Chapter 31
Emma
I was wrong. Seeing Henry collapsed in the woods wasn’t the worst experience of my life. Fighting with him over those photos was worse. We don’t speak to each other at dinner, and we carry on ignoring each other the next day. And then it’s Friday, the day of the maths exam.
I didn’t look at any of the questions before I deleted the pictures. A small, cowardly voice in my head is trying to persuade me that I therefore don’t need to feel guilty. I didn’t cheat, didn’t gain any unfair advantage, but I photographed the papers. There’s no getting around that.
I’m icy cold as I enter the classroom and sit down. Henry doesn’t look in my direction even once. When Mr. Ward comes in, I hold my breath. He puts down his bag and pulls out the test papers. As he hands them out, my palms are supersweaty. His eyes sweep over me as he gives me mine.
I reach for my pen. My hands are shaking as Mr. Ward walks back to the front, reminds us what time the exam finishes, and wishes us good luck.
I don’t remember any of the questions by the time I hand in my work an eternity later. My head is empty. I look at Henry, but he doesn’t pay me any attention as we walk out. Still, at least I saw him writing during the exam.
I don’t stop with Inés and the others who are, as always, anxiously talking over their answers. I can hardly bear it at the best of times, least of all today. Instead, I follow Henry, who’s already heading off down the corridor.
“Henry.” I catch his sleeve. He whirls around. “I’m sorry, could we maybe . . .”
All he answers is “I have to get to rugby.” His voice is so cold that it hurts.
The match this afternoon, I remember now. I never even asked if he’ll get to play.
Henry walks on. I let him go. I feel dreadful.
“Good luck,” I whisper as he walks away.
Henry
Emma photographed those exam papers for me, and I’m still wondering what the actual hell she was thinking.
OK, so my results haven’t been amazing lately, but if I’d had any idea that she’d get herself into that kind of trouble for my sake, I’d have pulled my bloody finger out a bit.
It scares even me how blasé I am about everything, but a little voice in the back of my mind is screaming at me that I ought to have seen it coming.
That Emma would never just stand by and watch me let myself go like this.
But to do a thing like that for me . . . It’s just nuts.
Nuts and maybe also the warning shot I needed.
I felt like throwing up before the exam, and not because I was so unprepared for it.
No, I’ve spent the last few days imagining all the ways Mr. Ward would have a go at Emma if he saw her photographing the papers.
But he didn’t, so I can relax. Nobody knows a thing.
Emma deleted those photos before my very eyes.
At least she didn’t try to steal one . .
. And hey, it gave me something else to freak out over, apart from Maeve.
I’m getting cynical, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything.
It ought to bother me, but I don’t care about that either.
I pull on my rugby jersey and line up with the others while Mr. Cormack gives us his mildly aggressive motivational speech. I don’t even care whether he brings me on or not.
It’s freezing cold, but the whole school has still turned out to line the pitch and fill the stands.
There’s a relaxed buzz, and everything’s the same as ever.
I spend the first half of the game on the bench, during which time I spot Emma.
She’s sitting with Tori and Sinclair, following the match with that skeptical Emma look.
My heart twinges a little. It’s so stupid that we’re fighting.
But it was so stupid of her to risk so much for an unimportant maths test. Hell, she could get expelled.
She’s already had a warning, and that was my fault too.
All the same, I’m pretty sure that attempted cheating would get you thrown out on the spot.
Mrs. Sinclair is unforgiving of things like that.
Quite rightly. But for Emma, it would be a bit different.
She’d never have done a thing like that for herself and for her own grades.
Maybe the ends don’t justify the means—it’s all so complicated. But then she got lucky. We got lucky.
I raise my head as Mr. Cormack comes over.
“Ready, Bennington?” he asks.
I’m on the point of asking, What for? but I force myself to nod because that’s definitely what he wants to see. I stand up.
“You’re going on for Gideon.” Mr. Cormack pulls me slightly aside. “Unless it’s too much for you today.”
I swallow hard. Why should it be too much for me? “No,” I say. “I’m ready. I want to play.”
“That’s the spirit.” I struggle to keep on my feet as Mr. Cormack slaps me heartily around the shoulders. “Get warmed back up, then, and you’ll be on after halftime.”
“Thanks, sir,” I say, starting to jog.
The crowd cheers as we score a try just before the whistle. At halftime, Alkmounton are only two points ahead. I’m actually a bit pleased that Mr. Cormack’s sending me on even though we’re behind. But maybe he wants to rest Gideon so he can be fresh for the next big match.
Halftime is over. I’m warmed up and superexcited as I finally run onto the pitch with the others.
The ref blows the whistle, and my body goes through the moves I’ve been training for all these weeks.
I stop thinking. I’m just running, catching, running faster, trying to score, but Alkmounton are crafty as well as fast and strong.
I feel like my running lines are too predictable when their defense repeatedly bottles me up.
My pulse is racing, my muscles are burning.
I have to be faster. I have to give them the unexpected—that’s what everyone always says.
Alkmounton increase their lead; Valentine Ward is smeared with mud, dripping with sweat, and staring fiercely in my direction.
I take up my position again. The front row secures the ball, and I glance at the crowd.
There are people yelling and cheering. I can see Emma sitting there, and in my mind’s eye, she turns into Maeve.
Maeve jumping up beside me, throwing her arms into the air and cheering on Theo as he races down the pitch.
I see myself in my first school uniform, I see myself walking through the corridors, almost bursting with pride because Maeve’s not talking to her cool new friends but to me.
I see myself standing in the courtyard as her taxi drives out through the gate and over the bridge.
Just a few weeks, Henny, until you come and visit me in St. Andrews.
Her smile, her warm eyes. Theo’s pale face as he turns toward me in the school office, not saying a word.
Because she’s dead. Because I’ll never see her again . . .
“Bennington!” I jump. Valentine’s throwing the ball to me. “Catch!”
Instinctively I do, and I ought to run. I know that, but my legs won’t move. I hear Mr. Cormack roaring something to me, Gideon, Valentine, and Omar, gesticulating wildly, yelling too. Because I have to run. But I can’t. I just can’t.
I didn’t see where he came from. Their flanker cleans me out. He takes my legs out—it’s a seriously good tackle. Fast, hard, effective. I land on my back, and the impact squashes all the air from my lungs. A second later, another body lands on top of us.
There’s a dull ache in my head and pain shooting through my shoulder too.
I can’t breathe. It can’t be done.
Shit, it hurts. And it’s dark.
Hold on.
Why is it dark?
And then I don’t think anything more.
Emma
I’ve been underestimating this rugby stuff.
I realize that for sure when I see the entire school lining the pitch and in the stands, even though it’s been drizzling slightly all afternoon.
It’s anything but comfortable. Tori, Sinclair, and the others don’t seem to mind, though.
They’re sitting next to me; Omar and Gideon are on the pitch with Henry.
The team are warming up on the grass, and I can hear the voice of Louis, a boy in the upper sixth, coming through the loudspeakers.
This is a real event, and I grasp that as I notice the spectators wearing blue-and-white school rugby jumpers and scarves, Dunbridge hoodies, and school caps.
I see the school flag, hear people’s laughter, and sense the cheerful atmosphere.
The teachers are sitting in the front row too. Even Mrs. Sinclair is here. She’s wearing some kind of Dunbridge beanie over her blond hair and shaking hands with an older man who seems to be the head of the other school.
If things weren’t an endless pile of crap, I might even be properly enjoying this.
I love any kind of sporting event, and suddenly, I’m really missing our athletics competitions from home.
But as it is, I just sip the lemonade that Sinclair brought down for us and try to plead with Henry with my eyes.
I haven’t wished him luck—there was no way he heard me after maths just now—and this is his first major game.
He and Gideon are running up and down the edge of the pitch, warming up, sprinting, throwing and catching, stretching again.
Yet again, I realize how little I know about rugby as the teams come onto the pitch. Valentine shakes hands with the other captain and the referee, and then they take up their positions.