by Emma Doherty
“I’m busy.”
Another week at school is complete, and by that I mean I’ve gone every day this week. I haven’t actually been to every lesson on my timetable, but I figured out pretty quickly that you can skip lessons easily without anyone noticing. That’s one good difference between school over here and in UK. There’s not a chance I’d be able to skive off lessons back home like I’ve been doing here this week. I would have been pulled up on it straight away.
The bell rings at the end of my chemistry class and I immediately stand to leave, eager for a quick escape.
“Hey, Biz.” Matty steps in front of me. “Oh wait—am I allowed to call you Biz? Or do you prefer Izzy?”
I’m slightly startled at the question. It’s actually pretty sweet of him to ask. “Um…Izzy is fine.”
He grins. “So I was wondering if you wanted to study together every once in a while? Do our homework together…I mean now that I’ve heard you’re a genius and everything,” he teases.
“I’m not—”
“Hey Matty.” A brunette in a cheerleader outfit walks past us. “Looking forward to seeing you play tonight,” she says flirtatiously. “I know you’ll be great.”
“Um, yeah…sure,” Matty mutters back, looking distinctly uncomfortable as she walks away.
“Friend of yours?”
“Just a friend,” he insists, biting his lip anxiously. He shakes his head, like he’s trying to get rid of a thought. “Anyway, studying, me and you. I’ll provide the snacks and you can provide the brains.”
I start to laugh despite myself. I think I like Matty. Every time I see him he’s smiling and friendly, and from what I’ve seen of him around school, he just seems like a nice guy. When he’s talking to me, when he just falls into step with me in the hallways, I never get the impression he’s trying to hit on me or leering at me like some of his friends. I genuinely think he’s just a good person, and I can see why he and Ethan are so close.
“And we should pair up as lab partners. We’ll be starting to do partner work soon.”
“Matty, I don’t really come to this class all that much.”
“You? Skip classes? No!”
“Shut up. What I’m saying is the only reason I come sometimes is because I like chemistry, but I’m not planning on doing all the homework and studying hard for it. You’d be better off with someone else.”
He looks confused. “You’re not going to do the homework?”
“No.” I haven’t been doing any of my homework. “I’ll just sit the final exams at the end of the year.” I’ll make sure I study well and ace them.
“But you know homework and classwork go towards your final grade, right?”
Um, no!
“What?!” In the UK you just have final exams and it all rests on that. “Are you being serious?”
He starts to laugh at the look on my face. “Yeah, it all counts. You can’t graduate unless you pass the class, and that includes homework and your grade from the class as well as the exams.”
That actually makes total sense.
“Why did no one tell me that?”
He shrugs. “Do you even talk to anyone here?”
He has a point. “Crap.”
He chuckles. “So I guess we’ll be studying together?”
I sigh. “I guess so.”
Matty walks away, still laughing to himself, and I follow him out of the class onto the main hallway and immediately spot Principal Robertson along with another teacher decked out in sports gear. I sigh in irritation when he waves his hand at me and comes to a halt.
“Miss Carlington, have you met Coach Dyson?”
I shake my head and decide to not correct him on my name. It’s not worth the hassle. I turn my attention to Coach Dyson, who looks like a P.E. teacher, or gym teacher as they call it over here. I wouldn’t know for sure, though, as gym is not one of the classes I’ve been attending.
Coach Dyson holds his hand out and squeezes mine almost painfully. “Good to meet you, Izzy.” I try to focus on his face, but I’m distracted by the light of the hall reflecting off his bald head. “Any friend of Ethan’s is a friend of mine.”
I raise an eyebrow. Friend?
“And how’s your father doing?” he continues. It takes me a minute to realise he’s expecting a response, but by the time I open my mouth to say something, he cuts me off. “Fine man your father. Great friend to the team. Great man.”
Yeah, I don’t like Coach Dyson, and he clearly has no time for me either as he brushes past without me uttering a single word. He’s just another example of someone my dad has paid for.
Principal Robertson leaves too, and I’m finally able to walk to my locker and dump my books inside.
“So, I feel like we might have gotten off on the wrong foot.”
I startle at the unexpected noise and drop a bunch of stuff on the floor.
“Oops,” Evie says, a bright smile on her face. “Didn’t mean to make you jump.”
I reach down and scoop up the textbook and loose papers.
“So like I was saying, we got off on the wrong foot. I really feel like we could be friends,” she says whilst I sort out the papers and put them back in order. “I mean, I’m sure you’re aware that Ethan and I are very serious. Like, we’re endgame, so it’s in all of our best interests for us to get along.”
I’ve stopped listening to her as I stare at the essay we completed in English class earlier in the week and which was handed back this morning. I shoved it inside my bag, not bothering to pay attention to it because I knew the grade would be good. It’s an essay on Macbeth—which I studied for two years back home—and Mr. Peters asked us to write about it under timed conditions. I nailed it, I know I nailed it, and yet looking at it now I see he’s given me a B. My eyes flit over his red pen as he’s circled again and again words he says are spelled “wrong”—words which aren’t spelled wrong at all, just differently to how it’s done in the UK where honor is honour and realize is realise. At the bottom of the essay, he’s written a couple of sentences about how I have ‘a lovely tone and thoughtful ideas but need to work on my spelling and grammar.’
“Izzy!” Evie snaps in irritation. “Are you even listening to me?”
My eyes meet hers. “What language do we speak?” I demand, absolutely furious. I actually concentrated on this. I actually put a lot of thought into it, and I know it’s worth a top mark.
Evie screws up her face at me. “What?”
“What language do we speak?” I repeat. “Don’t you dare say American.”
She rolls her eyes. “English. We speak English.”
“Thank you.” I slam my locker shut and storm away from her, rushing down the hallway, up the rear stairs, and along another couple of corridors until I’m outside my English classroom. I knock on the door, trying to take deep breaths so I don’t lose my temper as I wait for a response.
Mr. Peters shouts at me to enter, and I walk in as calmly as possible.
“Hello, Isabella,” he starts, flicking through some papers in front of him. “How can I help you?”
“I wanted to speak to you about my paper if possible,” I start. “The one you handed back this morning.”
“Ah yes, excellent paper from you. Really analytic, actually. Lots of wonderful ideas and theories.”
“Thank you,” I manage to bite out. “Then why have you only given me a B? This is top-level work,” I tell him, not caring if I appear arrogant. “I put Marxist theory into it and everything.”
“That you did,” he tells me, smiling brightly. “It was a very pleasant surprise. However, you made some very basic mistakes when it comes to your spelling and grammar—elementary school stuff.”
I’m trying really hard to control myself here. “Mr. Peters, they’re not spelled incorrectly. That’s how it’s done in the UK. That’s how I’ve always been taught to do it, and with all due respect, it is the English language.”
He frowns, like he hadn’t considere
d that. “Well, I hadn’t thought about that.”
Some of the tension leaves my body.
Then he goes on to say, “But the grade still stands. You’ll have to amend those errors for next time.”
“What?” I demand. “This essay deserves an A+ and you know it.”
He shrugs, not giving a crap that I’m about to have a full-on fit. “The grade stands, Izzy. Now if you don’t mind, I have to get going.”
My mouth falls open at his dismissal, and I know for a fact that his class is going to join the list of ones I’m not currently attending.
He pauses when he sees my face. “I’m sorry, Izzy, but you’re in America now.”
Yeah, don’t I just know it.
I’ve still not calmed down ten minutes later when I’m finally heading out the main doors for the weekend. I quickly send a text to Paul, apologising for being late and telling him I’m on the way.
Really? First I find out I’m probably being marked down for not completing homework or classwork sufficiently, and then the work I actually do isn’t being marked fairly because of the way I spell?
I’m definitely pissed off.
I take the first of the steps to the car park and see that Ethan and all his friends are hanging around at the bottom. Great. Just great.
I hold in my sigh of irritation and quickly descend the steps, fully intending to ignore them all. I’ve managed to successfully avoid him and his crowd for the most part for the last couple of weeks—except for when they joined me in the library for those ten minutes and when I’ve spoken to Matty—and I’ve felt better for it. I’ve made sure I’ve not gotten caught up in any conversations with them whenever they’ve tried to speak to me in classes or in the hallways, and I always make sure I’m as far away from them as possible. It’s actually been surprisingly easy to stay away from them. They’re such a big group, so loud and domineering that you can spot them a mile off and easily avoid them, and with the way I’m feeling right now after dealing with Mr. Peters? I think it’s definitely best that I do just that right now.
“Hey Izzy,” says one of the guys I don’t know. He has a smirk on his face, probably remembering the last time he saw me when I was half naked.
“Hey,” I mutter, walking through them and heading towards Paul’s car.
“Biz, wait.” I almost pause at the sound of Ethan’s voice. I think it’s in both of our best interest if we don’t speak right now. I’m still angry about finding out about my grade, and I’m still not over him being responsible for Dad getting me over here. I don’t pause as he calls me now. “Biz, would you just stop?”
I sigh and whirl around to face him. “What?” I demand. My voice isn’t exactly welcoming.
He pulls up slightly at my tone.
“What, Ethan? What do you want?”
“I um…”
I roll my eyes and turn back around, ready to walk away.
“Dad’s back next Saturday. Dad’s coming home.”
This does make me stop. I turn back to face him, because as much as I can’t be bothered to deal with Ethan right now, I’d take him over my father any day. My father is poison, and I don’t want him anywhere near me.
A couple of seconds pass. “For how long?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. He doesn’t usually last a whole week, but he might stick around if you’re here.”
I scoff at that. Me being here won’t make him more likely to stick around. If anything, it’ll mean he leaves sooner.
“He’s bringing CeeCee with him.” I have no idea who CeeCee is, and he must be able to read it on my face because he goes on to explain. “She’s his girlfriend? They’ve been dating for maybe six months?”
Ah, the woman who sent me the Birkin I haven’t used since my first day here. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s got a girlfriend. He’s always got someone on his arm, some blonde bombshell with a killer figure and enough social ambition to ignore what an utter prick he is.
“And, um, he wants us to go for dinner at Granny and Grandad’s on Sunday. Apparently they’re not impressed that you haven’t been to see them yet.” That’s the real bitch as far as I’m concerned—my grandparents. They’re old-fashioned, rich, and snobby. They treated my mother like crap and think the money in their bank accounts means they can treat people any way they want. I’ve always hated going to my grandparents’. Always.
I take a minute to process what he’s told me, to let it sink in that I’ll spend all of the next week dreading seeing him, and then I nod and turn away, ready to walk to Paul’s car.
“Wait.”
I sigh and turn back to Ethan. Most of his team have wandered over to where we are, and as I look around and see people I recognise getting into their cars, I realise we must be in the senior parking lot.
“Um, a bunch of us are heading down to Bob’s. Do you want to come?”
I frown, and he mistakes it for confusion.
“It’s that diner we got food from the first night you were here, the place with the fried chicken.”
“No.” My response is instant.
He seems confused. “No?”
“No, I don’t want to go with you.”
Anger crosses his face. “You don’t have to speak to me like that, you know. I’m just being nice.”
“Look, Ethan, I’m in a really bad mood. I really need to get away from this school right now.”
“You’re always in a bad mood,” he snaps.
My jaw clenches and I try to stop myself snapping back at him. “All I want to do is go home and forget about today.
“Fine,” he bites out. He’s clearly pissed off with me as I turn away. “Do what you want. You always do.”
I slowly turn back to face him, the blood rushing to my face. “I can assure you none of this is what I want, Ethan.”
“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear, Biz. I get it—you don’t want to be here.”
I turn to walk away from him. He seems to be itching for a fight, and I’m not about to give it to him.
“Are you going home to get drunk now? Is that what you’re doing?”
I bite down on the inside of my lip but don’t stop.
“I mean, do I have to be worried about you getting in at 5am again?”
I pause and turn back around. He’s right behind me, clearly having followed after me with Finn, Matty, and Logan trailing after him. The rest of their friends linger by their cars.
“I’m just trying to go home and avoid a fight with you.”
“Oh, now you want to avoid a fight with me. I’m not even worth having a fight with now?”
What is he talking about? “What do you want?”
“What do I want? I want my sister to actually appreciate that I’m making an effort with her and come to get food with me and my friends.”
Why is he pushing this so much?
“Bro,” Finn interrupts, his face hooked on mine. “Let her go, come on.”
“No. She can stop being so damn rude all the time.” He turns back to me. “You were nice to me in math for all of two seconds last week and then you just dismissed me when I asked you to come to my game. You didn’t even consider it.”
What? Is that still bothering him?
“So you can work on being nice again, practice makes perfect and all that, and come be sociable for an hour over food.”
Is he being serious? “Don’t patronise me!”
“I’m making an effort. It’s about time you make one too.”
“Grow up, Ethan. I don’t know what your problem is, but I want to go home.”
“That’s all you want?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all you want in the whole world?”
He’s trying to antagonise me.
“Isabella Carlington only wants to go home?”
My jaw clenches at the use of the name Carlington. He’s trying to get a reaction out of me.
“Ethan—”
He doesn’t even look at Matty. “She
doesn’t have anything else she wants? Anything else she needs to say?”
He wants to get a reaction out of me for whatever reason. He wants me to fight with him.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to care, Biz! I want you to show you actually care about something.”
He’ll be waiting a long time then. It feels like I don’t care about anything at all anymore.
“I’m going home.”
“No. I want to know if there’s anything else you want.”
“Ethan—”
“What do you want, Biz?”
He’s succeeded. I’m ready to blow. “What do I want? What I really want right now is to be at home with Mum in London. That’s what I want all day, every day. But that’s not about to happen, so I’ll just have to settle for you not bitching at me and not taking your crappy mood out on me.”
The mention of Mum takes all the fight out of him.
“I want that too.”
I scoff.
“What?” He’s immediately on the defensive.
“If you wanted that too, Ethan, you would have been there.”
He blinks at me. “What do you mean?”
I shake my head. I shouldn’t have said that. I turn to walk away, but he reaches out and grabs me.
“No, what do you mean?”
Finn comes and stands in front of Ethan, gently pulling him back, sensing that we’re treading on dangerous territory here. “Come on bro, you need to cool down. Let Izzy go home.”
Ethan pushes him away without a second thought. “What. Do. You. Mean?”
It’s not his fault. He didn’t know; no one could have predicted how fast she deteriorated. I need to remember that. “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything.”
And as angry as I am at Ethan for not being there at the end, he wasn’t the one who was there at the start, who missed the tell-tale signs that she was sick and didn’t push her to go to the doctor.
We stare at each other, and there’s so much damage between us, so much hurt. I don’t see how we can ever go back to the way we were before, the way he seems to so desperately want us to be.