Boarding School Girls

by Helen Eve

  ‘I betrayed you?’

  ‘We made you popular,’ she says. ‘It’s not our fault if you’re unhappy. We made your life easier than it would have otherwise been.’

  ‘Easier? You’ve ruined everything! It’s impossible to be Head Girl and a Starlet at the same time.’

  ‘You couldn’t be more wrong,’ she says. ‘It’s perfectly possible to be both.’

  ‘Prove it,’ I say. ‘Prove right now that you’re capable of saying something sensible.’

  Jack looks worried as her name is called. ‘Siena, I’m not sure that you should do this. There are plenty of things you’re good at, but I’m not sure that politics…’

  She shakes him off, throwing back one last defiant glance as she takes to the lectern.

  ‘This should be good,’ I mutter, and then I’m cut off from the audience as Libby powers the curtain so that Siena appears to be the only presence on stage.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you do,’ I hiss at her. ‘Hiding me doesn’t give Siena a brain.’

  Then I fall silent, because Siena isn’t behaving as if she’s at a party, or at London Fashion Week, or on a yacht; she’s behaving exactly as if she’s giving a campaign speech suitable for teachers and students alike. The audience is silent, not because they’re flattered that she’s addressing them, but because she finally has something to say. Judging by the speed at which chairs are scraping, I sense that her support is growing with every word.

  I’m here to explain why I’m the best, and indeed the only, person to fulfil this role.

  ‘She didn’t write this,’ I tell Jack.

  ‘Credit where it’s due,’ he says. ‘She might have wasted potential.’

  ‘She’s running an engagement campaign, not an election campaign.’

  ‘She’s over that,’ he says. ‘I’m sure she sees it as a moment of madness.’

  I promise to give the same dedication to the post of Head Girl as I’ve given to every other activity I’ve participated in at Temperley High.

  ‘She doesn’t,’ I insist as more chairs scrape. ‘She thinks that reinventing herself will make you fall in love with her again. It’s all calculated.’

  ‘Siena needs time to work out what she wants without stupid considerations like marriage. It’s the last thing on her mind.’

  ‘The audience is a wedding congregation!’ I look for something to back me up. Siena has left her bag under her chair, and I kick it so that a pile of campaign leaflets fall out.

  ‘Look properly at these,’ I say urgently. ‘They were going to be your engagement party invitations. You can see the old writing underneath!’

  He looks closely at a poster of him and Siena at a mocked-up Elevation ceremony, and his face darkens. Join us to celebrate this joyous occasion …

  ‘Soon these will be all over school, and Elevation will be your engagement party,’ I say hurriedly. ‘She’s backing you into a corner.’

  ‘This is … crazy,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘To say the least.’

  ‘She could win this,’ I say. ‘She only needs your endorsement, and then she has the whole election in the bag.’

  ‘So if I endorse you instead…’

  ‘I’m back in the game. Just because you chose her once doesn’t mean you have to again. This time you could choose me.’

  ‘How do I choose you?’ he asks. ‘For all we know, she’s already won.’

  He hesitates as I lean towards him. ‘You know this is for her own good,’ I say. ‘Choose me, and she’ll throw the speech.’

  When Siena glances at us, I kiss him. He doesn’t resist, and I focus on the movement of his lips against mine. But we break apart to two jarring sounds: a screech as she drops her microphone, and a whirring as Libby whizzes open the curtain and exposes us to the room.

  The audience is silent, the two sides equally populated, but as Siena stands mute before her fallen microphone, my supporters start to shift, clique by clique, until her side is full and mine deserted. The Council who promised me so faithfully; the Stripes who wanted to be treated as individuals; everyone stands in silent support of her alleged love for Jack as silent tears spill down her cheeks.

  Libby joins her in the centre of the stage, but she shakes her off. ‘Why did you do that? How could you?’

  Libby is open-mouthed in shock. ‘I exposed Romy! I won this for you!’

  Siena shakes her head. ‘You humiliated us all. Jack and I aren’t together, and he has a right to be with whomever he wants.’

  ‘He does not,’ Libby says emphatically. ‘He’s going to marry you!’

  ‘How?’ she asks. ‘Will you handcuff him and force him down the aisle?’

  ‘If that’s what it takes,’ says Libby. ‘You mustn’t give up now.’

  ‘Jack deserves to be happy,’ she says as she walks away from her standing ovation. ‘What makes him happy is no longer up to me.’

  Chapter Forty-five

  Siena

  I’m sleeping, or as sure as I can be of that fact, when bony fingers shake me hard. ‘Get up,’ hisses a familiar voice. ‘We don’t have much time.’

  ‘No bell, no foul,’ I mutter.

  The shaking continues until I throw back my duvet and snap on my lamp. ‘Go away,’ I tell Libby. ‘You too,’ I add to Phoebe, who’s standing behind her.

  ‘What on earth are you wearing?’ Phoebe giggles as she takes in my outfit. ‘Is that what passes as a nightdress these days?’

  I fold my arms across my chest and scowl at her. ‘I told you to go away.’

  ‘I thought you were a morning person.’ Phoebe flicks through a copy of my manifesto, reading aloud in a poor imitation of my voice. ‘I love summer sunrise, and can often be found outside meditating, doing a spot of surprise gardening for an elderly neighbour, or simply watching the horizon and wondering what blessings the day will bring…’

  ‘You’re responsible for that drivel, I presume?’ I ask Libby. ‘Even though I’ve never seen this time of day before?’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Phoebe says. ‘Last week we spent a beautiful sunrise by the boating lake.’

  ‘It doesn’t count if you’ve been up all night,’ I say. ‘Now, please leave and we’ll put this down to temporary insanity.’

  ‘This is important.’ Libby throws something furry at me. ‘Get up and put this on.’

  ‘She’s wide awake,’ Phoebe mutters. ‘We’ve missed our window to overpower her.’

  ‘We haven’t,’ Libby asserts as if I can’t hear. ‘We still have the element of surprise. Siena, put that on.’

  ‘That yeti outfit?’ I ask, kicking the fur.

  ‘It’s a rabbit costume,’ she corrects, as if this is better. ‘Your final campaign task is an Easter egg hunt for the Shells. There’s a sack of eggs outside; you just have to scatter them.’

  ‘Easter was months ago,’ I protest.

  ‘In which case there’s no time to lose,’ says Libby triumphantly.

  ‘I can’t.’ I’m almost crying as they push me into a pair of fake fluffy feet and zip me into a mound of fur. ‘Don’t make me. Anything but this.’

  ‘You have to be strong,’ says Phoebe.

  My hair is loose down my back, and I reach to tie it up, but as I do so Libby shoves my arms into furry sleeves complete with paws. ‘No time for that,’ she says breathlessly. ‘Once you start on your hair we’ll be here all day.’

  She twists my hair into limp submission and shoves handfuls of it into the hood.

  ‘I’m claustrophobic,’ I say as she looms over me. ‘What if I die in here?’

  ‘No one ever died inside a rabbit costume,’ Phoebe says.

  ‘How do you know?’ I moan.

  She takes my hands, hidden somewhere inside giant furry paws, and squeezes them hard. ‘It’ll be over soon. It’s an hour of your life, tops.’

  ‘But the humiliation,’ I sob. ‘Libby, do something.’

  ‘We have no choice,’ Libby says. ‘Your Speech Day victory was help
ful, but not all students will vote for crying alone. We have to convert those who want a fun Head Girl. Romy is all about the fun.’

  ‘This isn’t fun. Fun is holidaying on Necker, or shopping at Dior, or losing weight, or…’

  ‘It’s not supposed to be fun for you,’ she clarifies. ‘You’re creating fun for others.’

  ‘I do that constantly,’ I begin, but then Phoebe shoves an elasticated rabbit nose and whiskers onto my face before pulling my hood back up.

  ‘How will she rope in Jack?’ she asks Libby. ‘She shouldn’t handle him directly.’

  ‘What does Jack have to do with this?’ I ask. ‘Don’t tell me…’

  Libby gestures to a second rabbit costume on the floor. ‘You won’t regret this. Elevation night is going to be our greatest ever two-birds-with-one-stone feat. We’ll soon be running the school, and you’ll be back with Jack.’

  ‘Don’t you mean three birds?’ asks Phoebe.

  ‘Why three?’ I ask. It’s uncomfortable to be slower than Phoebe.

  ‘Getting rid of Romy? Restoring the natural order? She can’t possibly come back next year after such a humiliating defeat.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I say quickly. ‘I counted wrongly.’

  Phoebe can relate to this, and I allow myself three seconds to consider the oddly dismal prospect of another Romy-less year. Then I dismiss it, because next year will be a new era entirely, in which I’ll be too busy even to remember her.

  * * *

  Jack’s room is in darkness, and I curse as I knock something with my stupid fake feet and send it crashing.

  ‘What the hell?’ Jack snaps on the light and sits up, looking utterly confused.

  I tug at my rabbit whiskers. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘I can see that.’ Despite his confusion, he’s actually smiling; my heart leaps as I realize how painfully I’ve missed that smile. ‘Have you been at the diazepam? Or have I?’

  I feel my rictus grin relax. ‘I thought this would be fun. It’s a surprise Easter egg hunt for the Shells.’

  ‘It’s not Easter,’ he says. ‘And you think the Shells are a nuisance.’

  ‘That’s why it’s a big surprise,’ I say. ‘And I don’t think they’re a nuisance. I just haven’t had the opportunity to get to know them.’

  ‘How do I fit into this?’ he asks as I throw his costume at him. ‘As if I couldn’t guess.’

  ‘You hardly have to do anything. And it’ll give you a great sense of wellbeing.’

  He gets out of bed, running his hand through his messy hair and stretching before he pulls the costume over his boxer shorts. I deliberately avert my eyes from his bare chest, but not soon enough; he sees me watching, and we both blush.

  ‘Come on.’ He snaps on his whiskers and drapes an arm casually around me as we leave the room. ‘Who made these costumes, anyway?’

  ‘Mads, of course.’

  ‘Mads?’ he says in surprise. ‘So she’s really on your side? You’re playing a very dangerous game, you know. If they find out…’

  I’m not sure what he means, but I feel sufficiently ashamed of my recent treatment of Madison to change the subject. ‘Do you like the costumes?’

  ‘Very much,’ he says drily. ‘Whose idea was this?’

  ‘Mine,’ I say untruthfully. ‘I love spontaneous good deeds.’

  I point at our sack of eggs as we walk outside. ‘Pick that up.’

  He laughs. ‘You sound exactly like … I mean, nice impression.’

  Still confused, I raise an eyebrow until he laughs again. ‘Let me carry that for you,’ he says with a note of sarcasm, throwing it over his shoulder.

  Libby has promised to follow us at a distance, taking supposedly unauthorized photographs that we can publish later to publicize my random act of kindness. The images will be clear enough to identify me, but nothing more; that’s the deal.

  But when the sack is empty, Jack puts two fingers to his mouth and whistles. I wince in horror as the Shells start to gather at their dormitory windows, giggling and pointing.

  ‘Anyone for chocolate?’ he calls nonchalantly, holding up an egg.

  They disappear, and, moments later, stream towards us. Close up, they’re little and childlike in regulation dressing gowns, and it strikes me how young they are to be living away from their families.

  ‘It’s hard to believe we were once this small, isn’t it?’ he asks, echoing my thoughts as I imagine Stella being here; Stella, who has never played games like this in her life. I’m suddenly grateful that her home existence, her ever-clean clothes and hushed hallways and no carbs and sterilized indoor activities and vetted friends, will soon be replaced by these rough-and-tumble children who giggle and crawl into undergrowth and cram chocolate into their mouths as if it won’t make them fat. I’m so occupied by these thoughts that, when the Shells approach to thank me, I make up my mind to encourage Stella to befriend girls like this instead of debutantes who have been formed and moulded so that they’re beautiful above all else. I make up my mind to be a sister that Stella will feel proud of; a sister who leads and assists rather than one who floats and preens.

  We step back as the Shells’ housemistress, Miss Finch, appears to take them inside. Libby has fallen into step with her, explaining and negotiating until Miss Finch, worn down by sheer force of personality, shrugs in assent.

  Jack’s face darkens at the sight of her. ‘What’s Libby doing here?’

  ‘She needs to take some pictures to make sure we’re credited.’

  ‘Credited?’ he asks. ‘I thought we were doing a good deed.’

  ‘Of course,’ I agree. ‘A good deed and a vote winner rolled into one.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ His bewilderment intensifies as Romy appears on her way out of Woodlands. He looks from me, to Romy, and back again.

  ‘You tricked me into spending time with you, Siena.’ His voice is suddenly harsh.

  ‘Tricked you?’ I ask. ‘I don’t understand…’ Then his confusing comments fall into place. ‘You thought I was Romy?’

  He laughs. ‘You knew that’s what I’d think! Why else would you wear a disguise?’

  ‘It’s a rabbit costume!’ I raise my voice. ‘I didn’t want anyone to know it was me.’

  Libby undermines this statement somewhat as she runs around, trying to photograph our best angles. ‘Take off your whiskers,’ she shouts. ‘Put your arms around each other!’

  I’m too ashamed for Jack to see me undisguised. We stand deadlocked as the bell rings and Sixth Formers swarm out to join us.

  ‘I want to go inside,’ I tell Libby, but I can’t get away before Romy confronts us.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asks angrily.

  ‘Siena doesn’t want anyone to know it’s her under there,’ Jack explains. ‘Including me, apparently.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Romy says. ‘She stole those costumes.’

  ‘Stole them?’ I ask. ‘Mads made these costumes.’

  ‘Mads made them for my Easter egg hunt. This is low even for you, Siena.’

  Madison pushes her way towards us, looking uncertainly between me and Romy.

  ‘Mads, Romy is under the impression that you made these costumes for her,’ Libby says, her tone fakely casual. ‘That would mean you were helping her beat Siena in the election. I expect you can explain this massive misunderstanding.’

  Madison looks scared; Romy waits with an expression of resignation.

  ‘Mads?’ I say uncertainly. ‘Did you make these costumes for Romy’s campaign?’

  ‘Tell the truth, Mads,’ says Libby sweetly. ‘Do you want Romy to win? Are you renouncing your Starlet membership? Because you should know that Siena has no more need of you as a designer. She’s using a different fashion house for her Elevation dress.’

  ‘Not because I don’t trust you,’ I say. ‘I just didn’t … tell you.’

  ‘Romy misunderstood,’ whispers Madison in the least convincing lie I’ve ever seen. ‘I’m on you
r side, Siena.’

  She’s trembling as she waits to be told that I forgive her. Seeing her so fearful of a group who pretend to be her friends, yet will ruin her with the slightest excuse, horrifies me even as I witness the ease with which my behaviour can sway votes. I search for the real connections I’ve formed with my peers, and I can’t identify a single one.

  My costume is so claustrophobic that I can’t bear it for another second. I unzip the fur and step out of it, kicking it away and remembering too late that my pyjamas comprise Jack’s spare football kit, complete with his name and number.

  His derisive expression flickers, just for a second. ‘You’ve gained a few votes, I’d say.’

  ‘That’s not why I…’ I break off.

  ‘I know why you did it,’ he says dismissively. ‘And yet…’

  ‘Yet what?’ It strikes me as odd that once I had all the time in the world to listen to him, and I listened only to the thoughts in my head. Now, as I absorb every word he speaks, there are ever fewer to cling to.

  ‘Yet … maybe, before it’s too late, you might show me who you really are.’

  Before I can ask him what he means, he’s gone.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Romy

  After my sixth Election Day phone call from Libby, I’m ready to push her off something higher than a clock tower, and a knock on my bedroom door heralds the limit of my patience.

  ‘What?’ I snap as I throw it open.

  ‘Sorry,’ Jack says penitently. ‘Actually, I’m not sorry. You need to come with me.’

  ‘I haven’t had time to get ready,’ I argue. ‘Libby keeps phoning me about bunting.’

  He shrugs at my shorts and vest. ‘You look the same as ever.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ I mutter as I push my feet into flip-flops and follow him down the corridor.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he says. ‘I like the way you look. Sometimes Siena takes so long to get ready that it’s barely worth going out at all.’

  He imbues this criticism with such long-suffering affection that I stop short. ‘What’s this about?’ I ask suspiciously. ‘Where are we going?’

  He doesn’t say any more, but leads me across the courtyard to the Art studio. ‘Is this an elaborate plan to drown me in paint?’ I ask, hanging back.