by Sk Quinn
Right now, Kitty and I are the only students here, but that’s going to change soon. Some new foreign students are due to arrive in the next few weeks.
Kitty’s poker guide slips out of her hand and tumbles towards the ground.
She makes a grab for it, but I get there first, snatching it from the air with my fingers.
‘You know, sometimes I think you have Jedi powers,’ says Kitty.
‘Just good reflexes.’
‘That’s what you always say. But I’ve never met anyone as fast as you.’
It’s true. I have always been fast. But like I say, if I was going to change, I’d have changed already.
3
When I get back to my bedroom, I put my flip-flops neatly under my desk. Then I strip off my muddy-pocketed dungarees and hang them on my iron bedstead.
I hear a wolf whistle from the corridor, and realise Kitty is getting an eyeful of my extremely plain pink panties.
‘Nice of your grandma to lend you some underwear,’ she says.
‘Nothing wrong with comfortable,’ I say. ‘Marks and Spencers very best.’
Kitty’s one of those good friends who can tell me the truth about everything. And I love her for it.
I mean, yes – we’re different. Kitty hangs out with the alternative crowd, partying all night. And I’m little miss goody two shoes, always in the library or playing netball. But we’re the same in the important ways. We’re considerate and we care about each other.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m as ‘goody two shoes’ as I act. I mean, I’m always drawn to people like Kitty. People who have a rebellious streak. Maybe there’s more to me than meets the eye.
I pull on cropped jeans and a striped jumper, then line my new study books on the shelf over my desk. Then I reorder them by colour so they make a rainbow.
Now study books slot between my encyclopaedias of birds and illustrated wildlife guides. I have a thing about birds. I just love them.
Nana’s cottage has a huge garden, and we’re always sitting out there together throwing chunks of bread to the sparrows.
As I arrange my books, my hand finds a thick, leather folder sitting by a wooden owl bookend. It has a snake stamped on it.
I consider taking it down and looking through, but instead I let my fingers fall from the soft leather. If I look in that folder now, I’ll be pouring over papers until midnight. And I have studying to do.
I sit down at my desk and arrange my notepad square. Then I dust the framed photo of my grandma with a clean tissue, put on my black-rimmed reading glasses, tie my curly browny-blonde hair back and open a study book.
Usually I’m great at concentrating. But for some reason, today I can’t.
Lucien Burns, Lucien Burns …
The name feels sort of familiar. Maybe I’ve heard Kitty talk about him before. He’s good friends with Kitty’s boyfriend Cain, I think. Which means he’s definitely trouble. Cain is always taking Kitty to wild parties. Really wild parties.
I look at Nana’s picture.
‘Why would a boy be asking about me, Nana?’
Nana smiles back, her black skin folded into creases around her mouth.
I see myself reflected in the glass – sandy brown hair turning blonde. Blue eyes. Pale skin. Longish face. A few freckles on my nose.
Overall, I’m pretty unremarkable I think. Just ordinary looking.
My grandmother is beautiful, with glowing black skin and motown waves.
People always wonder how Nana and I are related.
I used to say I inherited my father’s looks. But that always led to too many questions. So now I just say that genetics can be funny.
4
I love Tuesdays. It’s the day of my music lecture.
Music doesn’t exactly fit with my international relations degree, but my exam results were good. Okay, very good. So the university agreed to let me study an extra module.
I can play pretty much any instrument. But violin is my favourite and the one I use for practical exams.
I’m a little early to class as usual. Sumitra, my post-grad mentor, is usually early too. But she doesn’t seem to be here yet.
Sumitra is a very sweet, clever lady with two grown-up children. Like most post-grad mentors, she’s studying later in life. We get on really well.
Gradually, other students file in and Miss Gabriela, our music teacher, arrives.
Miss Gabriela is forty something with short, frazzled orange hair. Her voice is all warbly like she’s gargling water. She’s crazy, in the best way.
‘Could someone remind me what we did last week?’ she asks, eyes moving frantically around the class.
I raise a hand. ‘Um. We worked with our mentors on using classical music to inspire modern pieces.’
Miss Gabriella turns and points a triumphant finger at me. ‘Yes. But I’m forgetting something. What is it, what is is?’ She twiddles her hair. ‘Oh that’s right. Eve – Sumitra won’t be here today I’m afraid.’
‘Is she okay?’
‘Yes. Better than okay, actually. She’s been offered a place at Birkbeck. Fully funded. So she’ll be leaving us.’
‘That’s … sudden,’ I say, wondering why she never texted me. ‘When does she leave?’
‘She left already. Earlier this week. We have a new mentor arriving for you.’ Miss Gabriella checks her watch. ‘Any minute. Have your notes ready.’
‘No problem.’ I pull notes from my bag.
As I’m getting papers in order, there’s a sharp knock at the door. One of those jaunty, impatient knocks that’s almost like someone banging out a rhythm.
‘Ah!’ Miss Gabriella beams at me. ‘This must be for you Eve. Come in. Come in.’
The door opens.
My eyes widen at the young man in the doorway.
‘Eve,’ says Miss Gabriella. ‘Meet your new mentor. Lucien Burns.’
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