Stella

by Helen Eve

  I sometimes worry that Luke and I have been together too long to be interesting, but as he’s the best-looking boy in school there’s nowhere to upgrade. I also like having easy access to the Stripes. These are the boys with the sandwich filling conversation, but I still listen in on them to ensure I’m not missing out on any salient advice or gossip. Some of the things they say about other girls are a real eye-opener, and it’s great to know I’m immune to that kind of scrutiny. Today they’re discussing Caitlin, whom they all fancy (except Luke, who naturally keeps a respectful silence). As you’d expect, she’s in the unpopular corner underneath a large depiction of envy, with girls who wouldn’t know a ghd if it ripped out their split ends.

  By lunchtime everyone knows about Blake and Delia, which might make Ruby think twice about broadcasting her stupid flings around school as if they mean something. Nor should it be good publicity for Delia, but she seems to have misunderstood her portrayal as she’s looking smug. She can’t possibly think hooking up with Blake is an achievement, so perhaps she’s just relieved that no one’s saying she’s a lesbian anymore, which is the rumour Lila started when Delia wore the same Erdem dress as her (three sizes larger) to Winterval.

  Chapter Five

  Caitlin

  Of all the students in the group, Hannah and Lucy looked most comfortingly like my friends from Campion. Hannah didn’t speak to me, but I figured she was shy, so when class finished I turned and gave her the biggest smile I could muster.

  ‘I’m Caitlin,’ I said brightly.

  She looked behind her to check I wasn’t addressing someone else and then smiled back at me. As we gathered up our books, two boys muttered ‘blubber’ at her quite audibly, and Katrina and Ruby smirked as they flounced out like teen models.

  ‘Shall we take Caitlin to the Common Room, Hannah?’ Lucy said in the clipped accent I was still getting used to.

  As we got up, I noticed that the back of her hair was covered in spitballs. Just how old were these kids? All that money and privilege, and they behaved like kindergarteners.

  Lucy blushed red when I reached over and pulled some out. ‘It’s okay,’ she sighed. ‘It happens all the time.’

  ‘Was it one of the boys?’ I asked.

  She and Hannah exchanged glances. ‘Bound to be,’ said Lucy unconvincingly.

  I wondered whether it had been Katrina or Ruby.

  When I’d bonded with Lucy by brushing her hair, and Hannah had accepted that I wasn’t going to make fun of her, they took me to the Common Room where everyone hung out between lessons.

  They talked about their vacation, which had mostly centred on something called coursework, and passed around a bag of candy. I joined in as well as I could (except for the British chocolate, which I couldn’t get used to), but they seemed almost as nervous as I was, so I looked around for a diversion. My gaze stopped at the boys playing pool.

  ‘Who are they?’ I whispered during a lull in conversation.

  They fell over themselves to tell me. Finally we’d hit on common ground.

  ‘The boy with black hair is Edward Lawrence,’ hissed a pretty red-haired girl opposite me who’d just introduced herself as Caroline. She crossed her legs as she leaned towards me, showcasing polka-dot tights. ‘He’s always in trouble about something. Like, once he flooded the Chemistry labs – it got us out of practical lessons for weeks. And last term he let out all the locusts in Biology.’

  ‘Why did he do that?’ I’d already noticed Edward because he’d spent English class flirting with the back row girls.

  ‘Just because he’s super-rich, I suppose,’ Caroline said, as if this explained everything. ‘His father donated new locusts as well as the new science wing. He has the most amazing house parties in school holidays and he invited me once. It was the best day of my whole life.’

  Edward dominated the room because he was loud, but after a while I looked over at his friend. This boy hadn’t spoken much since we’d arrived and he was frowning as he lined up his shot. In hindsight it’s easy to overdramatize, but back then I had no idea of the complications.

  Of course I’d had crushes before – mostly older brothers of my Campion friends, and once, humiliatingly, a Jonas Brother – but I’d never seen a boy like this. This boy shone like sunlight, making all others fade and blur around him.

  ‘Who’s he?’ My voice sounded strange.

  ‘That’s Luke Richings,’ Caroline told me eagerly. ‘He’s Stella’s boyfriend.’

  ‘Who’s Stella?’

  Caroline hadn’t volunteered a surname, suggesting that, like Beyoncé or Gandhi, Stella was famous enough to go by one name only.

  ‘I wish I didn’t know who Stella was.’ Hannah sounded envious. ‘Count yourself lucky.’

  ‘She’s in our English class, right?’ I asked. ‘She sits at the back?’

  I asked on instinct, but I was now sure she was the girl from the clock tower. I also recalled nervously that the name Stella was emblazoned on the bedroom door next to mine in swirling letters on a giant silver star.

  I tried to swallow my disappointment: in my mind I’d put her with Edward. Both were conspicuous and impossible to ignore. It figured that Luke was taken – I felt embarrassed for even wondering otherwise – but before my good sense had reasserted itself I’d imagined him kissing me in the library as he helped me with a Math problem, or holding my hand in a busy hallway as other students stepped aside for us. For some reason I’d allowed myself to imagine that Luke had the power to change my whole life.

  ‘That’s her,’ said Lucy. ‘Estella Havisham.’

  Hannah giggled nervously. ‘Stella Hamilton, she means.’

  Luke was winning the game against messy-haired Edward, who tried to seize back the advantage by laughing at Luke when he missed a shot. He took no notice of me and I didn’t expect him to. Boys that confident didn’t have time for someone like me.

  Luke was quieter and seemed oblivious to the way girls looked at him. His athlete’s build was offset by soft blond hair that curled around his ears, and serious brown eyes; eyes that I wanted to drown in, right from that moment.

  ‘So what’s Stella like?’ I asked.

  They looked at each other uncertainly.

  ‘All her clothes are vintage and couture,’ volunteered Caroline.

  ‘Her mother was a model, and she’s friends with Iman,’ said Hannah, as if reading from a press release. ‘And Princess Caroline of Monaco.’

  ‘Stella’s done modelling too. She never eats,’ added Caroline. ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘And when she’s elected Head Girl she’ll be even more powerful than she is now,’ finished Lucy gloomily.

  I guessed they’d had this conversation many times before.

  ‘So why don’t you guys like her?’ I asked. ‘Is she mean?’

  They looked at each other again.

  ‘It’s hard to explain,’ Hannah said reluctantly. ‘She doesn’t do anything. Nothing that she’d let anyone see, at least. She makes other people do things.’

  ‘She’s like the moon,’ Caroline suggested earnestly. ‘You know how it controls the tides and makes people act weird? That’s Stella. People can’t help themselves around her. She’s a force of nature.’

  Lucy nodded. ‘It’s her friends who are mean. They call themselves the Stars – you know, because they’re part of her constellation? They all wear identical earrings and they do this stupid chant called the Star Salute. It’s pathetic, but everyone worships them.’

  ‘They’re best friends with the football team, and they’re always dating them, breaking up and crying,’ Caroline said. ‘They’re called the Stripes. Get it?’

  I was about to tell her I did when Hannah laughed. ‘Of course Caitlin gets it! She’s American.’

  I wanted to ask more questions, but at that moment Luke potted the black loudly (cue cursing from Edward), looked at the doorway and grinned.

  Stella was always central to proceedings. Despite my earlier doubts, she and
Luke together made sense. They were show-stopping, but while she was self-contained and reserved, he was open and puppyish, and, perhaps most importantly, he didn’t compete. I could see that she’d deliberately placed herself so everyone had a good view as he enveloped her in his arms, but she didn’t check if anyone was watching and she didn’t need to. She giggled and pretended to struggle as he lifted her off the ground.

  ‘Put me down, Luke,’ she said in faux-annoyance.

  He grinned and kissed her several times, ruffling up her hair on purpose.

  ‘Stella, do you want coffee?’ one of her friends called.

  Stella shook her head. She didn’t need to say a word for people to listen. Luke took her hand and pulled her away, and the room, along with everyone in it, seemed gloomier once they’d gone. Edward grinned after them ruefully, as though used to being the consolation prize, and I could see how that would suck. He started a new game with another boy, and I watched him set up the table. Then he looked up, catching me off-guard, and winked. I blushed and looked away, hearing him laugh.

  Chapter Six

  Stella

  We have to check our emails every morning, which is bad luck today as I have a message from Jamie marked Urgent. I’d intended to do an internet calorie check, but now there isn’t time, so I throw my apple out of the window to stop it corrupting me later.

  I run out of Woodlands and across the quad to his classroom. When I arrive, my heart sinks to see Ruby already in there, biting her lip and clutching the Zinnia to her chest. I know what’s coming, but try not to show it on my face as I look at our essays on his desk. Jamie stares at Ruby, and then at me.

  ‘Jamie,’ I begin, hoping to defuse the situation.

  ‘Sir,’ he splutters, eyes popping.

  This is worse than I thought: anger really doesn’t suit his style of good looks. He collects himself before he goes on.

  ‘Anything to say?’ he asks quietly.

  ‘About what?’ Ruby counters, her green eyes wide.

  ‘About why your essays are so strikingly similar.’ He raises his voice. ‘Do you have anything to say?’

  I’m surprised he’s making such a big deal of this when he’s never said anything before. Ruby shrugs and I glare at her, but I don’t expect her to own up; I wouldn’t. Besides, I know how the Stars will react when they hear this, and her lack of backbone should work in my favour.

  Finally Jamie lets her go, but keeps me behind. What he says – that he’s sick of the other girls handing in watered-down versions of my work, and that if I do it again he’ll throw me off the course because my influence isn’t fair on everyone else – makes me spit blood.

  ‘Fine,’ I snap. ‘But if you think any of them has a hope of passing without me, you’re wrong.’

  I’m seething as I snatch up my essay and desperate to have it out with Ruby. I’ll definitely be able to borrow the Zinnia now, but for some reason I no longer care that it’s the exact cobalt blue of my brocade coat. Jamie’s words gnaw at me despite my efforts to block them out, and I swear to myself that I’ll never rescue these idiots again.

  As I reach the door, I glance at the paper in my hand. I blink hard, in case it’s a hallucination, but when I open my eyes it’s mocking me in bright red pen.

  ‘You gave me a B!’ My voice sounds unsteady. ‘Is this a joke?’

  He taps his pen on the desk. ‘You need to buck your ideas up. That attitude won’t wash with me this term.’

  ‘I got the highest GCSE mark in the country! You can’t deny I’m the best writer in this school.’

  ‘Maybe; maybe not.’ His indifference infuriates me. ‘You may have got through GCSEs easily enough, but A levels are different. I think – I know – that you can do better than this and, if you’re serious about Oxford, you’d better start trying.’

  ‘You’re penalizing me for what Ruby did.’ It’s all I can think of.

  ‘No; I’ve given you the grade you deserve. And I’d suggest you stop treating me as if I don’t know what you’re up to. I’m not quite as stupid as you little girls seem to think.’

  I slam the door behind me in an ineffectual attempt to retain some dignity.

  * * *

  I have Art next, which is the only subject I’m enjoying at the moment, even though it involves spending a whole hour surrounded by non-finessed non-Stars in whom I have little interest.

  Art attracts people who don’t care about paint under their fingernails rather than those who possess adequate levels of self-respect. I’m also different to the other students because I’m unwilling to take what they call creative risks: I won’t work with wire, for instance, or anything dead. Our teacher Mr Kidd sometimes suggests I be more experimental, at which point I might paint some haphazardly placed dots, or a serpent emerging from a skull, or, on one occasion, a goat with the face of Delia Henderson, but I refuse to get my (Rag & Bone) overalls messy in the process. It’s unnecessary.

  Our current assignment is Inspiration, and our projects are starting to take shape. Renata is sculpting a Buddha from wood. Karen is painting her great-uncle, who was killed in World War II. Miranda is sketching a scene at Aspen. Harry is doing a charcoal of his puggle. My self-portrait is so large that I have to stand on a stool to reach my face. Mr Kidd just laughed when I told him what inspires me most, but today he asks me to go into his office. I see Miranda and Sarah exchange glances, as if they’re hoping I’ll be told to paint something else. Paul lifts me down from the stool and Mr Kidd asks me to shut the door behind me. He’s holding a roll of paper.

  ‘Stella, I thought you might like to see what your sister painted for this project. I’ve kept it for the last few years, wondering if I should show you, and I think now is a good time.’

  I know what it’s going to be, but, before I can tell him I don’t want to see it, it’s too late.

  Siena chose her family as her inspiration, but I see cracks that didn’t exist when it was created; cracks that disappear as I blink.

  She painted it from a photograph of us on a boat trip in Capri when I was ten. She and I are in matching bikinis while Syrena is grasping a hideous toy rabbit by the neck and dangling it over the edge; I remember hoping she’d lose her grip. We huddle around our mother like orbiting planets, Syrena and me on either side of her and Siena on the seat behind.

  I’m unsure why Mr Kidd has shown me this. Perhaps he’s hinting that Siena’s attitude to the assignment was less self-absorbed than mine. Perhaps he imagines that I miss her and would like a reminder of her. I look at him for affirmation.

  ‘I thought you might like to keep it,’ he says.

  I can’t think of anything worse, but I nod. ‘Thank you, Sir. I’ll come and collect it at the end of the lesson.’

  * * *

  My stool seems higher than before. I begin to paint, but a familiar feeling comes over me and I can’t shake it off. It must be vertigo, I tell myself, but it’s like an out-of-body experience as I watch myself fall over and over in a cycle that I’m powerless to stop.

  Then I’m lying on the floor. ‘Not again,’ I mutter.

  ‘Stella? Stella?’ Paul is fanning me with a wad of sugar paper. ‘She’s awake,’ he calls.

  ‘Shush, for Christ’s sake.’ I hit him feebly and struggle to sit up as Mr Kidd rushes over with a mug of water. It’s his painting-water mug, though, so I set it down next to me. Renata and Jessica exchange meaningful glances.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ I get up with as much dignity as I can muster. ‘I … lost my balance.’

  ‘You fainted!’ Paul gapes at me as if I’ve lost my mind. ‘You were out cold. Shall I take you to the nurse?’

  He’s looking for a way to miss the rest of the lesson.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I insist. ‘I think I’ll work on the floor for a while. That stool is a safety hazard.’

  Mr Kidd keeps staring, but he doesn’t force me to go to the nurse. Perhaps he’s worried it’s his fault. When the bell goes, I’m first out of the door and he doesn�
��t try to make me take the painting with me.

  * * *

  Wednesday afternoons are dedicated to enrichment activities. I usually help at the primary school in the village, but today I hide out in my room. The painting has made it impossible not to wonder how Syrena is: twice I half-dial her number; twice I fail to complete it.

  Katrina’s enrichment activities are always changing. She came to the school with me for two weeks before deciding she wanted to work in Marnie’s, the village designer boutique. When she discovered that Marnie’s is less of a shop than a museum (it’s so minimalist that selling even one item seriously depletes their stock) she gave that up too. By then there weren’t many options left and she was faced with the choice of the hedgehog sanctuary or the school sanatorium. She’s scared of fleas, so she chose the latter, but then discovered she’s scared of ill people too. I hope next year she’ll give her decision more thought, but her regular Wednesday afternoon detentions restrict her options anyway.

  After she’s released from this latest incarceration (awarded for posting a video online of the Shells’ housemistress Miss Finch dressed as the Baroness at a sing-along Sound of Music) we meet in the cafeteria, where I announce to all the Stars but Ruby (who’s in remedial Maths) that sharing my work is no longer an option.

  Katrina looks as if she’s going to cry, as well she might; she can’t string a sentence together, or understand the simplest of plots, and the prospect of taking responsibility for her own work must be deeply upsetting. I’ve decided to cut Ruby off, not just because of her unauthorized relationship with Blake, and it looks as if I’ll have plenty of support. Zinnia or not, she’s going to make us a laughing stock if she carries on like this.

  ‘What was that essay about anyway?’ Penny asks. She and Lila have come straight from the street dancing class they run for the Removes and are hot and irritable. ‘I got my lowest mark ever, and I was already in single figures.’