Tricky Girls (Girls of Hazelhurst #1)

4. CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

Tilda

I find it incongruous sometimes, sat with my phone and my uni-issued tablet and talking about future technologies, whilst ensconced within a 10 th century castle which loses electricity any time there’s a strong wind.

The lights in the vaulted stone ceiling are dim, rivalling the drizzly day outside, and made more so by the curtain of hair I keep over my face. I didn’t get a chance to wash it this morning and it still stinks of the body spray I spritz for Fright Night. Keeping my gaze firmly away from Natasha who sits two seats down, I pick at my black painted fingernails.

It felt wrong walking the ten minutes to our tutorial without her. We left our rooms at the same time, and I was sure she was about to say something, but one look at her patched-up face and I turned and fled.

I thought I’d feel angrier in the light of day. It’s probably the hangover, the queasiness in my belly stopping me from feeling much other than sad. Ryan wasn’t wrong last night—I hadn’t liked him much at the end and had been idly concocting up ways to dump him, but then he went and did that. And they hadn’t even seemed sorry, as though my feelings were of no importance, like I am of no importance.

He chose someone else last night, they both had, and that’s what’s twisting my heart the most.

My own mother chose me once, a long time ago, then never again since.

‘You’re not dead then.’

I raise my gaze, blinking into Elly’s freckly face. I hadn’t noticed her entering the room. ‘Hm?’

Her dimpled smile is wry. ‘You didn’t text me.’

‘Oh.’ I look back down at the table now covered in black flakes. I sweep them away. ‘Sorry. I pretty much crashed as soon as I got in.’

A white lie, but better than telling her the truth—that I stayed up until the sun was rising, ugly crying into my pillow after hearing Ryan in Natasha’s room next door.

Haz hovers behind her, face impassive as she takes in the state of me. ‘Get up.’ She nods her chin towards the back of the classroom.

Without peeking at Natasha, I gather my things and follow them to the back row. Haz tosses her bag on the fourth chair so no one can claim it. They make me sit in the middle of them, bringing to mind a vision of guarding hounds. It makes me smile.

‘Much better,’ Elly says, tugging on a pair of wire frame glasses. ‘I cried too when I woke up without a text from you.’

‘Fuck off,’ I laugh. ‘Leave the straight girl alone. She’s sad.’

‘I can help with that,’ Haz murmurs in my ear.

I twirl my pen restlessly as our lecturer enters the room. ‘Bet you can.’

They said they’d gone easy on us last year so it’s with trepidation that I listen to Mark, a youngish guy with proper Dermot O’Leary vibes, announce our principle project for the year.

‘We’ll tackle it in three waves,’ he says, penning his chicken scratch on the whiteboard.

It’s always ‘we’ with him, like he’s the one with his future on the line. He hadn’t even graduated from Hazelhurst; doubt he knows how fucking hard it is here. But there was something that got into my soul that afternoon our sixth form teacher talked about scholarships.

The only university in the whole damn country not to rely on taxpayers’ money—some weird, offshore loophole, and owing to the shady nature of the Italian family who run it—the only way in is if you’ve won the family lottery or through scholarship. I’d been okay with going to the metropolitan in my city. I could live in halls, away from Mum, but close to the security of my knucklehead friends who had no chance of getting into any uni.

Then the teacher pulled up the online prospectus, splashing over the whiteboard Hazelhurst’s creepy pine forests, jagged coastline and vampire-castle building.

I saw myself haunting its forests, picnicking next to the old crypt, sleeping in my dorm at the top of one of the towers. I could smell the pine needles and sea water.

From that moment on it was Hazelhurst or die.

‘A half-an-hour-long film,’ Mark continues, making a swooping circle on the board where he’s written FILM. ‘Content’s down to you. I’ll need a script and a storyboard, and an interactive menu screen. Blooper reel optional.’ He pauses to flash a smile. ‘Then finally, you’ll be making a webpage to advertise your potentially award-winning film. Winners will have their film screened in The Nox, and also played on a loop at the end of year show. And for this, folks, you’ll be working in groups up to four. Pairs are fine. And because I’m nice, I’ll let you choose.’

I draw in a breath as everyone reanimates, frantically grouping up. It’s a lot, especially on top of all my other modules. But I have seven or so months to get it done. I’ll make it work. Hazelhurst or die.

Natasha catches my eyes from the front of the room, her hesitant smile pulling at the plaster on her cheek. I bet it’s throbbing this morning. I bet she bled all over her pillow. This whole time we’ve never not worked together, whether in pairs or groups. Guilt gnaws at me as she turns back around, head bowed.

When I make to join her, Haz clamps her hand on my wrist.

‘Sit the fuck down. You’re not giving into that.’

‘You can work with us,’ Elly adds more gently.

‘All year,’ I say dully, slumping back into my chair.

‘All fucking year,’ Haz confirms with a grin.