ‘you miss every assembly in order to spend quality time with Jack.’

  She barely conceals a smirk.

  ‘Jack is so gorgeous,’ sighs Bethany, as Nicole nods. ‘You’re so lucky, Siena.’

  Siena looks at them imperiously. Both are deeply earnest in their spotless uniforms, faces innocently scrubbed make-up free. ‘Luck has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘No, it’s more about trampling on everyone to get what you want,’ I agree.

  ‘What else does one get?’ Siena turns away from me. ‘I’m not sure that a special assembly is sufficiently enticing.’

  ‘The Head Girl’s fees are paid by the school,’ says Nicole timidly. ‘That’s a big financial incentive.’

  I can almost see the cogs in Siena’s head whirring as she processes this. Her school fees are probably paid, like most students’, by an absent and guilty father, so the financial saving would no doubt benefit her directly. I’m sure she’s currently choosing the handbag on which she could blow the whole lump sum.

  ‘And the Head Girl always goes to Oxford,’ adds Bethany.

  ‘That’s not a rule,’ I point out. ‘It just seems to end up that way.’

  ‘You want to go to Oxford?’ Siena asks me.

  ‘Why do you care?’ I begin before breaking off. ‘Oh, I know why you care. You don’t want me to go to the same university as Jack.’

  She looks astonished. ‘Jack’s job in the Firm –’ spoken as if the Lawrences are on a par with the Windsors – ‘is already guaranteed. What does he need university for?’

  ‘A degree?’ I suggest. ‘Life experience? Self-improvement?’

  ‘To get the best job possible, so he can take care of you.’ Nicole speaks in the saccharine tone of someone who wants for nothing but a smile from Siena.

  ‘You could consider going to university yourself,’ I suggest. ‘Imagine being educated by a source other than Vogue.’

  She’s horrified. ‘Lecture theatres with plastic communal seating? Halls of residence? Public transport? Students?’

  ‘So what are you going to do with yourself for three years while Jack’s away having the time of his life?’ I ask. ‘What if he goes somewhere you can’t follow, and doesn’t want to come back? What if he likes independence and self-discovery and freedom more than the prospect of eternity with you?’

  ‘Jack doesn’t need to go to university, because he already has everything he needs,’ she snaps. ‘Right here.’

  I know she’s planned her wedding and her married life, which will comprise lunching on rocket leaves and Moët and going to the gym with other newly wedded Starlets be
fore fobbing off babies onto a nanny and a pre-prep school, perpetuating the whole dismal cycle.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ I say. ‘You know him better than I do, of course. Now, shall we discuss something cheerful? Like the football championship?’

  I’d expected this to lighten the mood, but yet another awkward silence forms, and Siena scowls more blackly than ever.

  ‘Isn’t it next week?’ I ask. ‘Aren’t we going to rally the school in support?’

  ‘The Stripes aren’t having the best season,’ whispers Nicole. From Siena’s expression, I guess this is an understatement.

  ‘Surely that’s all the more reason to support them?’ I say. ‘We never missed a single game while I was here, and they always appreciated it.’

  Ambrose looks ashamed. ‘I suppose the support has dwindled, as none of us can be considered soccer fans, and their performances have diminished in the interim. Let’s put on a big push for them this week. Well suggested, Romy.’

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ says Siena, looking at her watch. ‘We’ll support them. Are we finished?’

  ‘No!’ I say. ‘We haven’t discussed the details. What support are we intending to offer? What’s our budget? How will we keep up morale if they lose?’

  ‘I’m not interested in details,’ she says automatically.

  ‘It was that attitude that got you here,’ I tell her. ‘We’re supporting your boyfriend!’

  ‘Jack knows he can count on my support in all his endeavours,’ she says loftily. ‘I don’t need to carry pompoms to prove it.’

  I don’t know what makes me continue, except that she’s annoyed me more than I can take. ‘Then you might want to ask him why he was reading the Oxford prospectus in the library today. And why he’s signed up for an open day.’

  She looks furious. ‘You’re very lucky to be back in this school at all. If you want to stay, you should remember that.’

  ‘We should wrap up,’ says Ambrose hurriedly. ‘I think we’ve covered everything.’

  ‘Fine,’ says Siena. ‘If I have to spend another minute with any of you, I swear I’ll throw myself headfirst out of the window.’

  She picks up her bag and storms out, slamming the door behind her.

  ‘Whoa,’ says Bethany, shaking her head.

  ‘I know,’ I murmur. ‘She’s a nightmare straight from the pits of hell.’

  Nicole stares at the door as if Siena is still there. ‘Thank you for bringing her to us,’ she whispers. ‘I’ll never, ever forget it.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Siena

  ‘What’s up with Jack?’ Cassidy asks, nodding across the cafeteria where he’s staring into a cup of coffee. ‘I didn’t even notice him come in.’

  My hospital trip was only yesterday, but, thanks to the hideous diversion of the Council meeting, I’d managed to forget my promise to go with him again today. Now it washes over me and I glare at Libby before I can stop myself.

  ‘Did something bad happen at the hospital?’ she squeaks. ‘Did I … did I do wrong in scheduling the visit?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I say magnanimously. ‘It was so helpful of you to set my priorities in order and enable me to be with Jack in his time of need.’

  I have to grit my teeth to say this, but I can’t put up with Libby’s wounded expression any longer. It could throw her off her game, and none of the other Starlets is capable of managing my schedule. Besides which, I want to borrow a pair of her shoes.

  ‘I’ve been so worried that our friendship would change with Romy back,’ she admits. ‘She was always such a bad influence on you. Sometimes, when you two were together, it was as if the rest of us didn’t even matter.’

  I look around the table in case this view is widely held.

  ‘No one blames you, Siena,’ says Phoebe quickly. ‘We all know how manipulative Romy is. We know you didn’t really prefer her to us.’

  I try to listen to Phoebe, but, as much as I fight it, I can’t shake Romy’s voice, or her luminous green eyes, out of my head.

  Admit that they’re boring, she challenged me in a conversation I thought I’d forgotten. It was two years ago, and we were avoiding a debate about acceptable heel height for the Henley Regatta. Admit that you don’t like talking about kitten heels and blusher any more than I do.

  I’m not admitting anything. Of course the Starlets aren’t boring.

  Then why do you escape and hide from them at every opportunity? she asked. Usually it’s not even my idea.

  I’m not hiding. I shrank into the apple leaves at the sound of voices on the ground. This tree just happens to be a comfortable place to sit.

  I shifted awkwardly, because a branch was digging into my back.

  Why don’t I invite them along? She reached into her pocket for her phone.

  No, I said quickly. Let’s just stay here for a while. On our own.

  She shrugged. We can stay as long as you like.

  * * *

  Cassidy smiles at me now. ‘It’s all in the past, safely buried. Romy’s departure freed you to become the wonderful person you were always destined to be.’

  To ensure that Romy’s reappearance hasn’t damaged my standing, I hold out my hand across the table. ‘Nothing is going to change,’ I stress.

  ‘For all time?’ Libby asks tentatively, putting her hand on mine.

  I nod as the others pile their hands on top of ours. ‘For all time,’ we repeat.

  ‘Are you seriously still doing that?’ says Romy as she throws down her tray. ‘Do you know how childish you look?’

  ‘I’d forgotten you’d be joining us,’ I say coldly. ‘It allowed me a brief moment of happiness.’

  She shrugs and takes a bite of toast. This is the kind of complex carbohydrate that hasn’t passed a Starlet’s lips for the last ten years.

  ‘Are you going to digest that?’ asks Phoebe with genuine curiosity. ‘Like, fully?’

  ‘I thought I might,’ she says. ‘I usually do try to digest my food after swallowing it. I realize this concept is alien to you.’

  ‘Interesting,’ murmurs Phoebe. She has a plate of toast too, but so far her progress involves only cutting it into star shapes and covering it with jam.

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t go and sit with Jack,’ I tell her. ‘You don’t often miss an opportunity to poison him against me.’

  Romy puts down her toast, her appetite apparently gone.

  ‘You should go and talk to him, Siena,’ says Libby. ‘You’ve got … almost fifteen minutes before registration. You last did your hair ten minutes ago, so you can leave that for another forty-five. You should give him the opportunity to thank you for all your support. He’s so lucky to have you at his side.’

  ‘And maybe you could cheer him up,’ suggests Cassidy. ‘I mean, he has a lot on his mind. Of course. But don’t the Stripes have that big game soon? We don’t want to get the blame if it goes badly.’

  ‘Are you for real?’ Romy asks. ‘You’re going to talk to Jack about football? Today?’

  Libby nods. ‘The Stripes’ ongoing uselessness is becoming a reputational problem for us. People think we have a direct effect on their performance.’

  ‘Everyone was so mean to us when Phoebe turned off Harry’s alarm clock and he missed the bus to the Winchester play-offs,’ Cassidy complains. ‘And there was a very hostile atmosphere the day they lost to Bedales, which was a total misunderstanding. How was Mads supposed to know that she and Sam were dating exclusively, or that he and Taylor would discuss such intimate details about their—’

  ‘Enough, Cassidy,’ I say, getting up. ‘I was going anyway.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Romy blurts out. She blushes as everyone stares at her. ‘Just … leave Jack alone.’

  ‘I’ll do what I like,’ I tell her, leaning closer. ‘My relationship with Jack is one area of my life in which you’ll remain uninvolved.’

  ‘You’re planning to distract him with sex,’ she says. ‘Which is inappropriate, even fo
r you.’

  ‘I think I know better than you what Jack needs,’ I snap. ‘So watch and learn.’

  Jack seems not to notice as I sit beside him. I move his cup away, because I’m wearing fawn and his hands look unsteady. He still doesn’t look up, but, despite the awful smirk that Romy gives me, I’m not deterred. This is the kind of challenge that makes me the best at what I do: the tendency of boys to fall to pieces whenever I give them so much as a smile isn’t exactly scintillating, and the last thing I want is for indiscriminate male attention to make me complacent.

  Normally a first move wouldn’t be required of me, but I’m on limited time, so I run my thumbs gently up and down his stomach, watching as he jumps and inhales.

  ‘Siena,’ he says. Instead of replying, I kiss him in a circular pattern starting right under his earlobe. His eyes are closed and his breath comes raggedly. I substitute my thumbs for my fingernails, running them along the waistband of his jeans. He half opens his eyes, so I circle lower. I kiss along his jawline to his mouth and circle the tip of his tongue with my own. For a second I feel him go slack.

  ‘Siena.’ His voice is hoarse but determined and he pushes my hands away.

  ‘What?’ I try not to sound irritated. We still have almost ten minutes before the bell, which would be plenty if he’d stop talking.

  There was a moment yesterday at the hospital when he ducked his head and stayed motionless for so long that I wondered if he was praying. His hands were clasped white-knuckle tight, his face set in quiet desperation, and, as my mind raced through the ways in which I wanted to help him, I believed there was nothing I wouldn’t do. When he flexed his hands and exhaled, I saw a tear on his eyelashes, and it sent a shockwave through me.

  But that moment, with no spectators to sense weakness in me, or to threaten to separate us, was poles apart from this. Stealing another glance at Romy’s triumphant expression, I shrug my dress strap off my shoulder. Without missing a beat he picks it up and replaces it.

  ‘What?’ My pout makes me hate myself, even if I don’t understand why. ‘What else are we supposed to do in the cafeteria to prove to Ro— to everyone that we’re a couple?’