Chapter 6
Olive
I made it back to my room without being caught, and although I was churned up after my encounter with that guy, I must have fallen asleep eventually. It wasn’t restful sleep, though: I dreamed of breaking glass and screaming, with nobody hearing me over the noise of the flames.
I woke up dripping with sweat and was still feeling shaky half an hour later, during the morning assembly; I still am, even now that I’m sitting with the others for breakfast.
Of course, the smashed display case is the hot topic this morning.
I felt like a traitor sitting motionless in my row as Mrs. Sinclair informed us all very seriously that vandalism would not be tolerated at Dunbridge Academy.
She was disappointed that the culprits hadn’t owned up to their actions.
Maybe it was coincidence that her eyes rested on me as her gaze swept over all our heads.
Or maybe she knows me only too well and can put two and two together.
But it’s not even true. She should have been aiming that reproachful look at the new lad, not me.
Because, yeah, I was seriously raging, but I’d never have done that.
He did it, and I didn’t ask him to. But I can’t tell her that because I don’t want to grass on him.
So I sat out the assembly and sneaked a glance around, but I couldn’t see display-case boy anyway.
I didn’t see him afterward as we went for breakfast either.
I followed my friends to the upper-sixth table like I still belong there.
I feel like I’m playing a part, yet most of my former classmates don’t seem to know that I’m repeating the lower sixth.
They wave to me, look genuinely happy that I’m back.
My friends’ eyes weigh heavily on me, as do Mr. Acevedo’s.
He’s on table duty today, but he doesn’t order me to join the lower sixth.
I guess I should be grateful for this last period of grace, but I’m not. I’m just angry.
And my anger grows as I find I’m scanning the tables for him.
The lad from last night. He’s not here. Or so I think, but after a while he strolls in, way late, and everyone turns to look at him.
Because he’s new, and tall. His brown hair is still damp, and he’s got broad shoulders.
He’s wearing jeans and a black hoodie, and there’s the fiercest scowl I’ve ever seen across his face.
He looks a wee bit bleary and knackered, but there’s a remorseless expression in his chestnut-brown eyes that kind of goes with his razor-sharp jawline.
He really stands out amid all the pleated skirts and dark blazers.
We might have managed to overturn the strictly gendered uniform policy before the summer holidays, but we still have to wear full uniform on Mondays and special occasions.
It felt weird to put on my pale trousers instead of the skirt this morning, and not to be told off by any of the teachers.
Gender-neutral uniform is one thing, but turning up to class or a meal in ordinary clothes is quite another. We’re only allowed to wear them at the weekend or after study hour during the week, which is the official end of the school day.
I don’t hear what Mr. Acevedo says to display-case boy, but I certainly see his eyes roll before he nods, and then our teacher sends him to join the lower-sixth table.
“Is he the newbie?” Tori asks, beside me, craning her neck.
“Don’t do that,” I hiss.
“What?” She doesn’t look at me.
“Stare at him like that.”
“Why not? It’s interesting.”
Sinclair glares at Tori. “He was out after wing time, and he’s not wearing uniform even though I specifically told him this morning that he had to.”
“No way, Charlie,” Tori teases, biting into her toast.
“It’s out of order,” he says. “God knows what he was up to last night.”
I hastily glance down at my plate as display-case boy’s eyes meet mine for a moment, even among all these people.
“Your mum will bring him up to speed on the rules later,” says Henry, who’s sitting next to Sinclair. He looks at me. “Mrs. Sinclair wants to see you too, Olive.”
I feel the others staring at me. “I know.”
“I’ll take you both over.”
“I know the way,” I reply, more snappily than I intended.
Henry isn’t fazed. However hard he tries to hide it, I can see sympathy in his face. But he just says “Course you do” and sips his tea.
An awkward silence is doing my head in, so I shut my eyes. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off.”
“It’s fine, Olive.”
They have to stop this. Looking at me like that. Like part of me died in that fire because, even if that might be true, I can’t admit it. I need my friends to give me the feeling that everything’s still the way it was before the summer. Even if it isn’t.
“You’ll join us in the old greenhouse this evening, won’t you?” Tori asks, because she’s my best friend and can tell how I’m feeling. I could cry.
“If you’ll let the lower sixth tag along . . .”
“Olive, please,” Tori retorts.
“Anyway, the real question is,” Henry points out, “will the lower sixth let us crash their space?”
“They’re fine with us sharing the greenhouse,” Gideon says. “Nobody can use the Dungeon right now anyway.”
“Such a shame,” remarks Tori. “I was so looking forward to hanging out in that rathole.” Her sarcastic tone makes me smile.
Or maybe it’s just the relief that we’ll still have evenings in the old greenhouse together.
It’s faint comfort, but better than nothing.
Even so, it feels wrong not to join Tori, Sinclair, Emma, and Henry on their way to class after breakfast, but to take the south-wing stairs up to the offices.
Mr. Harper’s face brightens as I knock on his door. He asks me about eight times if I’m OK, then tells me to take a seat outside Mrs. Sinclair’s offices. It’s clear what I’m waiting for—or, rather, who. He’s still wearing his hoodie and jeans, along with that unbearably arrogant grin.
“Mr. Fantino, has your uniform not arrived yet?” Mr. Harper asks when display-case boy walks in.
“Yeah, it has,” he replies.
“Then kindly go and change.”
I would have loved to hear his reply to that direct instruction, but at that moment, the door to Mrs. Sinclair’s office opens.
Her eyes meet mine, but she doesn’t look at me like everyone else does—with deep concern, as if I’m suddenly a different person.
She didn’t do that even when she came to visit me in hospital to see how I was.
She looks at me as if I can do anything I set my mind to: as if this thing hasn’t broken me but has made me stronger.
For a moment, I’m tempted to believe her.
“Olive.” She nods to me, then looks at display-case boy. Then she steps aside. “Colin. Please come in.”
Uh-huh. Colin, is it? I follow Mrs. Sinclair and feel his eyes burning into the back of my neck. Colin Fantino, the newbie from the USA. The name sounds too soft for him. Too . . . nice. But it kind of fits him too. I noticed his accent last night of course. It’s a total turn-off.
“Colin, full uniform is compulsory on Mondays,” Mrs. Sinclair says almost as soon as we’ve sat down in front of her desk. “As I told you yesterday.”
Colin leans back provocatively. “I guess I forgot.”
What the . . . ? I stare at him in disbelief. It’s one thing to take that silly tone toward me, but speaking to the head like that is bang out of line. Not even Valentine Ward would have dared, and he had zero respect for this school.
Mrs. Sinclair pauses in front of her desk and gives Colin a long look.
She stays calm, which is exactly what I’d expect of her, but her expression will tolerate no contradiction as she replies, “Well, such a thing may happen on your first day. After our meeting here, you will go up to your room and change.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He slides back in his chair and crosses his ankle over his knee.
“Kindly sit up straight.”
Colin actually does as she says, but rolls his eyes when Mrs. Sinclair looks away for a moment. I’ve lost all respect for him.
“There’s no need for a long chat now,” Mrs. Sinclair says. “We met only yesterday, Colin, and Olive, you already know how things work here. But I wanted the two of you to get to know each other seeing that you’re both starting the lower sixth together now.”
Something in me tenses as she speaks. Her words sound so damn final.
Seven weeks, Olive. Seven weeks until you can make your own decisions.
“You’re starting a few weeks into term, but your teachers have drawn up individual plans to help the two of you catch up, so you can both, please, see them all to discuss that in detail.
And you can each arrange additional tutoring from them if you like.
I would particularly encourage you to take up that offer, Colin, if you find that the level here is higher than at your old school. ”
He laughs quietly. “With all due respect, I was at Ainslee, Manhattan.”
“And with all due respect, Colin,” Mrs. Sinclair says slowly, not looking away from the challenge in his eyes, “you’re now at Dunbridge Academy.
” Colin glances at me as a snort of amusement escapes me.
I bite my bottom lip and look away. I love Sinclair’s mum.
But Colin hates her. I can see it in his face.
“And I’m sure you’ll soon be feeling at home here.
I’m certain that Olive and the others will be only too happy to answer any questions you may have about everyday school life.
I am very proud of every pupil at this school, and I’m sure that you’ll soon find your place in our community. ”
Colin stays defiantly silent, and I wonder how old he is. Twelve? He’s acting like it.
Mrs. Sinclair doesn’t say anything more, so I look inquiringly at her. But then he does speak again.
“Is that it?”