by Sofia Daniel
“You’re talking about yourself in the third person, right?” I opened the door into our hallway and headed for my room.
She caught up with me in seconds, her dark eyes blazing. “Your enemy is much closer than you think, and they want you to stop toying with the kings.”
Reaching into my blazer pocket, I murmured, “I get it now. They’re a way out of your situation. You think that marrying rich will be the answer to your problems.”
“What are you talking about?” Bianca snarled.
I pulled out my key from my pocket and unlocked my door. “If you don’t take a stand, your father could do it to someone else. Do you want that?”
“S-shut up,” she snapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s up to you whether you want to report him, but you don’t need to go around threatening people who saw what he did.”
A nasty smile crossed her features, and she swept her gaze down and up my body. “Stop acting like you’re better than us because you’re not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I clenched my stomach, readying myself for a blow.
“I’ll save the big reveal for another time.” She placed both hands on her hips. “But I warn you, fuck with Byrd and Byrd, and you won’t survive long enough to regret it.”
Bianca strode down the hallway with her shoulders hunched around her ears, leaving me with my hand over my heart. So far, all evidence pointed to her being the person who had tried to kill me at the end of last term. She had been the ringleader of the activities during Ashley’s initiation, and she claimed to know about the circumstances of my supposed accident.
I rubbed at my pounding temples. Would Bianca make another attempt at my life to stop me from revealing what I saw in Mrs. Benazir’s office?
When I turned around and stepped into my room, Ashley’s bed was missing, and a sofa lay in its place.
She had been expelled, but I no longer cared.
I was free of that traitorous, backstabbing wretch.
Chapter 11
Days passed since Ashley was unceremoniously expelled, and Bianca continued to shoot me threatening looks at every opportunity. I kept my mouth shut about what I had seen in Mrs. Benazir’s office partly to respect her right to privacy and partly for self-preservation. I didn’t need her and her disgusting father threatening my life.
No matter how many times I continued taking those Chinese herbs, they still punched me in the tastebuds with their offensiveness. Each new dose was a new revelation in bitter and sour and pungency. Totally foul with an astringent aftertaste, but they chased away my headaches. A small price, I supposed, to be pain-free.
Now that we had all settled into the routine of being back in school, Sebastian continued to be distant. Sports practice took up a lot of his time, but he seemed preoccupied at mealtimes.
I sat between Leopold and Prakash in English. Miss Claymore strode up and down the lecture theater, discussing diary writing as a form of communication, and asked us to read a passage of A Writer’s Diary by Virginia Woolf and prepare a two-thousand-word analysis in time for the next lesson.
The bell rang, and everyone piled out of the theater. I headed down the steps to have a word with the teacher, but someone grabbed my arm.
“Don’t you have a free period, now?” asked Sebastian.
“I’m staying behind to ask Miss Claymore a question.”
“Right then, I’ll wait with you,” said Sebastian.
I peered into his hard, green eyes. “Don’t you have athletics practice?”
“I don’t mind being late.”
“Neither do I,” said Leopold through clenched teeth.
I glanced from Leopold to Sebastian, wondering about this new tension between them. It had started the day they’d gone to Uncle Trevor’s apartment and appeared to be related to their connection with me.
My gaze darted to Prakash, whose nostrils flared with annoyance. Dread filled my stomach, and I swallowed hard. Were they changing their minds about sharing me? Prakash and I barely exchanged a word these days, and Sebastian and Leopold sniped at each other using innocuous sentences delivered with barely restrained anger.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” said Sebastian.
Leopold’s brows rose. “Whatever could you mean, Willow?”
I narrowed my eyes at the mocking tone. From the way Leopold glared at Sebastian, I was guessing the comment was directed at him.
“Go on,” said Prakash. “We’ll wait here and walk you wherever you’re going next.”
Miss Claymore packed up her things and strode up the other end of the lecture theater. I clutched my books to my chest. It wasn’t as though I was going to miss my chance to speak with the deputy headmistress. We’d agreed to meet in an hour.
“Never mind,” I murmured. “I can always ask her later.”
All three boys relaxed. Leopold beamed and offered me his arm. “Come on, let’s go.”
Leopold walked me through the hallways and up the stairs. Sebastian trailed behind us, while Prakash, whose schedule was as heavy as mine and did twice as many subjects as the mainstream students, went to his next class.
We reached the fourth floor of the west wing just as a cleaning crew of women wearing blue, checkered dresses and white sneakers left holding their cleaning supplies. Their supervisor, a white-haired woman, explained the finer points of limescale removal to a bleached blonde.
“Has anyone been giving you any trouble?” asked Leopold.
I shook my head. “Apart from the occasional snide comment about what happened to Ashley, no.”
“Who’s been saying things?” asked Sebastian.
“Just people as they pass.” I shrugged. “Younger students, mostly. They mutter or oink but don’t have the guts to repeat themselves when I confront them. It’s not a big deal.”
Leopold cupped my cheek and rubbed the pad of his thumb over my skin. “Be careful with people, alright? Sometimes those you trust the most can let you down.”
My heart skittered over several beats. “If you know anything—”
“He doesn’t,” Sebastian snapped. “Everyone’s speculating, and it’s making us agitated.”
“I have a right to know who is trying to get to me.”
Sebastian’s nostrils flared. “If we knew for certain who put you in that car, I would be the first to report them to the police. Right now, all we have are speculations with no proof. And running around making accusations will only attract more animosity.”
I stared at the polished, parquet floor. He was right, but I still ached to know who Leopold suspected.
Leopold pressed a kiss on my temple and murmured, “I’d tell you if I could.”
I gave him an absent nod and made a mental note to put more effort into deciphering Corrine’s diary. The closer I got to the year of her death, the more codes she used in her writing. As they walked back toward the stairwell, I wondered if Sebastian was protecting Prakash.
After taking another dose from Master Chang’s herbal sachets, I made my way to Miss Claymore’s room for my private coaching session. We worked out a system where she would read through assignments that contributed toward my grade averages, and I would study on my own until I stumbled across something I didn’t understand.
She had just pointed out a glaring error in one of my essays when my stomach heaved.
Her face dropped. “Miss Evergreen?”
“Going to…” Another spasm seized my guts. “Vomit!”
Miss Claymore reached under her desk and whipped out a trashcan. “Use the bin!”
Grabbing the cold metal item, I twisted in my seat and placed it on my lap. Just in time for my breakfast and two doses of the Chinese herbs to splatter onto a used copy of The Times and scraps of balled up paper.
“Sorry.” I spat into its metal depths. “Ugh… This isn’t like me.”
“Maybe you should see Dr. Forrester,” she said. “Vomiting is a
symptom of concussion.”
Blinking away the water in my eyes, I rubbed my aching belly. “I think I might.”
“Now,” she said in a voice made of steel.
I pulled myself out of my seat and headed for the door. These days, everything was getting to me. Seeing the boys who had assaulted Ashley go unpunished, Bianca’s terrible secret, and the knowledge that someone in this academy was a potential murderer.
“Miss Evergreen,” she said.
“Yes?” I paused at the doorway.
“You have my wastepaper basket.”
“I was going to wash it.”
She shook her head. “For goodness’ sake, girl! Put it down. You’re ill.”
“Right… Sorry.”
Miss Claymore’s eyes softened, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out a tube of candies. “Take these.”
I walked back to her desk and set the trashcan on the ground. “G-ginger mints?”
“When my mother had chemotherapy for breast cancer, it was the only thing that helped with her nausea.”
“A-are you sure?”
She slapped the candies into my hand. “It’s a replaceable tube of sweets available at any corner shop, not a family heirloom.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. What was it about memories of the deceased that made me lose my mind? “Right… Sorry.”
“Go. Interrupt Dr. Forrester’s class if you must, but someone needs to take a look at that concussion.”
I was about to apologize again but gave myself a slap upside the head. Miss Claymore probably wanted to get rid of me and my stinking vomit.
I reached down to the floor, picked up my bag, and slung its strap over my shoulder. Would I be able to face the deputy head again without feeling humiliated?
“One more thing,” she said.
“Yes, Miss?” I paused at the doorway.
She strode around her desk and handed me a sheet of paper. “Here’s the itinerary for the upcoming Board of Governors’ meeting. You will accompany me and tell the esteemed members of your experiences at the academy.”
I gulped. “Why me?”
“You’re our highest-scoring sixth-former. Mr. Gibbons will also be present.” She waved her hands in a shooing motion. “Now, off you go.”
I made my way to the infirmary downstairs, but Dr. Forrester wasn’t there.
As my gaze caught the roll of absorbent paper on the wall, a memory of Cormac flashed to the forefront of my mind. He was tearing off huge swathes and then ranting about Corrine’s obsession with the kings.
I rubbed my temples. Was this one of the missing memories from before the attempted murder disguised as a car accident? If so, how did I get from my room to sitting here with Cormac, to falling down the side of the mountain in Mom’s Renault?
After drinking a few cups of water from the cooler, I headed toward the nearest stairwell and up to the second floor, where Dr. Forrest taught Human Biology. Hopefully, he’d tell me that I had a stomach flu or something, and excuse me from classes for the rest of the week. I’d be able to study alone and get through more of Corrine’s diary.
“I love you so much,” whispered Cormac’s voice from the floor above.
My feet froze.
A female giggle echoed through the stairwell, but it didn’t sound like it belonged to Michelle or Cara or any of the other female scholars.
“You know I love you, right?” said Geraldine’s voice.
My jaw dropped, and I clutched at my chest. There was no way Cormac and Geraldine were together. He hated her. Geraldine had made the pull-a-pig announcement about Prakash and Corrine in front of everyone.
“I just can’t get enough of you,” she murmured in a voice as sweet as saccharine.
A bitter aftertaste filled the back of my throat. Most of my interactions had been with Bianca, who seemed more malevolent than her blonde friend, but Geraldine was also a bully. She had been the one to offer the boys ten-thousand pounds for my virginity.
“Geraldine,” he said in a breathy whisper. “When can we—”
“Not until we’re married. Please don’t push me.”
“Of course.”
My stomach twisted. Was this a Romeo and Juliet romance or a pull-a-pig game? I rubbed my belly and groaned. What if this was her revenge for all his efforts to stamp out bullying? He was already distraught from his sister’s death. Another terrible heartbreak would shatter his spirit.
“There is something you can do for me,” she said in a wheedling tone.
“Anything,” he growled.
“I always think about you when I’m alone in bed… pleasuring myself.”
He hissed through his teeth. “Really?”
I shook my head.
“But I need…”
“What do you need?” he said in an urgent whisper.
“Visual aids,” she replied in an excited voice.
Dick pics. I braced my hands against the wall and groaned against the dread and disgust rippling through my insides. With Cormac’s dick pics, Geraldine could create a pull-a-pig reveal that would rival Ashley’s.
I straightened, but another spasm seized my diaphragm and had me doubling over. I groaned. What was wrong with me? Did my stomach not agree with the Chinese herbs? Before I could shout out a warning, my stomach muscles quickened, and I wretched out a belly-full of watery bile.
“What’s that noise?” Geraldine used the disgusted tone she often employed while wrinkling her nose.
“We’d better go,” said Cormac.
Their footsteps receded up the stairs, then a door yawned open and clicked shut.
The bell rang, and I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Of all the times to get sick, why did it have to block me from rescuing my best friend?
“Willow?”
I raised my head to find Prakash heading toward me on the stairs, and a groan slid from my lips.
“We need to take you to Dr. Forrester,” she said.
My eyes narrowed. “Why does that sound so familiar?”
“On that Monday night, I wanted to drive you to the Accident and Emergency department of the Cumberland Royal Infirmary, but you said you’d wait for the doctor.”
“Oh. What happened next?”
His face shuttered. “You insisted on staying alone.”
An uncomfortable, prickly heat rose to my cheeks, and I dropped my gaze to my feet. That had been incredibly stupid. “Right…”
“Would you object this time if I escort you to the doctor?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’d appreciate all the help I can get right now.”
We found Dr. Forrester outside the biology room, chatting with a group of fifth years about what kinds of subjects might be in the GCSE exams next term. He took one look at me and ushered me into a seat in his classroom. Posters of skeletons, the musculature, and nervous systems adorned the wall, as did a model of a skeleton too colorful to be real.
After asking a few questions about my vomiting and memory loss, the doctor opened up his leather bag, pulled out a light, and shone it in my eyes. “Let’s take a look at your pupil reflexes.”
“Very good.” He switched off the light. “Which painkillers have you been taking?”
“Chinese herbs during the day and paracetamol at night, so the pain doesn’t bother me when I’m trying to sleep.”
Dr. Forrester leaned back and folded his arms. “Well, there’s your answer.”
“Sir?” I tilted my head to the side.
The doctor mirrored my movement. “What ingredients were in these ‘herbs?’”
My brows drew together. Because Master Chang was a medical doctor who also practiced Traditional Chinese Medicine and operated out of Harley Street, it had never occurred to me to question the ingredients in his formula. Especially since he had examined me more thoroughly than any of the medical doctors had at the Royal Infirmary.
Dr. Forrester drummed his fingers on the table, awaiting my answer.
“I don’t kno
w, sir.”
He made exaggerated finger quotes. “Did the ‘doctor’ perform any blood tests? Discuss drug-herb interactions?”
“No, but—”
“You mustn’t put your faith in quackery, young lady.”
I jerked my head to the side and swallowed hard. My insides felt as though someone had scrubbed them raw with steel wool, and acid burned the back of my throat.
Even though the Chinese herbs had gotten me through the day without headaches or drowsiness, I didn’t bother to argue with Dr. Forrester. Medicine—alternative or otherwise—wasn’t my specialty.
“Sir?” I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Benazir wants me to retain a ninety percent grade average, but the medications I was prescribed make me drowsy. What should I do?”
“Have you heard of ProPlus?” he asked.
I leaned forward. “The caffeine tablets?”
“Many scholars take it on an all-nighter.” He chuckled. “I’ve been known to pop it a few times, myself. Order yourself a pack from Amazon, and add two tablets three times a day to your regimen. You’ll be as right as rain.”
My shoulders slumped. I’d actually felt more alert on the Chinese herbs than I’d felt since the accident, and going back to the prescriptions filled my stomach with dread.
“What happens if I take fewer of the tablets I was prescribed?”
He shrugged. “You don’t have to take them at all if you can manage the pain without them.”
“Thanks, sir.” I pulled myself to my feet and walked to the door. Maybe it was time to cut the painkillers and the Chinese herbs and see if I could survive without them.
In the hallway, Prakash pushed himself off the wall where he’d been waiting. “What did Dr. Forrester say?”
“He blamed the Chinese herbs.”
“Typical,” he spat.
“What?”
We walked down the hallway to the nearest stairwell. “There is more than one system of medicine. In India, we have Ayurveda.” He checked his watch. “Are you also free this period?”
“Now that I’ve given up swimming, I am.”
