by Serena Lyons
“Hmm,” Professor Headley’s eyes narrow and it’s clear that she doesn’t believe me. “Well, it’s hard to prove which friend showed who and where the email chain started. All I know is there is no way we can enter it in the competition now there is a question mark against its veracity.”
“What? That’s not fair—”
“Faith, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of this allegation. Westforde College does not take kindly to cheating.”
“Funny that when half the students buy their essays, or at least their parents pay for them to get accepted in the first place.” The words jump out of me before I can stop them.
“That is not the collegiate attitude that we expect from our students.” Her tone is icy. “Character references from your main tutor are vital for the scholarship application, and if you continue to say things like this, I won’t be able to truthfully describe you as having the characteristics suitable or such a prestigious reward.”
I decide to change track. “I’m sorry I snapped, it’s been a tough few days since my attack, but I need that prize, Professor Headley. I can’t afford to stay without it.” The plaintive—pathetic, begging—note in my voice is true. I do need the money. “What can I do to submit for the scholarship? Make changes to my essay.” I can’t resist emphasising ‘my’.
“No, I won’t allow you to enter with that.”
“What am I supposed to do then?” I try to keep the irritation out of my voice.
Professor Headley steeples her hands and stares at me like a queen passing judgement. “If you write another essay, I’ll let you submit that.”
“Great, that’s easy, I—”
“Hang on, you have to write it on paper under supervision. We can type it up afterwards. I must be completely certain that this is all entirely your own work. I can’t risk the college’s reputation.”
“Fine,” I toss my hair back and stand up. Fuck Professor Headley and Callum. I’ll show them. “No problem whatsoever.”
“And Faith…?”
“Yes.”
“If you’re not capable of writing an essay at the level of your original submission, we will need to consider your position at Westforde College.”
Her threat is clear, if I don’t write an amazing essay, I’m getting expelled. Fucking King Callum.
27: Faith
I hate him. I hate him so much. I can’t believe he attacked me and then had the cheek to try to get me thrown out of college. It’s not going to work. Callum Carter-Wright is going to find out that I’m made of much stronger stuff. I will get revenge for Millie.
A shriek of excitement brings me back to the present. I blink twice, the quad is much noisier than usual. Groups of students are laughing together despite the late October chill. I don’t know any of them well enough to join in. It’s like King Callum issued a fatwa and no one dares be my friend.
I didn’t come here to make friends. Still, loss tightens my chest as I remember lying on Nina’s bed, watching that silly movie. God, I miss her. Why did she have to be Callum’s sister?
A Scream mask catches my eyes. It’s a black and white contortion of horror and makes my stomach jolt with fear. What the hell?
“Boo!” Someone yells behind me.
I jump, then realise it’s Halloween. Which means Westforde College’s legendary costume party. Which means I need to go and sort out a show-stopping outfit. As much as I’d love to just hide in my room all evening, I can’t. A drunk or drugged Callum will have his defences down.
My mind whirrs with outfit ideas as I rush through the ancient stone passageways between quads. There’ll be oodles of sexy vampires, devils and gory victims. I need something that stands out, something that Callum won’t be able to ignore. I have to get under his skin.
I could dress up as Millie.
I stop moving. It’s genius, and it’s also damn creepy. If I can find a dress similar to one she wore to her ball, I can tint my hair dark for the night and do my make-up like I’m back from the dead. People always used to say we looked like we could be sisters with our matching blue eyes. It’ll be enough to unnerve Callum, and everyone else will just think I’m a bride of Frankenstein or something.
My stomach churns, it’s a grotesque idea, but it’s also clever. If Callum can play dirty by telling tales to Professor Headley, I can sure as hell make him squirm.
“Forgive me, Millie.” I whisper up to the cloudy sky, then change direction to head to the High Street.
Maybe she approves and is looking down on me with pleasure, because I find the perfect dress in the first charity shop I go into. It’s the exact same shade of cornflower blue as Millie’s gown, and a similar silky taffeta. The style is dated, but the bodice fits my chest in a way that will have all the guys staring at my spilling rack, and I can rip off the worst of the eighties taffeta roses.
Five hours later, my dark-tinted hair is curling elegantly around my shoulders and I’m spilling out of the tight dress. It’s funny, I look much more like a true “Westforde girl” now and more like my old, mousy self, but it doesn’t feel right anymore. I miss my white blonde hair, vibrant ombre and thick black eyeliner. That better suits the fury inside me right now, and the determination to prove Professor Headley and King Callum wrong.
No one’s going to see me like this, anyway. I need to turn into the ghoulish version of Millie at her ball to get Callum totally on edge. I open the face-paint I bought at Poundland and cover my face with white until I have a deathly pallor. Layers of brown, grey and green make my eyes appear sunken and I’m nearly finished.
Just the pièce de résistance left. I pull out a fake wound set and create wide gashes on both my wrists. Fascinatingly horrible wounds that turn my stomach, even though I know they’re fake. It’s not accurate—Millie died from an overdose—but I’m certain the meaning won’t be lost on Callum.
I step back and consider myself in the mirror. Somehow my cheap make-over has become more than the sum of its parts. Callum won’t be able to mistake me as anything other than a reminder of Millie. I look more like her than I could ever have hoped.
Something’s missing though, I need a final touch. Gathering up my make-up I walk back to my bedroom and as soon as I switch the light on it glints, taunting me for forgetting it. Millie’s locket. The one she left with her goodbye note to me in Gran’s apron. The one she never took off until the night she died. I unhook it from the nail it hangs on and slip it over my head. Hopefully Callum’s going to get the message that I’m not going to give up.
I slip my key and payment card into my bodice, then head down the stairs to the party. With every step down, the music gets louder. Girls whoop, glasses clink and laughter fills the air as I step out from my block into the quad, the beating heart of the party.
There’s a marquee, just like that fresher’s party when I first met Callum, but everything else looks totally different. Huge cobwebs hang between the buildings and ghoulish skeletons glitter in the green strobe lights. The crowd seems wilder tonight; the outfits are more extreme and everyone is more at ease—maybe it’s just that the freshers have relaxed into their friendship groups.
Well, most of the freshers. Not me. That familiar pang of loss settles in my stomach again. I need a drink.
The crowd is too thick for me to be able to immediately spot Callum, so I decide to head to the bar. Him, or one of his posse is sure to turn up there before long. And I need something to settle the shake that’s taken over my hands. Seeing everyone else down here is making this outfit seem like the worst decision ever. Every eye in the crowd seems to find me. I’m easy to spot, shining in pale blue silk amongst a sea of black. They tut their disapproval as they recognise me as the girl nobody’s allowed to talk to under the command of King Callum.
I stumble to the bar, using my elbow to fight through to the front, not caring that I’m queue jumping. “Vodka tonic, please.” I practically beg the bargirl.
The person next to me turns, their long hair whipp
ing my face. Halfway through their spin I realise it’s Jess that I barged in front of. Fuck my life.
“I was here long…” Her voice stutters as her eyes flick from my face to my hair and back again. “Faith?” Jess’s face turns from confusion to anger as I nod.
She seems annoyed with me, more than that—furious. Her lips tighten and her nose curls up, like I smell bad. There’s no way my Millie outfit can be the reason. I look down at my dress, it won’t cause offence to anyone other than Callum. My heart starts racing, no matter what’s going on with her and Callum, she’s my captain and things have to stay civil between us. Her dark angel wings catch my attention, it’s a cute twist on the fallen angel look. Maybe we can reconnect over that. “You look—” I start.
“Save it.” She holds up her hand firmly. “I’m surprised you dare show your face here.”
“Pardon?” I’m too shocked to do anything other than gape at her like a goldfish.
“Do you know how much shit I’ve had to put up with today because of you? Trying to get the university’s best scrum half arrested six days before the varsity match with Cambridge hasn’t exactly made things easy for the squad. They wanted to ban us from all their fixtures for the rest of the year. And persuade all the other teams to do the same.”
My head whirrs. Callum told people that the police questioned him about my attack? How fucking cocky is he? Will he pay off the whole world?
“Sorry, you’re angry with me because I got attacked and left for dead?” I straighten up as the full heft of Jess’s words sink in.
Her cheeks pinken. “I’m annoyed because you used your attack to frame an innocent man.” Her voice is more high-pitched than usual. “I don’t know what went on with you and Callum, but crying rape does the whole of womankind a disservice.”
Anger blazes white-hot in front of my eyes. “You are the one doing womankind a disservice. I did not cry rape. No one even mentioned rape. I was attacked and told the police the last person I saw beforehand. An innocent man would be happy to help.”
Her hand shakes as she lifts her drink up. “An innocent man… God, you’re as crazy as he said.” She gulps a large swig of her drink. “None of the sports teams will let us cheer if you’re on the squad.”
“What are you trying to say, Jess?” I grab the drink from the barman’s outstretched hand and take a gulp.
“That you can’t stay on the team. We need—”
“Woah, you’re throwing me off the team because I was attacked?” It’s a good thing for Jess that the music is blaring, because I’m shouting now. Everyone would be watching us is the music wasn’t so loud. I can’t believe that she’s doing this, it’s the twenty-first century, and this is supposed to be one of the top universities in the world.
She pales slightly, then tosses her hair over her shoulder. “You’re off the squad, Faith. My decision is final.” Her eyes move above my head as she finishes speaking, fix on something—or someone—then sparkle with what looks like lust.
I spin my head to follow her gaze. There he is, the devil incarnate; Callum Carter-Wright leaning against the wall dressed in a snow-white designer suit splattered all over with fake blood. His lifts his eyebrow as he sees me and Jess looking at him and it’s instantly clear whose decision my being off the squad is. Bastard.
Well, both of us can play dirty.
I turn back to Jess. “You’ll regret this when you lose the nationals. And when I tell the student newspaper about your support to victims of gender violence.”
Her face contorts with fury, but I step away before she can reply. Fuck Jess, she’s just Callum’s pawn. The real prize tonight is watching Callum take in the full effect of my outfit.
I don’t take my eyes from his as I slowly work through past the dancing students between us. He’s annoyingly good-looking in the white suit, it skims over his muscles reminding me just how stacked he is. It’s clearly expensive. Of course Callum is so spoiled that he doesn’t care about ruining a designer suit with bright red fake blood just for a good costume. How the other half live.
His eyebrow arches even higher as I move towards him and a slow smirk takes over his face. He thinks he’s won, that I’m coming over to cry about being thrown off the cheer squad on his orders.
I’m not that weak.
There’s a clear area about a metre wide in front of him, and I push past the last group of dancers into it.
The smirk falls from his face as he takes in my outfit. His Adam’s apple bobs and for one brief second he looks like he wants to cry. Bingo.
I stop just in front of him. The sudden glassiness in his eyes is totally at odds with the cocky swagger from moments ago. I raise my glass as if to toast him. “I won’t forget. No matter what you do, I will avenge Millie.”
He pales. “You’re—.”
I don’t stay to hear what he thinks I am. Now isn’t the time. I’ll let him drink too much and snort too much and come back in a few hours when his defences are truly down. Maybe then I’ll be able to uncover what he really knows.
I stomp around the party, furious with Callum and furious with Jess. I can’t believe she followed his orders to ditch me from the squad. Talk about feminism.
A familiar figure bumps into me. Pale blue eyes hurtle up to my face as she apologises.
“Nina.” I’m so surprised to see her at a party that I can’t help but shout her name.
“Callum insisted I come.” She rolls her eyes, then pales as if she said too much. “He thinks I need to make friends.”
Something flickers inside me. Nina is my friend. Callum can’t stop that too. “I miss hanging out with you.”
She smiles, sadly. “Me too, but Callum’s my brother.”
“I’m not lying. Nina left me—”
A wall of white comes between us before I can finish my sentence.
“Get the hell away from my sister.”
“Callum—” Nina starts, but he interrupts.
“She’s crazy, Neens. She’s dressed up like Millie tonight. Copying what she wore when she died.”
I watch Nina’s eyes widen then flick from my newly dark hair, to the wounds on my wrist and the quaint ballgown. Her face hardens. “Oh God.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I didn’t think about Callum telling anyone else what I was dressed as, and how insane that would make me look. There’s only one thing I can do now: fight.
“Touched a nerve have I Callum?” I yell. “I’m not going to let you get away with what you did to Millie.”
Nina covers her face with her hands, when she lowers them she looks utterly exhausted. “Faith, he was in Ibiza the night Millie died. I’m sorry your friend passed, but Callum had nothing to do with it. It nearly destroyed him.”
“Ha, guilt has a tendency to that.” I snap back.
“Come on, there’s no talking sense to her. Let’s go home.” Callum’s arm grazes the small of her back.
“That’s right, leave,” I yell after them. “I wonder why it’s getting to you so much Callum? Huh? Touched a nerve have I?”
The back of his white suit ripple as he stops walking. When he turns to face he his blue eyes look like bullets. “Of course it touches a nerve. This is sick, you’re sick.” His stare is so anguished that for a moment, I almost believe him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m not going to stop, not until you admit what you did. I know Millie didn’t do this on her own. You’re the one who told her to.” Hot tears fill my eyes as I think of Millie, all alone in her final moments, believing she had to die. Believing Callum when he said she wasn’t worthy to live. “You can’t run forever. I won’t forget her, she was my best friend.”
Nina spins around, and for one moment, her eyes soften, almost like she believes me. Then Callum tugs her out of view and I’m left completely alone in the crowd. I’m broken, like I’ve been doing hardcore cheerleading moves for the past eight hours. The party is far too noisy, the crowd too boisterous. I push past the sweaty bodies and finall
y make it to the sanctuary of my staircase. As soon as I slam the door behind me, I sink to the floor and start crying.
“Why aren’t you here, Millie?” I sob clutching her locket in my fist. “I miss you so much.”
28: Faith
Professor Headley sets a date a week later for me to write the new essay.
‘Great practice for your prelim exams.’ She writes breezily on the email, like it’s all for my benefit, not a sign that she believes Callum Carter-Wright over me.
Apparently, I’m allowed to bring up to ten textbooks, as correctly referenced quotes will be vital. I’ve spent most of my free time in the past week selecting the books that will give me the best, broadest range of topics. I’m not allowed to know what the essay title is yet ('it’s easy for someone of your intelligence to memorise entire texts’ Professor Headley patronised in her email), so it’s involved a degree of guesswork.
On the plus side at least it’s given me something to concentrate on outside of the fact I’ve got no friends and have completely ruined my chance of proving Callum was involved in Millie’s death. No matter how much I’ve searched online, I haven’t found any evidence to say he was faking being abroad on the night she died. In my darkest moments, when I can’t sleep at night, I’m starting to wonder if he’s right and I’m the crazy one. Then I remember the blow against my head and know something’s going on.
“You have got to be kidding me. No way!” I walk into Professor Headley’s office at the allotted time, to see Callum sprawled on the antique sofa like he owns the place.
“Like I want to be here,” he rolls his eyes and glares up at Professor Headley.
“Now, now, children this is for the best. Callum, you think Faith cheated on her entrance essay? Well now you’ll know for sure that she’s written the new one herself.”
“What’s in it for me?” I notice she’s only explained why it benefits Callum.