by Sofia Daniel
I might have been able to force some of the younger ones to let me have a place, but I didn’t want them whipped, or whatever it was called, for sitting with me.
“Bugger this.” I turned around, looking for the entrance to the kitchens. Someone could plate me up a meal, and I’d stand in the corner and eat it.
“Lilah,” said the poshest voice I’d heard all day.
I turned around. Gideon Adewale sat alone at a table for four, his posture impeccable. A groan slid from my lips.
“Would you care to join me?” he asked with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “We could practice a few vowels if you like.”
“Haven’t you heard? I’m the whipping girl.”
“The rumor had reached my ears,” he replied. “However, Mrs. Campbell requested that I instruct you on elocution. Given the way you’re standing with a hip thrust out, I can include lessons on deportment.”
I rolled my eyes. “How about I sit at your table, and you stop trying to mold me into something I’m not.”
His brows drew together. “I would never—”
With a sigh, I slid into the seat opposite him. “Never mind.”
The staff served a chunky, cold soup that reminded me of salsa and had a gorgeous basil smell, as though they’d mixed in a shedload of pesto.
Gideon explained that it was gazpacho soup, which was always served cold. I didn’t care what they called it. The fragrant mix of tomatoes, cucumber, cilantro, basil, and a whole host of fresh ingredients had me rolling my eyes to the back of my head.
Gideon’s eyes widened. “Watch out, Lilah.”
Something cold filled the back of my neck. I spun in my seat to find the tawny-haired girl from before smirking down at me with a dirty soup bowl in her hand.
“Whoops!” she said.
I could deal with her later. She was just a weak-minded ass-licker who had acted first to curry favor with those higher up in the food chain.
Instead, I reserved the full extent of my wrath for Elizabeth and the two laughing jackals at her table. Maxwell and Orlando threw their heads back, shaking with mirth.
I narrowed my eyes. What the hell was yesterday about? They’d either crowded me to gather information for Elizabeth, or they’d taken one look at my appearance and thought I would be slutty enough to give them the handjobs Elizabeth had accused me of performing.
“Myra, that was beneath you,” Gideon said to the witch-faced girl.
“Quiet, sooty,” she snarled.
Rage surged in my veins. I picked up my soup bowl and flung the contents in her face. She shrieked and staggered back as though she’d been hit with acid. What a racist twat.
Mrs. Campbell stood. “What on earth are you girls doing?”
Gideon pulled himself to his feet and said a few words on my behalf, but I was past caring. Globs of cold soup soaked into my hair and slithered down my back. I wasn’t about to sit around and endure another telling off in this condition.
I walked out of the dining room, ignoring the deputy headmistress’s calls for me to return and explain myself.
Chapter 8
As soon as I reached the tower, I unlocked my door, flung it open, and rushed to the bathroom. By now, gazpacho soup had trailed down my back and into my underwear. I tore off my clothes and flung them to the floor.
“What a stupid cow,” I snarled.
The old me would have smashed the bowl in her face, but this morning’s lesson with Miss Martin had given me the first spark of hope that becoming a dress designer was within my grasp. An idiot like Myra wouldn’t put me off my dream. Besides, it wasn’t as though I had anywhere else to go.
I hopped into the shower and stood under the warm spray until all traces of tomato and garlic and basil had swirled down the plughole. After slathering on a healthy amount of shampoo and a conditioner that wouldn’t do a thing to moisturize my bleached hair, I gave myself a final rinse and slipped on my dressing gown.
A knock sounded on the door. I clenched my teeth, ready to tell Mrs. Campbell exactly why I’d thrown soup in Myra’s face. When I flung it open, I found Gideon, clutching a wooden tray laden with silverware and steel-covered plates.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I didn’t see you at breakfast, and you stormed out of lunch. Mrs. Stornoway in the kitchens kindly prepared a takeaway.”
My gaze lingered on the way he’d stacked the plates high. “That’s a lot of food for one person.”
Gideon shouldered the door and walked around me. He placed the tray on my desk and beamed. “I intend to fulfill my invitation to sit together at lunch.”
Warmth spread through my heart. He was actually really nice looking when he wasn’t acting so stuck-up. I sat on the edge of my chair and arranged the toweling gown over my legs. Gideon removed the lid off one of the plates, revealing a shepherd’s pie with peas and carrots on the side.
The aroma of minced lamb, mashed potato, and melted cheese filled my nostrils, making my mouth water. “Wow!”
“It was toad in the hole, yesterday.” Gideon sat at my desk chair and handed me a plate. “Mrs. Stornoway likes to serve comfort food at lunch.”
“Thanks.” I pictured myself pouring gravy over a row of brown sausages baked in batter.
We ate in silence, exchanging glances. I couldn’t figure Gideon out. One moment, he looked at me like I was something he found on the sole of his shoe, and then the next, he was bringing me lunch in my room. Had we found common ground in our dislike of that tawny-haired witch?
“Are people usually racist here?” I asked.
With a tightening of his lips, he tilted his head to the side. His elegant version of a shrug. “Myra Highmore is a disturbed young woman. One cannot take anything she does or says to heart.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“People like her blurt out what they consider to be the most hurtful in the heat of anger,” he said. “I can’t tell you what, if anything, lies between her ears. Mrs. Campbell reprimanded her for both her attack on you and the slur.”
“Right.” I wondered about my own fate. “What about my punishment for slinging gazpacho in her face?”
“I suppose the deputy headmistress will catch up with you in the hallway.”
When I finished, Gideon took my plate and handed me a bowl of apple pie and custard. He gave me one of the bottles of water protruding from his blazer pocket, and I cracked open the seal and took a long swig.
“Thanks again.” I took a spoon and started on the apple pie. “That really hit the spot.”
From that moment onward, I sat with Gideon at mealtimes. Strangely, no one gave him flack for mixing with the whipping girl, but he didn’t appear to have many friends around the academy except for his cousin, Mary, the younger black girl with long braids.
When I discovered that the elocution lessons were his attempt to earn enough credits for a ride to Glasgow, I let him tutor me in softening my vowels.
The rest of the week was a mixture of lessons taught by staff more knowledgeable and enthusiastic than at my old school and petty shunning from the other students.
It was pathetic, considering that all I’d done was defend myself from Elizabeth’s slanderous accusations, but I’d dealt with far worse. A few muttered words in the hallways or twits running up to me and calling me names wasn’t worth my attention.
Late one afternoon, I was returning from Miss Martin’s tailoring club when three figures stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t handjob,” drawled Maxwell.
I glowered down at the three tossers. “Are you looking up my skirt?”
“I’ll bet you’d like that.”
I continued down the stairs, ignoring his comments. The boy was an attention whore, plain and simple. Everything he did and said was designed to make people notice him. Judging by the looks of his twin, Maxwell was already stunning, yet he felt the need to adorn himself with tattoos and facial jewelry.
Just to stand out.
My feet hit the last rung of the iron staircase, and I swept past them, shaking my head. Maxwell probably thought he looked edgy. I kept my head high, not giving him what he wanted.
A hand grabbed my arm and spun me around. “We’re talking to you, Hand-Cock.”
Orlando stood at Maxwell’s side, with Kendrick taking up the rear like some kind of lookout.
I glowered at Maxwell’s broad, muscular chest, which strained through his tartan waistcoat. “I thought it was handjob.”
“Same difference,” he said with a snicker.
I turned my glare to the hand encasing me in a tight grip. “What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“About what?”
“You’re not exactly making friends at Templar,” said Orlando. “One would think you’d act a little more grateful to have our undivided attention.”
Annoyance simmered through my veins. There were girls at Richley Comprehensive so desperate for any attention that they would do the most ridiculous things, hoping that a boy would like them.
I thought about the girl who bought a boy sneakers once a month with the money she made from her Saturday job and another girl who would give out blowjobs just to sit on the edge of the popular table.
Was this the boys’ angle? To spread shit about me, get Elizabeth to announce me as the whipping girl and make me so lonely and desperate for attention that I would fall at their feet? I snorted. They probably wanted me to fall at their dicks.
“There’s something you need to understand about me,” I said. “I’m not impressed with boys who blow hot and cold, and especially not impressed with boys who scamper around silly twats like Elizabeth What’s-Her-Face, begging for scraps of attention.”
Maxwell’s arm tightened around my arm. “What did you say?”
“Let go of me before I twist off your balls.” I bared my teeth and dropped my gaze down to his crotch. “I might have left the tweezers in my room, but I’ll make do with my thumb and forefinger.”
Maxwell released me and stepped back as though I was radioactive. “How long will you continue playing hard to get, handjob?”
I rolled my eyes. “As long as you keep getting my name wrong, Maxi pad.”
Orlando snorted with laughter, and Kendrick huffed out an annoyed breath. I glowered at the silent twin. He didn’t even like me.
Why had Kendrick come along for this half-assed ambush? To pick up a few crumbs in case his asshole brother and friend managed to gaslight me into slobbering over their dicks?
“A word of advice, dickheads.” I strolled down the hallway, passing Kendrick and daring then to come at me from behind. “Stay out of my way.”
“Or what?” said Maxwell.
“You don’t want to know.” I raised my hand and waved over my shoulder. “Later, bitches.”
One evening before dinner, Gideon followed me back to my room. I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering if this was another attempt to mold me into a posh-talking gentlewoman.
It had been a week since I’d joined the academy, and he was the only person outside the staff who actually instigated conversations with me.
“What’s up?” I said as I let him into my room.
“I want to know how you’re doing in your classes,” he asked. “Are there any you like best?”
Warmth spread through my chest. “Fashion and Textiles is better than my wildest dreams.”
His brows rose. “Really? Why’s that?”
I told him all about my plans to study at the London College of Fashion and start my own label. Gideon sat on the edge of my bed, resting his palms on the mattress.
His gaze wandered to my wardrobe. “Have you made anything yet?”
“Have I?” I flung the wardrobe open and pulled out a backless mini-dress I’d made with ruffled skirts. “Did you know materials are included in the tuition here?”
He chuckled. “One would think so given the amount our parents pay.”
“Are your mum and dad rich, then?” My brows drew together.
“Comfortable by British standards. Father is an executive in Shell Nigeria.”
“Oil’s big business down there, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“What does your mum do?”
“She’s a doctor.”
“Wow.” My insides twisted with trepidation. Any second now, he’d ask me what my parents did. I wasn’t in the mood to tell him I didn’t know the identity of my real dad. Mother lived off the proceeds of crime, a far cry from a doctor.
I snatched a halter-neck waistcoat from the wardrobe and shoved it in his face. “This is based on one of my designs. What do you think?”
His eyes widened. “I didn’t realize you were already designing clothes.”
Pride swelled in my chest. “It’s all about the pattern cutting, you see. Fashion’s not all pretty drawings—”
Someone knocked on the door.
“Hold on!” I rushed to the door and opened it a crack.
One of the admin staff, a dark-haired woman, said, “The headmaster wishes to see you in his office.”
“Where is it?” I asked.
“Follow me.”
I turned around to where Gideon sat on the bed. “Popping out for a bit.”
“I can wait,” he said without raising his head from the waistcoat I’d tailored. He was probably examining its stitching and comparing it to the designer outfits his parents bought him with all that oil money.
The administrator led me out of the tower, through the hallways, past the dining room and to the other side of the building. “Wait for him inside. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Mr. Burgh’s office was a large space that overlooked both the pond and the manicured gardens. He kept his windows open, bathing the room in the scent of roses. I stepped inside and lowered myself into one of the leather armchairs in front of his desk.
The old man entered a moment after, dressed in a tweed three-piece suit and clutching two mugs of steaming tea.
He placed one on his desk in front of me. “Milk, no sugar?”
“Thanks.” He must have remembered how I took my tea from the flight.
Mr. Burgh walked around the desk and sat. “I’ve heard some disturbing rumors about your conduct with Mr. Nevis and the Deloraine twins.”
“They’re not true,” I said.
“You deny entering a broom cupboard with Orlando Nevis and Maxwell Deloraine?”
“What part of it’s not true don’t you understand?” I snapped.
His lips thinned, and he let out a long breath through his nostrils. “Miss Reddy from Social Services kindly sent up some information about you.” He picked up a manilla file and leafed through its contents. “According to her records, you left foster care to cohabit with a man ten years your senior at the age of fourteen.”
My teeth ground together. On the surface, it looked terrible, but the alternative of returning to a dingy high-rise apartment to be groped by a gorilla of a foster father was infinitely worse.
“I was nearly fifteen.”
Mr. Burgh closed his eyes. “Delilah.”
“It’s Lilah.” My nostrils flared. What the hell was his problem? There was a vast difference between having a boyfriend at a young age and getting into a cupboard to wank off three strangers.
He sighed. “I know your upbringing wasn’t ideal, and I’m aware of the complaints you’ve made to social services about abusive foster parents.”
“So?”
“Please don’t feel that you need to buy affection with sexual favors.”
I shot out of my seat. “Why aren’t you listening to anything I’m saying? It’s like you’ve made up your mind about me and won’t hear anything else.”
“Lilah, listen—”
“No, you listen.” My voice shook. Templar Academy was such a massive opportunity for me. Even if the students were idiots, the staff actually cared about what they taught. “If you thought I was such a who
re, why did you go all the way to London to bring me here?”
He lowered his head. “It’s complicated, Lilah.”
“And you keep calling me by my first name. Are you coming onto me? Is that what this is?”
His head snapped up, and his entire face went white. “Of course not.”
“Because it sounds like you’re pissed off because I didn’t go into the cupboard with you.”
Annoyance twisted his features. “Now, look here—”
“No!” I turned around and headed for the door. “If I’m expelled, tell me. Otherwise, I’m going back to my room.”
Mr. Burgh told me to wait, but I flung open the door and stormed out, not stopping until I reached the safety of the tower. The edges of my vision turned black. What the hell was all that about? Nothing about my background said I would whore myself for affection.
I stepped into my room and found Gideon posing like Naomi Campbell in front of the full-length mirror, wearing my mini-dress. “What the fuck?”
Chapter 9
I froze at the door, staring into Gideon’s wide eyes. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t explain what in the holy highlands he was doing wearing my newly tailored dress.
Sometimes when I lived in Billy Hancock’s house, I’d walk to the kitchen sink and find a cat perched on the outdoor table. The little creature’s muscles would stiffen, and it would stay locked in my gaze, waiting for my next move. Sometimes, I closed my eyes for a few seconds, open them, and find the cat gone; and other times, when I waved at the cat, it would bolt.
Right now, Gideon reminded me of one of those startled cats.
Voices coming from the central part of the building broke me out of the strange stand-off. I stepped inside and closed the door.
Gideon finally blinked. “I can explain.”
“You’re a cross-dresser?”
His posture sagged. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what?”
“I don’t know… Worn a girl’s clothes without her permission.”
