I Am Her Revenge

by Meredith Moore

  Claire isn’t the only one watching me in the hallways over the next two weeks as November wears on. Ben and Arabella seem to appear wherever I am, one of them smiling sweetly at me, the other one practically growling.

  I can’t find Arthur anywhere. His shed is always shuttered and dark, and there’s no trace of him on campus. Did he see Helper and get away in time? Has he left me here? Or did Helper find him?

  I can’t think about that. I won’t think about it. He’s fine, and I have to focus.

  It’s never difficult to convince Ben to run away to the cottage. We disappear into the night, and he takes Molly whenever I give it to him, kissing me until we fall asleep.

  One night, after two weeks of sneaking around together, we sit on the small hearth in front of a fire that I built, and his kisses become more insistent, more passionate. He eases me down to the floor, his body covering mine with its heavy warmth, and for a moment, I let him. I pull him close to me, but when he slips his hand up my shirt, I push at him gently. “I—I don’t want to sleep with you yet,” I say, biting my lip as if I’m flustered. I keep my hand on his chest and my eyes on his, a hint of uncertainty in my expression.

  He watches me, his eyes dark, and for a moment, the only sound in the room is our deep breathing and the crackle of the fire.

  “I want to wait until we’re in love,” I continue.

  This is part of Mother’s “playing hard to get” lesson, something that she swore would make him more obsessed with me. Anne Boleyn used the same tactic when she was trying to steal King Henry VIII from his first wife, and it certainly worked for her.

  Ben gives a thoughtful nod and a reassuring smile, lifting me back up so that we’re seated once more, shoulder to shoulder. “I can wait,” he agrees before wrapping me back up in his arms, my side pressed to his. “For you, I can wait.”

  I bury my head in his chest to hide the surprise on my face.

  It’s getting harder to control him at school, however.

  The next afternoon, I spot him with his usual crew between classes, when the halls are filled with the clattering of lockers and overexcited conversation. His friends, Liam and Colin, are laughing and slapping each other’s backs as they watch a girl shoot what she must think are seductive glances at them. It’s the girl who kissed Ben that first night out on the moors, I realize, and my eyes snap back to him, worried. Ben, though, leans back against his locker and seems bored by it all. Until he spots me, and then his face lights up, a broad smile stretching across it. The girl simpers, thinking it’s meant for her.

  He steps toward me, like he’s coming to embrace me right there in the hallway. In front of his friends, his admirers, the world. He must have forgotten who I am, how people see me in this school.

  I spin on my heel and hurry away.

  “So should we, uh, tell people about us?” he asks a few nights later at the cottage before I can offer him anything to alter his mind and hook him to me.

  I’ve been coaxing a small flame to life in the hearth, and at his words, I stand and face him. “What?” I ask, feigning surprise. As if I didn’t notice his acknowledgment of me in the hallway.

  “I just—I’d like you to be my girlfriend, and I . . . I want to tell everyone.”

  He looks not at me but at a spot on the ground. Which means he can’t see the sudden flash of horror that I know travels across my face.

  I have to think quickly. Mother would recommend that I push him away. She would want me to tell him I can’t be his girlfriend, then leave the cottage and refuse to look at him for a week. Tormenting him and playing hard to get would make him want me even more.

  A girl like the kind he’s used to would gasp and swoon and say yes immediately.

  But I can’t do either. I can only stare at him. The wind howls outside, as if it, too, is impatient for my answer.

  Finally, he looks up, meeting my gaze. “Well?” he asks with an uncertain smile.

  Mother is wrong. Pushing him away, running away from him, not talking to him—that will only hurt him. It will be harder to get him back if I’ve hurt him like that. There’s something in him that reminds me of a kicked puppy. It’s hard for him to trust. There are moments when I recognize myself in him.

  So I head for the middle ground. “I want to be your girlfriend,” I tell him, earning a relieved smile. “But—”

  “What?” he interrupts, encircling me in his arms. “No buts. Buts aren’t allowed.”

  He pulls me in for a kiss, and it takes me a moment to end it and look back up in his eyes. “But,” I continue. “I don’t want people talking about us all the time. I feel like it could ruin us.” A secret relationship, when done right, can be a powerful aphrodisiac.

  “Who cares what they say?” he asks.

  “I just—I want to keep us a secret for a while. I don’t want to attract too much attention.”

  “Too late,” he teases. “You’re much too beautiful not to attract attention.”

  I put a hand on his chest, pushing him back. “Ben,” I say, as if exasperated.

  “All right, all right,” he says, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “I won’t say anything to anyone. As long as you agree to be my girlfriend.”

  “Done,” I say, nodding my head solemnly before rewarding him with a glittering smile. The smile hides the panic rising within me. I’ve disobeyed Mother, and if this tactic doesn’t work, I can’t bear to think what my punishment might be.

  CHAPTER 16

  When Arabella hip-checks me in the hall the next morning on my way to class, I know I have to respond. My books scatter across the floor, and my palms slap the cold marble ground to break my fall.

  There’s a hush, and then some laughter. “Watch where you’re going, slag,” Arabella singsongs.

  I pick myself up, gather my books, and stand slowly. Arabella has already retreated out of sight, but I smirk, showing the others that I’m not cowed by her bullying. I even roll my eyes, as if her antics do nothing but bore me. And then I saunter down the hall to the chorus of whispers and speculation.

  “Are you okay?” Claire asks as soon as I enter our room after dinner. “I heard about what happened.” She looks at me with such genuine concern, and it hits me that she truly considers me a friend. She worries about me. She has no idea what I am.

  “I’m fine,” I say, waving my hand in the air like I could wave the memory away. “Just Arabella being Arabella.”

  Claire purses her lips. “She’s a hard enemy to have,” she says quietly. “It might be best to stay out of her way for a little while?”

  “I’m never in her way. She just makes it her business to attack me.”

  “You did start that rumor about her giving her knickers to the gardener,” Claire points out dryly, an amused smile playing on her face.

  I shrug. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll stay out of her way.”

  “Good. I’d hate for Arabella to run you out of here.” She wrinkles her nose, as if the very idea has disgusted her.

  I laugh. “That won’t happen, trust me. I’m tougher than I look.”

  Claire studies me for a moment, like I’ve revealed something important. “It should be a wild night on the moors, if you want to join?” she offers finally.

  “No, thanks,” I answer quickly.

  “Why not? Are you going out tonight to roll around in the mud or whatever?”

  I sit at my desk, facing away from her. “No,” I answer.

  “I don’t mean to be insensitive. I just—I mean, what are you really doing when you go out there?”

  I consider how to answer and finally decide that some approximation of the truth wouldn’t be bad. She’ll figure it out soon enough, anyway.

  “I’m meeting Ben,” I say, watching her face carefully. Waiting for the disbelief.

  It comes swiftly. She laughs, her mouth opening
to reveal her straight, wide teeth. “Very clever,” she comments.

  When my expression doesn’t change its intensity, the smile falters on her face, then falls. “Wait, you’re not serious?”

  I purse my lips and nod. “He and I have a thing going,” I say with a shrug, like it wouldn’t create a tidal wave through the social structure of this school.

  “A thing?” she repeats, like the word is unfamiliar to her. Did I use the wrong phrasing? I can’t tell.

  “It’s a secret, so don’t spread it around, okay?”

  She juts her lips out, a word about to form on the ends of them, but she holds it in.

  I wait for her to gather her thoughts. To decide what question she wants to ask first. “Why is it a secret?” wins.

  “Because I want it to be,” I answer, stacking my textbooks on my desk in the order I need them. “I don’t want the whole school talking about us like we’re public property. I don’t really know what he and I are yet, but I know I don’t want the scrutiny.”

  She nods slowly. It’s actually a reasonable argument. “How did it happen?” she asks next. There’s a smile forming on her face, and she sits on her fluffy pink bed, getting comfortable. This is the point where I’m supposed to dish, and we’ll giggle, like all those teenage romance movies Mother made me watch as research.

  The idea tires me, but I oblige. “We got to talking about a Tennyson poem once, because we’re in English class together, you know? And he’s . . . he’s smarter than I thought. He was easy to talk to. And it became something more.” I stop, hoping that’s enough.

  She’s watching me with her mouth open in wonder. Like I’m telling her a love story. “So where do you sneak off to?”

  I smile, as if the thought of it gives me butterflies. “Just somewhere.”

  She doesn’t pry; that’s not the interesting part anyway. “So when you came home that morning covered in mud . . .” Her voice trails off in a question.

  I nod and hide my cheeks in my hands. I feel a blush rise there—a real blush. It confuses me. “He’s different when he’s with me,” I say. Maybe I shouldn’t be revealing so much, but her curious, happy expression opens up something inside me. “He’s so warm and sweet. I never expected him to be like that, because he’s so cocky with his friends. He keeps surprising me.” I stop myself, pursing my lips. Am I beginning to care for him? I can’t be. It would ruin Mother’s plan. It would ruin me.

  “It sounds serious,” she says with a teasing smile. “You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

  “No idea,” I admit.

  CHAPTER 17

  I make my move against Arabella the next day by targeting her two best friends, Lily and Anna. I find them talking in the hallway by their lockers that Wednesday morning, clustered around Arabella. The hallway is filled with chattering people, all of them happy and mindless. The perfect spot to make a scene. I approach Arabella and her friends with a smirk firmly in place. They watch me coming, confusion marring their faces. “What do you want?” Arabella asks, cocking her hip and placing her hand on it.

  I ignore her for a moment, looking around to make sure we have everyone’s attention. Everyone around us has stopped, waiting for the girl drama to erupt. I focus on Lily and Anna. “Careful she doesn’t do to you what she did to Emily,” I say in a loud conspiratorial whisper. “I heard they were both having an affair with Mr. Park, but she turned Emily in so she wouldn’t get caught herself.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Arabella scoffs.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Then why did you get such a good grade in the course? A bit suspicious, don’t you think?”

  It’s not at all suspicious, considering Arabella is a fairly good student, but Lily and Anna look at their friend with uncertainty.

  “You two know about her slutty sister, right?” I ask. “Looks like it runs in the family.”

  As Arabella fumes, I laugh and move on down the hall. Everyone watches me as I go, some of them smiling, most of them whispering to their friends, covering their mouths with their hands as their awe-struck, ridiculing words slip out.

  I allow myself a small private smile as I walk away from the scene. Mother told me to keep provoking her, and I’ve certainly done that. Arabella will have to fight back now, and as soon as she does, she’ll reveal to Ben how shallow his group of friends really is.

  After the last class a few days later, I finally find Arthur, and the knot in my chest that I’ve been trying so hard to ignore for the past three weeks loosens. He’s trimming the tall hedges at the front gate of the school, and I hurry over to him, looking back over my shoulder to make sure no one’s watching me. There are a few students wandering about in the rare sunshine beaming down on us, so I’ll have to be discreet.

  “I have to talk to you,” I hiss at him.

  He looks up, surprised, holding his shears in the air as he watches me rush past him. I don’t stop until I’ve reached his shed, and he’s right behind me to let me inside. He brushes against me as he pushes his key into the lock, and instead of moving, I look up at him. I reach just to his shoulder, so when I look up at his face, I see the cut of his jawbone and the smooth planes of his cheeks. It makes my breath catch in my chest.

  He opens the door and gestures me inside.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, his expression now impassive as he crosses his arms and looks at me.

  “Where have you been?” I ask, crossing my own arms. I want to put as much distance between us as possible, but the minuscule shed, all of it cluttered with books and papers, makes it difficult. My arms almost touch his, even though I have my back pressed against the wall. “Your father was here.”

  “I know,” he says with a sigh. “I saw him creeping around the edges of the school, so I got off campus as quickly as I could and told the administration that I had a death in the family so I could stay away until I was sure he was gone. I had an errand to run in London anyway.”

  “What errand?” I ask.

  “Nothing you need to worry about.” There’s something he’s not telling me, but I don’t press. “What was he doing here?” he asks.

  “What do you think? He was spying on me.”

  “Did you talk to him? Did he mention me?” He’s watching me intently, and I notice the dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept at all the past three weeks. He must have been so terrified to see his father wandering around the school, so close to this new life he created for himself.

  I surprise both of us when I reach out and touch his arm. I’m trying to calm him, but it only startles him, and he jumps back from my touch, nearly crashing into the wall. I pull my hand back, and a strange feeling courses through me. Embarrassment, I realize, as I feel my cheeks begin to flush. Why on earth had I thought to touch him? That’s never been my reaction before.

  I cross my arms again and try to regain some semblance of composure. “I talked to him, but he said nothing about you. He’d been spying on me that morning, but you were gone. Then he showed up in my history class.”

  “What did he say?”

  For a moment, I don’t know what to tell him. “He didn’t say anything about you,” I repeat, and then I close my mouth determinedly.

  He stares at me with those intense brown eyes, trying to work something out in his mind. His cheekbones seem even sharper as he frowns. I keep my expression carefully blank, not sure what he’s looking for.

  One of the skills Mother taught me is how to stay silent when you sense someone wants to tell you a secret. Making them speak first makes them nervous, and they’re more likely to tell more than they meant to.

  Arthur’s too smart for that trick, though. “If you see him again, tell me as soon as possible. If he finds me here, everything will be ruined.”

  “What will be ruined?” I ask, exasperated.

  He shakes his head. “Just trust me.” He s
miles a little, something small and sad, as if he realizes how impossible his request is.

  I nod and head for the door. There’s nothing more to be learned here. But just as I get my hand on the latch, Arthur steps up behind me. I freeze. I can feel his warm breath on my neck, the heat radiating from his body. “You and Ben have been sneaking out,” he whispers.

  I don’t turn around. I don’t trust myself to move. “How did you hear that?” We ran away to the cottage last night, where Ben accepted another white pill and kissed me under the stars.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he asks, his voice so sharp it cuts into my skin.

  I turn the latch and rush out into the fresh air. No one is around to see, but I run back to Faraday like I’m escaping a wildfire.

  CHAPTER 18

  A couple of days later, after the last literary magazine meeting of November, in which we vote on whether swear words will be allowed in the final publication (they pass unanimously), I come back to my room to find a girl I don’t know sitting on Claire’s bed, alone.

  Surprised, I stare at her dumbly for a moment. I haven’t seen her in the halls before. Suddenly, I realize who she must be.

  “Hi!” she says brightly, springing up and holding her hand out to me. “I’m Emily, Claire’s friend.”

  She’s tall and willowy, with cropped brown hair that accentuates the angles of her face. Her light brown eyes have an almost almond shape to them, and her smile reveals a small but perfect row of white teeth. She’s much more naturally beautiful than I am, and almost as striking. I try to smile. “You’re the girl who used to live here,” I say, shaking her hand quickly.

  “So she’s told you about me,” Emily says, settling back down on Claire’s fluffy pink bed and watching me carefully.