Chapter 11 #2
Maybe this is all part of the punishment I deserve because, to be honest, I don’t deserve to be with her. Maybe it has to be this way. Because Cleo Fantino needs better company than her no-good brother, who has a person’s death on his conscience.
Olive
I never realized how much I missed the midnight parties with my pals. This Saturday evening, the old greenhouse is fuller than normal, because it now has to serve as the party location for two year groups, not one.
“Olive!” I’m barely through the door when Theresa O’Malley and a few other girls from my lower-sixth English group pounce on me. “We were just talking about you.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, like I should be pleased about that.
“Yeah, we were wondering if you’d be involved in the school newspaper. You know the centenary celebrations got postponed, so we’re planning a special edition for the party in the spring and we’re looking for someone who’ll do the sport and hobbies section. Would you be up for it?”
Theresa sounds euphoric, and even though I’m sure she genuinely doesn’t mean any harm, her offer makes my stomach clench. “Why me in particular?”
“Well, you know everyone in the upper sixth, you were on the swimming team and doing A-level PE. So we thought . . .” Theresa trails off.
“That I’ve got loads of time on my hands now that I can’t swim or do PE anymore?” I suggest.
She glances down. “No—oh, man, I’m sorry if it came across that way. We just thought it would be nice now that you’re in our form.”
I feel like saying, Not for long, but I don’t.
“Think about it, yeah?” Theresa suggests. “But it’s totally OK if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d ask.”
I nod mechanically. “I’ll think about it.”
She smiles, and I should probably chat to her and the others for a bit to settle into my new form, but everything within me wants to join Emma, Henry, Tori, and Sinclair. I link arms with Grace, who’s just come in with Gideon.
“The school newspaper?” Grace asks when I tell her about Theresa’s idea. “That might be cool, though? You really do know someone on pretty much all the teams. I’d be your woman for athletics.”
“And me for rugby,” Gideon adds. “Your man, that is. You know what I mean.”
“Or don’t you want to?” Grace persists as Gideon goes over to a few of the rugby lads and we join Tori and the others.
“I don’t know,” I say. It would mean talking to more people on the swimming team, which I’ve been avoiding up to now.
They sent me flowers and get-well cards in hospital, but I haven’t said thank you because I can’t bear the thought of even setting foot in the swimming center while they’re training.
However much I miss my team and Ms. Cox.
“Because of the swimming?” Grace asks, like she’s read my mind.
I shrug. “I’m not part of the team anymore.”
“You’ll always be part of the team,” she insists. “I can seriously imagine you as the Dunbridge sports reporter, armed with a camera, asking insightful interview questions.”
“I’ve got enough on my plate with my schoolwork and keeping up with you all. And stop looking at me like that.”
“Looking at you like what?”
“So . . . knowing.”
“Sorry.” Grace stands up. “What do you want to drink?”
“Don’t mind,” I mumble, watching her back as she disappears into the crowd.
Tori immediately draws me into her conversation, and for a brief moment I manage to forget that I’m not in the upper sixth with them all. She fills me in on all the gossip, and suddenly, it’s just like the old days.
Except that every now and then, my eyes wander to the door as people come into the greenhouse. Colin is never among them, and I’m annoyed with myself for even noticing that. Can I really be surprised that he considers himself too cool for a midnight party?
Even so, when Henry asks Sinclair about him, I prick my ears.
“Obviously I invited him,” he says hastily. “But do you seriously think he’d come?”
“Is he still being an arse?” Tori asks.
“He laughed and told me to enjoy our kiddies’ tea party.”
“I hate him.” I only realize I said that aloud when the others turn to look at me. “No, really,” I add. “He’s such a bawbag.”
Tori laughs. “He’s a total Scorpio.”
“Tori, I’m going to start taking that personally in a minute.”
“No need, you can’t help it.”
“Give it a rest. I’m nothing like Fantino.” Nobody replies, and I cross my arms in outrage. “Whoa, you don’t mean it?”
“You can seem kind of prickly until someone gets to know you,” Emma says with an apologetic shrug.
“Even if I am, Fantino’s next level. He has no respect for anyone.”
“She’s not wrong . . .” murmurs Sinclair.
“You see? How do you manage, sharing a room with him?”
“We try to keep out of each other’s way. And talk as little as possible.”
“That’s so sad,” Henry remarks. “For you both. He doesn’t seem to want to settle in here.”
“He doesn’t,” I agree. “He just wants to be provocative. I’ve never met anyone who speaks to the teachers like he does. Not even Valentine Ward.”
“And that’s saying something,” mutters Gideon, who’s joined us now.
“Colin really thinks he can do whatever he likes. And he eats the whole bloody time! I mean, constantly, and everywhere. Even in class, and no teacher says a word.”
“Olive . . .” Sinclair tries to get a word in, but I don’t let him.
“No, you guys don’t get it. I’m going to flip if I have to spend even one more day—”
“Olive, he’s got diabetes,” Henry interrupts.
“What?” I laugh.
And then it goes quiet. I must have misheard, but Henry’s face is serious. Sinclair meets my eyes. And suddenly I feel like a total idiot.
“He has? Seriously?”
Henry nods.
“Did you all know that?” My friends look embarrassed, which tells me everything. “You’re kidding?”
“I didn’t,” says Grace, but that doesn’t help much.
“My mum told me,” says Sinclair.
“She told me too,” Henry says. “As school captain.”
“But why didn’t anyone say anything in class?” I ask. “The teachers must know if—”
“They do,” says Henry. “They all know. But Colin didn’t want a big fuss about it.”
“And none of you thought to mention that to me?”
Tori looks kind of guilty. “You didn’t want to talk about him.”
“I don’t,” I say at once.
Tori and Henry exchange glances.
“But this is important! I need to know what to do if he—”
“I think Colin’s perfectly capable of telling people what he needs,” Sinclair replies.
I stand up.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” I say, although I know perfectly well. “I need to go and do some research. I mean, don’t people with diabetes have to avoid too much sugar? He eats the whole time.”
“Sit down, Olive,” Henry orders, taking a quick breath. “There are different kinds of diabetes. Colin has type one. It’s genetic and mostly appears when you’re young. His body has stopped producing insulin, so he has to take it externally. And if his blood sugar is too low, he has to eat.”
I can’t speak. I had a go at Colin for eating in class, but he only did it because he had to. God, I’m stupid. I’m a total idiot.
And then my blood runs cold as I follow my friends’ eyes over to the door.