My life is divided into colors:
Green – Important!
Turquoise – School
Pink – Maxton Hall Events Committee
Purple – Family
Orange – Nutrition and Exercise
Purple (taking Ember’s outfit pictures), green (getting new highlighters) and turquoise (asking Mrs. Wakefield for the subject matter for the math work) I have already done today. It’s by far the best feeling in the world to check off an item on my to-do list. Sometimes I even write down tasks that I have long since completed, just to be able to cross them out immediately afterwards – but then in an inconspicuous light gray so that I don’t feel quite so much like a cheater.
If you open my bullet journal, you can see at first glance that my everyday life is mostly made up of green, turquoise and pink. But almost a week ago, at the beginning of the new school year, a new color was used:
Gold – Oxford
The first task I wrote down with the new pen is:
Pick up a letter of recommendation from Mr Sutton
I run my finger over the shimmering metallic letters.
Only one year left. One last year at Maxton Hall College. It seems almost unreal to me that it is finally starting now. Maybe in three hundred and sixty-five days I’ll be sitting in a seminar on politics and being taught by the most intelligent people in the world.
Everything in me tingles with excitement when I think about the fact that it won’t be long before I know if my greatest wish will come true. Whether I really made it and can study. In Oxford.
No one in my family has ever studied, and I know that it is not a matter of course that my parents did not just smile wearily when I first announced to them that I wanted to study philosophy, political science and economics at Oxford. I was seven at the time.
But even now – ten years later – nothing has changed, except that my goal is within reach. It still seems like a dream to me that I made it this far at all. I catch myself again and again being afraid of suddenly waking up and realizing that I am going to my old school after all and not to Maxton Hall – one of the most prestigious private schools in England.
I take a look at the clock hanging above the massive wooden door of the classroom. Three minutes to go. I finished the tasks we are supposed to work on last night, and now I have nothing else to do but wait for this lesson to finally come to an end. I bob my leg impatiently, for which I immediately get a blow in the side.
‘Ouch,’ I hiss and wants to hit back, but Lin is faster and swerves. Her reflexes are incredible. I suspect that this is due to the fact that she has been taking fencing lessons since elementary school. After all, you have to be able to stab like a cobra quickly.
‘Stop being so jittery,’ she replies, without taking her eyes off her full sheet of paper. ‘You’re making me nervous.’
That makes me wonder. Lin is never nervous. At least not in such a way that she would admit it or show it. But at that moment, I actually see a hint of concern in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t help it.’ Again I trace the letters with my fingers. In the last two years, I’ve done everything I can to keep up with my classmates. To become better. To prove to everyone that I’m right to go to Maxton Hall. And now that the university application process is starting, the excitement is almost killing me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t do anything about it. However, the fact that Lin seems to feel the same way reassures me a bit.
‘Have the posters actually arrived yet?’ asks Lin. She glances over at me, and a strand of her shoulder-length black hair falls into her face. She strokes it impatiently from her forehead.
I shake my head. ‘Not yet. Certainly this afternoon.’
‘Okay. Tomorrow after Bio we’ll distribute them, won’t we?’
I point to the corresponding pink line in my bullet journal, and Lin nods contentedly. Again I look at the clock. It is only with difficulty that I can stop myself from bobbing my legs again. Instead, I start packing my pens as inconspicuously as possible. They all have to point the pen in the same direction, so it takes me longer anyway.
However, I don’t pack the golden pen, but solemnly put it in the narrow rubber band of my planner. I turn the cap so that it points forward. That’s the only way it feels right.
When the bell finally rings, Lin shoots up from her chair faster than I would have thought humanly possible. I look at her with raised eyebrows.
‘Don’t look like that,’ she says as she slips her bag over her shoulder. ‘You have begun!’
I don’t reply, but just stow away the rest of my things with a grin.
Lin and I are the first to leave the room. With quick steps we cross the west wing of Maxton Hall and turn left at the next junction.
In the first few weeks, I constantly got lost in the huge building and was late for class more than once. I was infinitely embarrassed, even though the teachers never tired of assuring me that most newcomers to Maxton Hall feel the same way as I do. The school resembles a castle: it has five floors, a south, west and east wing and three annexes in which subjects such as music and computer science are taught. The branches and paths on which you can get lost are countless, and the fact that not every staircase automatically leads to every floor can drive you to despair.
But while I was completely lost at the beginning, I now know the building like the back of my hand. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’d find my way to Mr. Sutton’s office blindfolded.
‘I should have had my letter of recommendation written by Sutton, too,’ Lin grumbles as we walk down the hall. Venetian masks adorn the high walls to our right – an art project of the last graduating class. I’ve stopped in front of it a few times and admired the playful details.
‘Why?’ I ask, making a mental note of telling our janitor that he has to get the masks to safety before the back-to-school party starts here on the weekend.
‘Because he likes us since we organized the graduation ceremony together last year, and he knows how committed we are and how hard we work. He is also young, ambitious and has just graduated from Oxford himself. God, I could really slap myself in the face because I didn’t come up with the idea.’
I pat Lin’s arm. ‘Mrs. Marr also studied at Oxford. Besides, I imagine it’s better received when you’re recommended by someone who has a little more experience than Mr. Sutton.’
She looks at me skeptically. ‘Do you regret asking him?’
I just shrug my shoulders. Mr. Sutton happened to hear at the end of last school year how much I wanted to go to Oxford and then offered to squeeze him out about anything I wanted to know. Even though he studied a different subject than I intend to do, he was able to provide me with a whole lot of insider information, all of which I greedily absorbed and later carefully noted down in my planner.
‘No,’ I answer at last. ‘I’m sure he knows what is important in the recommendation.’
At the end of the hallway, Lin has to turn left. We agree to talk on the phone again later, and then quickly say goodbye to each other. I take a look at my watch – five to half past two – and pick up the pace. My appointment with Sutton is at half past two, and I don’t want to be late under any circumstances. I rush past the tall Renaissance windows, through which golden September light is cast into the hallway, and squeeze through a group of students dressed in the same royal blue school uniform as me.
Nobody takes notice of me. That’s how it works in Maxton Hall. Although we all wear the same uniform – blue and green checked skirts for the girls, beige trousers for the boys and tailored dark blue jackets for everyone – it is obvious that I don’t really belong here. While my classmates come to school with expensive designer bags, the fabric of my khaki green backpack is now so thin in some places that I expect it to tear every day. I try not to be intimidated by this, nor by the fact that some people here behave as if they own the school just because they come from wealthy families. I am invisible to them, and I do everything I can to keep it that way. Just don’t stand out. So far, this has worked well.
I push past the rest of the students with my eyes downcast and turn right one last time. The third door on the left is Mr Sutton’s. Between his and the office in front of it is a heavy wooden bench, and I let my gaze wander from it to my watch and back again. Two minutes to go.
I can’t stand it for a second longer. Resolutely, I smooth my skirt, straighten my jacket and check whether my tie is still in place. Then I step to the door and knock.
No answer.
Sighing, I take a seat on the bench and look in both directions of the hallway. Maybe he’ll get something to eat quickly. Or a tea. Or coffee. Which makes me think that I shouldn’t have drunk one today. I was excited enough anyway, but Mum had cooked too much, and I hadn’t wanted to dump it away. Now my hands are shaking slightly as I take another look at my watch.
It’s half past two. To the minute.
Again I look down the corridor. No one in sight.
Maybe I didn’t knock loud enough. Or – and the thought makes my pulse rise – I made a mistake. Maybe our appointment is not today, but tomorrow. I frantically tug at the zipper of my backpack and pull out my planner. But when I look inside, everything is correct. Right date, right time.
Shaking my head, I close my backpack again. Normally I’m not so out of my mind, but the thought that something would go wrong with my application and that I might not be accepted to Oxford because of this almost makes me go crazy.
I admonish myself to come down again. Resolutely, I get up, go to the door and knock again.
This time I hear a noise. It sounds as if something has fallen to the ground. Carefully I open the door and peer into the room.
My heart skips a beat.
I heard right.
Mr. Sutton is here.
But… He is not alone.
On his desk sits a woman who kisses him passionately. He stands between her legs, both hands around her thighs. The next moment, he grabs her tighter and pulls her forward onto the edge of the table. She moans softly into his mouth as their lips merge again, burying her hands in his dark hair. I can’t see where one of them starts and the other ends.
I wish I could take my eyes off them. But I can’t do it. Not when he pushes his hands even further under her skirt. Not when I hear his heavy breath and she sighs softly, ‘God, Graham.’
When I finally free myself from my state of shock, I can’t remember how my legs work. I stumble over the threshold, and the door opens so vigorously that it slams against the wall. Mr. Sutton and the woman jump apart. He jerks his head around and sees me in the doorway. I open my mouth to apologize, but all I can do is a dry gasp.
‘Ruby,’ says Mr. Sutton, breathlessly. His hair is completely disheveled, the top buttons of his shirt are undone, and his face is reddened. He seems strange to me, not at all like my teacher.
I feel a murderous heat rush into my cheeks. ‘I… I’m sorry. I thought we had a—’
Then the young woman turns around, and the rest of the sentence gets stuck in my throat. My mouth opens, and icy cold spreads through my body. I stare at the girl. Her turquoise blue eyes are at least as wide open as my own. She jerkily averts her gaze, lowers it to her expensive high heels, lets it wander across the floor and then looks helplessly at Mr. Sutton – Graham, as she had just sighed.
I know them. In particular, I know her reddish-blond, perfectly wavy ponytail, which always dangles in front of me in history.
In Mr Sutton’s lessons.
The girl who just made out with my teacher here is Lydia Beaufort.
I’m getting dizzy. Besides, I’m sure I’ll throw up at any moment.
I stare at the two of them and try everything to erase the last few minutes from my head – but it’s impossible. I know it, and Mr. Sutton and Lydia know it too, I can see it plainly by their shocked expressions. I take a step back, Mr. Sutton with an outstretched hand, one towards me. I stumble over the threshold again and can just catch myself.
‘Ruby…’ he begins, but the rustling in my ears gets louder and louder.
I turn around on my heel and start running. Behind me, I can hear Mr. Sutton saying my name again, this time much louder.
But I just keep running. And further.
