Chapter 6 #2
“No, there’s one more thing, as it happens.
” Mrs. Sinclair is pacing slowly up and down in front of her desk.
A sure sign that a lecture is coming. And I can guess why.
“You might not have had time to read the school rules yet, Colin. And Olive, I’m very happy to give you an up-to-date copy, as a reminder that malicious damage to school property will not be tolerated. ”
I don’t dare look at Mrs. Sinclair, so I stare fixedly at the edge of her desk.
“I will ask the two of you only once. Have you anything to say to me? Now would be the time.”
Colin blinks innocently. “About what?”
“Last night, a display case was smashed in one of the corridors.” I don’t need to raise my head to feel Mrs. Sinclair’s eyes on me. “The one for the swimming team.”
I didn’t do anything. But I didn’t stop Colin smashing that case for me. I might even have been happy that he did it.
“That’s terrible,” he says, turning to me. That’s when I start feeling scared. Surely he won’t . . . “I hope you find the perpetrator.”
When I glance at him, a challenge sparkles in his chestnut eyes.
“I hope so too,” I say with a threatening undertone, but Colin just twitches the corner of his lips.
Bite me, Fantino. Seriously. I have no proof that it was him, and if I grassed on him, Mrs. Sinclair would ask questions.
Like why I was even down there, watching him do something out of bounds.
What gave Colin the idea of smashing the swimming-team trophy cabinet?
After all, he’s not the one raging at being out of the team.
Although he is angry, I can tell. But it’s a different kind of rage.
I need to find out what that’s all about.
“Well?” Mrs. Sinclair asks, and I tear my eyes off him.
“I didn’t see anything.” I keep my voice steady.
Colin clicks his tongue quietly. “Me neither.”
“Fine.” She crosses her arms over her chest as somebody knocks on the door.
“Sorry I’m late,” Henry says as he comes in. “I got held up.”
“No problem. We’ve just finished here,” she says, turning back to Colin.
“Colin, this is Henry Bennington. He’s the school captain and the first port of call for you if you have any questions or concerns.
Henry will take you back to class now. No, up to your room, Colin, so that you can change.
” I’m about to stand up but Mrs. Sinclair adds, “Olive, do you have a minute?”
Oh, no . . . Does she actually know more about the display case?
I mean, she’s Mrs. Sinclair. She’s no fool.
On the other hand, I also know that she’s a big fan of the benefit of the doubt.
She proved that in her willingness to listen to Henry and Emma when they got into trouble last year.
But I’m innocent here. I didn’t do anything. Not a thing.
I straighten my shoulders and settle down again. “Sure.”
Mrs. Sinclair waits for Henry and Colin to leave the room. Then she looks at me. “It’s good to have you back, Olive.”
Oh, no. It’s going to be this kind of conversation then. Maybe I’d better talk about the trophy cabinet after all, to stop her asking me how I am.
“I’m glad to be back,” I mutter woodenly.
“I’m truly happy you’re on the mend. And I appreciate how motivated you are to get back to class. But I want you to come to me or Ms. Barnett if you realize it’s getting to be too much for you.”
“I can cope,” I say evasively.
“Olive, this isn’t a request, it’s an order,” says Mrs. Sinclair. “You’ve been through a lot in the last couple of months.”
“I’d find it easier if I could go back to my old class. Be with my friends.”
“I know you think so, Olive, but please believe me that your parents have your best interests at heart.”
“So do you agree with them that I don’t know what’s best for me?”
“I think you’re in danger of overdoing things if nobody keeps an eye on you.”
Splitting me up from my friends and dumping me down a year group is going to help fuck-all.
OK, maybe it’ll be easier to keep up in the lower sixth because I’ve done the work once already, but I’d manage in the upper sixth too.
I’m Olive Henderson. I always cope. Although maybe I’m not the same Olive I was in the summer.
Maybe it’s time to admit that to myself.
“Clearly you’re let off the morning run and games for the time being,” Mrs. Sinclair goes on. I guess most people would consider that good news, but A-level PE, the morning runs, and swimming training, of course, were the times of day I felt most myself. And now all of that is gone.
But I nod as if I’m grateful. What else can I do? Insist on being allowed to do games even though every movement is so painful I can’t get bloody dressed in the morning without pills? Great idea.
You’re young, you have every chance to get back to normal, to get to grips with everyday life again. That’s great, but I don’t want a normal life. I want my old life back. I want to be able to swim. I want those hours when I can just forget all the bullshit.
“Good, Olive.” Mrs. Sinclair looks at me, and there’s that damn sympathy in her face again. “If there’s nothing else, you can get along to class.”
I thank her and leave the office. The corridors are deserted because the first class of the day has started.
On the south-wing stairs, I meet Henry and Colin, who has actually changed.
My treacherous mouth dries out at the sight of him in the perfectly fitted blazer and matching trousers.
He looks like a completely different person.
Which doesn’t mean his phony skater look—baggy jeans, Vans, and outsized sweatshirt—didn’t suit him too.
Entirely objectively speaking. I’m not that shallow.
Clothes don’t change the fact that he’s an arsehole and that I don’t want anything to do with him.
I hurriedly turn left, praying that Henry will be leading Colin elsewhere.
But Fate seems determined to kick me in the teeth, and they follow me.
“What have you got now, Olive?” Henry asks.
“Spanish, with Mr. Acevedo,” I mumble.
“Oh, great. Then you’re on the same course. And I’m sure Olive can show you the way to maths later.” Henry stops and looks questioningly at me. “Can’t you?”
“Nothing I’d like better,” I mutter, seeing I don’t really have a choice. Saying no would just make Henry ask questions. Wonder why I’m so pissed off with Colin. And I’d end up giving myself away and everyone would know that I’ve got more to do with the broken display case than I’m letting on.
“Perfect.” Henry knocks on the door. “Sorry for interrupting you, sir, I’m just bringing you your two new class members.”
Colin
Luckily for me, however irritating this new Spanish teacher is, he only introduces me briefly to the class.
No wonder, because he was there yesterday when Mrs. Sinclair assured Mom that interesting details like my surname would be dealt with discreetly here.
I guess they’re good at that stuff at this school because, according to Mom, all kinds of influential businesspeople and celebrities like to send their kids to Dunbridge Academy.
She says they have scions of aristocratic families from across the world getting their education here.
I can’t believe the news won’t be all around the school at lightning speed anyway, but maybe they’re just used to that kind of thing and nobody will care.
Nobody at Ainslee gave a damn who my mom was either, any more than I cared if my fellow students had bankers or actors for parents or anyone else equally out of touch with reality.
I was just Colin, and here I’m just Colin from New York.
And once he’s done with me, Mr. Acevedo introduces display-case girl.
“And you know Olive already. Nice to have you joining us from now on, Olive.”
Whoa, hold on. Does that mean she’s repeating a year? It’s the only explanation I can think of. I was kind of surprised to see her at the conversation with Mrs. Sinclair just now. At first I thought she was just being told to look out for me a bit, but apparently that wasn’t the case.
She doesn’t seem particularly happy that the only free desks are side by side in the second row from the back, which means we soon have to buddy up for a conversation exercise.
I lean back and don’t open my textbook. “Olive, huh?” I link my arms behind my head. “As in Olive Garden?”
She glares at me. “What’s your problem?”
“C’mon, you have to admit it’s kind of funny.”
“What the hell are you on about?”
“Olive Garden?” I repeat and pause as she still doesn’t get it. “Wait, don’t you have that here?”
“Is it a shop?”
“Man.” I laugh quietly. “I need to get kicked out of this place ASAP. Could you give me a hand with that?”
She looks at me as if I’m totally out of my mind. “I’m not helping you with anything,” she says.
“OK, then we can get kicked out together.” I shrug and reach for my phone.
Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of it. “You have to hand your phone in before class,” she whispers, pointing to the shelf full of cell phones by the door.
“Uh-huh,” I say, unimpressed. Obviously, I’m aware of the rule.
But Olive Garden doesn’t need to know that.
She stares at me in disbelief. Her eyes dart over to Mr. Acevedo, who’s walking around the room, and I’m really very interested to know if she’s enough of an asshole to rat on me.
I’d like to see her try it because, like all the staff, he’s well aware that I have special permission to keep my cell phone on me at all times, seeing that it’s also measuring my blood sugar and controlling my insulin pump.
But no way is it going to be me who tells her that.
She looks away, so I take the chance to glance at the app—I’ve got the feeling I’m a bit low. Maybe the insulin bolus I took at breakfast was a bit overoptimistic, because I could hardly swallow a mouthful.
“You’re not bloody serious, are you?” she hisses as she turns back to me, and I adjust my basal rate before opening my photos.