‘This is perfect,’ says Ember and gets into position between the gorse and the apple tree.
Apples are scattered all over our small garden, which we still have to collect. But even though our parents have been jostling for days – picking apples in purple is not in my calendar until Thursday.
I already know that the moment Ember and I bring the baskets into the house, an argument will break out between Mum and Dad over who gets the bigger share. Like every year, Mum plans to bake cakes and dumplings that she can lay out in the bakery for tasting, while Dad wants to cook what feels like hundreds of jams in the most adventurous flavors. Unlike Mum, he unfortunately has no one in the Mexican restaurant where he works to give them to try. This means that Ember and I will probably have to serve as guinea pigs again, which can be really great in the case of a new tortilla recipe – but not at all with apple jam with cardamom and chili.
‘What do you mean?’
Ember stands in front of me in a practiced pose. I’m always surprised at how well she can do it. Her posture is relaxed, and she shakes her head briefly so that the curls of her long light brown hair fall a little wilder. When she smiles, her green eyes literally shine, and I wonder how it can be that she looks so awake after getting up. I haven’t even managed to comb my hair so far, and my straight bangs are certainly perpendicular to the sky. And my eyes, which are the same color as Embers, don’t glow at all. On the contrary, they are so tired and dry that I have to blink constantly trying to get rid of the unpleasant burning.
It’s just after seven o’clock in the morning, and I’ve spent half the night lying awake brooding over what I saw yesterday afternoon. When Ember came into my room an hour ago, I had the feeling that I had just fallen asleep.
‘You look great,’ I reply, lifting the small digital camera. Ember gives me the signal, and I take three pictures, then she changes her pose, turns to the side and gives me – or rather the camera – a look over her shoulder. The dress she is wearing today has a black Peter Pan collar and a striking blue pattern. She stole it from Mum and altered it a bit to give it a waist.
For as long as I can remember, Ember has been overweight, and she regularly struggles to find clothes for her physique that are fitted. Unfortunately, the market is not exactly flooded with it, and she has to improvise constantly. For her thirteenth birthday, she asked our parents for her first own sewing machine, which she has been using ever since to sew clothes that she likes.
Ember now knows exactly what suits her. She has a great knack for street style. For example, she combined her current dress with a denim jacket and white sneakers with silver heels, which she painted herself.
A few days ago, I noticed a jacket in a fashion magazine whose fabric looked like the material that garbage bags are made of. I wrinkled my nose and quickly flipped through, but when I think about it now, I’m pretty sure Ember would rock the jacket like a supermodel.
This certainly has a lot to do with the self-confidence she radiates – in front of the camera, but also in real life.
That wasn’t always the case. I still remember the days when she hid in her room because she was teased at school. At the time, Ember seemed small and vulnerable, but over time, she has learned to accept her body and ignore what others say about her.
Ember has no problem calling himself ‘fat’. It’s like Harry Potter,’ she always says when someone is surprised by her choice of words. The name ‘Voldemort’ is only so terrible because no one dares to pronounce it. It’s exactly the same with ›fat‹, but it’s simply a description like ›slim‹ or ›thin‹. It’s just a word—and not a negative one.’
It was a long way for Ember to learn that, which is why she started her blog. She wanted to help others who are in a similar situation to herself to accept themselves. Ember has been telling the world for over a year that she thinks she is beautiful the way she is, and with her passionate contributions to plus size fashion, she has built a community within which she is considered a pioneer and source of inspiration.
Mum, Dad and I have also learned an incredible amount from her – not least because she always provides us with articles on the subject – and are incredibly proud of what she has achieved.
‘I think I already have it,’ I say, after I’ve also photographed her third pose. Ember immediately comes to me and grabs the camera. As she clicks through the shots, her nose wrinkles critically. But in one of the pictures in which she looks over her shoulder, she finally smiles.
‘I’ll take that.’ She presses a kiss on my cheek. ‘Thank you.’
Together we walk through the garden back into the house and try to place our feet between the fallen apples. ‘When will the article go online?’ I ask.
‘Tomorrow afternoon, I thought.’ She gives me a sideways glance. ‘Do you think you’d have time to look over it tonight?’
Actually, no. After class today, I have to hang up the posters for the celebration at the weekend and then continue to work on my presentation in history. I also have to come up with a plan to get my letter of recommendation without ever having to speak a word to Mr. Sutton again. Just the thought of yesterday – of Lydia Beaufort on his desk and of him between her legs – makes me feel nauseous again. The noises the two of them made …
I jerkily try to shake the memory out of my head, but this only has the consequence that Ember looks at me in amazement.
‘I’m happy to do it,’ I say quickly and push past her into the living room. I can’t look Ember in the eye. When she discovers the rings under my eyes, she knows immediately that something is wrong, and I don’t need her questions at all right now.
Not if I just can’t get Mr. Sutton’s stifled moans out of my ears, no matter how hard I try.
‘Good morning, honey.’
My mother’s voice makes me wince, and I make a quick effort to control my features and look normal. Or whatever you look like, if you haven’t caught your teacher making out with your student.
Mum comes to me and presses a kiss on my cheek. ‘Are you all right? You look tired.’
Apparently, I have to practice that again with the normal facial expression.
‘Yes, I just need caffeine,’ I murmur and let her maneuver me to the breakfast table. She fills a cup with coffee and strokes my head again before placing it on the table in front of me. Meanwhile, Ember goes to Dad and shows him the pictures I took of her. He immediately puts the newspaper aside and bends over the display. He smiles, the slight wrinkles around the corners of his mouth deepening. ‘Very pretty.’
‘Do you recognize the dress, darling?’ asks Mum. She leans over him from behind and puts her hand on his shoulder.
Dad lifts the camera higher, and behind the lenses of his reading glasses, his gaze becomes thoughtful. ‘Is that . . . is that the dress you wore on our tenth anniversary?’ He looks over his shoulder at Mum, and she nods. Mum and Ember have roughly the same physique, which is why Ember had a lot of clothing available to experiment with at the beginning of her sewing machine career. In the beginning, Mum was always sad when Ember sewed up and more or less destroyed the clothes, but that hardly happens anymore. In the meantime, she is happy about everything that Ember conjures up from her old clothes and blouses.
‘I waisted it and sewed a collar on it,’ says Ember. She sits down at the table and pours cornflakes into one of the bowls Mum has prepared for us.
A smile spreads across Dad’s face. ‘It really turned out very nice,’ he says and reaches for Mum’s hand. He pulls on it until her face is at his height, then he gives her a tender kiss.
Ember and I look at each other, and I know she thinks the same thing I do: Ugh. Our parents are so in love with each other that sometimes it can make you feel a little sick. But we take it with composure. And when I consider what happened to Lin’s family, I appreciate that my own is intact. Especially since we had to work hard for the strong bond that unites us.
‘Let me know when your post is online,’ Mum says after taking a seat next to Dad. ‘I want to be able to read it at once.’
‘Okay,’ Ember replies, his mouth full.
We have to hurry if we want to get to the school bus on time, so I can understand that she loops like that.
‘But you look over it first, don’t you?’ Dad asks to me.
Even after more than a year, Dad is still skeptical about Ember’s blog. He is not comfortable with the Internet, especially not when his daughter reveals pictures and thoughts of herself there. It took Ember some strength to convince Dad that a fashion blog for plus size fashion is a good idea. But Ember approached Bellbird with so much enthusiasm and courage that Dad had no choice but to allow her. His only condition is that I – as a sensible big sister – test read Ember’s blog articles and check the pictures before she posts them, so that no details from our private lives end up on the net. But his concern is unfounded. Ember works carefully and professionally, and I admire her for what she has already achieved with Bellbird in such a short time.
‘Of course.’ I also put a spoonful of cornflakes in my mouth and wash it down with a big sip of coffee. Now Ember is the one who looks at me in disgust, but I ignore her. ‘I’ll be a little late today, only you don’t be surprised.’
‘Is there a lot going on at school?’ asks Mum.
If you knew.
I’d love to tell Mum, Dad and Ember what happened. I know that I would feel better afterwards. But I can’t. My home and Maxton Hall are two different worlds that don’t belong together. And I swore to myself never to mix them. That’s why no one in my school knows anything about my family, and that’s why my family doesn’t know anything about what’s happening at Maxton Hall. I drew this line on my first day at school, and it was the best decision I could have made. I know that Ember is often annoyed by my closed-mindedness, and I feel guilty every time my parents don’t manage to hide their disappointment quickly enough, when I no longer answer their ‘How was your day?’ as ‘Okay’. But my home is my oasis of peace. What counts here is family and loyalty and loyalty and love. At Maxton Hall, only one thing counts: money. And I’m afraid that I’ll destroy our peaceful place if I drag things from there here.
Apart from the fact that it’s none of my business what Mr. Sutton and Lydia Beaufort do with each other, I would never snitch on them anyway. The fact that no one in Maxton Hall knows anything about my private life only works because I stick to the rule I have set up for myself: Just don’t attract attention! For two years now, I have been doing everything I can to remain invisible to the majority of my classmates and to run below their radar.
If I told someone about Mr. Sutton or went to the headmaster with it, it would cause a scandal. I can’t risk that, especially not now that I’m so close to my actual goal.
Lydia Beaufort and her entire family – especially her hideous brother – are exactly the kind of people I should keep miles away from. The Beauforts run the oldest and largest men’s outfitter in England. They have their fingers in the pie not only everywhere in the country, but especially everywhere in Maxton Hall. Even our school uniforms were designed by them.
No. I should not mess with the Beauforts under any circumstances.
I’m just going to pretend that nothing happened.
When I finally smile at my mother and mumble ‘Not so bad,’ I know how forced it must look. I am all the more grateful when she doesn’t follow up and instead pours me another cup of coffee without comment.
School is the horror. I try to concentrate on the lessons, but my mind is constantly wandering. Between classes, I’m terrified of running into Mr. Sutton or Lydia in the hallway, and I literally sprint from one classroom to the next. Lin gives me a weird look from the side more than once, whereupon I remind myself to pull myself together. The last thing I want is for her to start asking questions that I can’t give her answers to. Especially since I’m pretty sure that she didn’t buy the excuse that I made a mistake in the appointment yesterday and therefore don’t have my letter of recommendation yet.
After the last hour, we go together to the secretariat and pick up the posters, which finally arrived in the mail yesterday. I would have preferred to go to the cafeteria first – my stomach growled so loudly in biology that even the teacher turned around to see me once – but Lin had the idea that we could hang up a few on the way there and save time.
We start in the auditorium, where we attach the first poster together to one of the mighty columns. When I’m sure that the adhesive strips hold, I take a few steps back and cross my arms. ‘What do you mean?’ I ask Lin.
‘Perfect. At this point, everyone who comes in through the main entrance notices it.’ She turns to me and smiles. ‘It’s really pretty, Ruby.’
I look at the intricate black letters announcing the back-to-school party for a while. Doug has really conjured up great graphics for us – the font combined with the subtle speckles in gold looks classy and glamorous on the silver background, but at the same time modern enough that it passes for a school party.
Maxton Hall is known for its legendary parties. In this school, everything is celebrated – the start of school, the end of school, foundation day, Halloween, Christmas, New Year’s Day, Principal Lexington’s birthday… The budget available to the event team is dizzyingly high. But – as Lexington always reminds us – the image we build with successful events cannot be paid for with money. Because the Maxton Hall parties are only in theory for the students. First and foremost, we want to attract parents, sponsors, politicians and all other people with a lot of money who finance our school and ensure that their children get the best start in life through their support – and end up directly in Cambridge or Oxford.
When I came to school, I had to choose an extracurricular activity, and the events committee seemed like the best choice: I love planning and organizing, and there I can act in the background without my classmates taking notice of me. I didn’t expect that I would have such fun with it. Nor that I would share the leadership of the team with Lin two years later.
Lin turns to me, a big grin on her face. ‘Isn’t it the best feeling in the world that no one can chase us around this year?’
‘I don’t think I could have endured another day under Elaine Ellington’s thumb without beating her up,’ I reply, and Lin chuckles softly. ‘Don’t laugh. I’m serious.’
‘I would have liked to have seen that.’
‘And I would have liked to.’
Elaine was an obnoxious team leader—bossy and unfair and lazy—but the truth is, of course, I would never have hurt her. Apart from the fact that I don’t think much of violence, I would also have violated my rule of doing everything to avoid attracting attention here.
But now it was done anyway. Elaine graduated and left school. And the fact that her dictatorial nature was just as unpopular with the others on the team as it was with us became clear when Lin and I were elected as her successor – a fact that still seems unreal to me.
‘Shall we hang up the two posters and then go out to eat?’ I ask, and Lin nods.
Fortunately, the rush hour is long over when we finally enter the cafeteria. Most students are already on their way to their afternoon classes or are still taking advantage of the last rays of sunshine in the school’s park. Only a few tables are occupied, so Lin and I manage to get one of the good seats at the window.
Nevertheless, I avoid taking my eyes off my lasagna as I balance my tray across the room to our table. Only when I have sat down, put the remaining posters on the chair next to me and my backpack on the floor, do I dare to look around. Lydia Beaufort is nowhere to be seen.
Across from me, Lin spreads out her planner in front of her and begins to study it as she sips her orange juice. I see Chinese characters as well as triangles, circles and other symbols on the pages and admire them once again for their system, which looks so much cooler than the colors I work with. However, I remember that I once asked Lin to explain to me which sign has which meaning and for what occasion she uses it, and after half an hour I lost track and gave up.
‘We forgot to put a sample poster in Principal Lexington’s drawer,’ she murmurs, brushing her black hair behind her ear. ‘We’ll have to do that in a moment.’
‘Sure,’ I say with my mouth full. I think I have tomato sauce on my chin, but I don’t care at all. I have murderous cabbage steam, probably because I haven’t been able to get anything down except a few cornflakes since yesterday afternoon.
‘I still have to help my mum with an exhibition today,’ says Lin, pointing to one of the Chinese characters. Her mother opened an art gallery in London some time ago, which is doing well, but where she often has to support Lin – even during the week.
‘If you have to leave earlier, I can hang up the rest on my own,’ I offer her, but she shakes her head.
‘Our agreement was a fair division of labor when we accepted the job. We’ll either do it together or not at all.’
I smile at her. ‘Okay.’
I told Lin at the beginning of the school year that I don’t mind taking part in some of her work from time to time. I like to help others. Especially my friends – because I don’t have that many of them. And I know that the situation at home is not easy and that she is often challenged more than is actually reasonable. Especially when you consider that she also has to meet the high workload of our lessons. But Lin is at least as ambitious and just as stubborn as I am – probably one of the reasons why we get along so well.
The fact that we found each other actually borders on a miracle. Because when I came to Maxton Hall, she moved in completely different circles. Back then, she was sitting at a table with Elaine Ellington and her friends during her lunch break, and I would never have thought of talking to her, even though we were both on the events team and I had noticed a few times that she was as meticulous about her planner as I was.
But then her father had a real scandal on his hands, which caused Lin’s family to lose not only their fortune, but also the circles in which they moved. Suddenly Lin was alone during the breaks – I don’t know if her friends didn’t want to have anything to do with her anymore or if Lin was just too ashamed of what happened. What I do know, however, is what it feels like to lose all your friends in one fell swoop. That’s what happened to me when I moved here from my old high school in Gormsey. I had been overwhelmed by everything – the high demands in class, the extracurricular activities, the fact that everyone here was so different from me – and had not managed to maintain contacts with Gormsey for the first time. My friends there made it clear to me what they thought of it.
In retrospect, however, I know that true friends don’t make fun of you all the time just because you like to do something for school. I always dismissed words like ‘nerd’ and ‘smartass’ with a laugh, even though I didn’t find it funny at all. And I also know that it has nothing to do with friendship if the others cannot muster any understanding that you are in a special situation. They didn’t once ask me how I was doing or if they could support me.
At the time, it hurt a lot to see these friendships break up like that, especially since no one in Maxton Hall wanted to have anything to do with me – or even took notice of me. I don’t come from a rich family. Instead of designer bags, I have a six-year-old backpack, instead of a shiny MacBook, I have a laptop that my parents bought me used before school started. On the weekends, I’m not at the hip parties that everyone is talking about for the entire next week – for most of my classmates, I simply don’t exist. Now I think it’s a good thing, but the first few weeks in Maxton Hall I felt incredibly lonely and isolated. Until I met Lin. It wasn’t just the fact that she and I went through something similar with our friends that connected us. Lin also shares two of my biggest hobbies: she loves to organize, and she loves manga.
I can’t say if we would have met if it hadn’t been for the thing with her parents. But even though I sometimes feel like she misses the time she had a name here and hung out with people like the Ellingtons, I’m grateful that I have her.
‘Then you go to the headmaster and hang up the posters at the library and the learning center on the way there. I’ll take care of the rest, okay?’ I suggest.
I hold out Lin my hand to the high five. For a moment it looks as if she wants to say something, but then she just smiles gratefully and claps. ‘You are the best.’
Someone pulls the chair next to me to the side and sits down on it. Lin turns chalky pale from one second to the next. I frown as she stares at me with wide eyes, then at the person who sat down next to me, and at me again.
Very slowly, I turn to the side – and look straight into turquoise blue eyes.
Like everyone at the school, I know these eyes, but I have never seen them up close. They are part of a striking face with dark brows, pronounced cheekbones and an arrogantly curved, beautiful mouth.
James Beaufort has sat down next to me.
And he looks at me.
Up close, it looks even more dangerous than from a distance. He is one of those in Maxton Hall who behaves as if the school belongs to them. And that’s exactly what he looks like: his posture is upright and self-confident, his tie fits perfectly. On him, the actually quite ordinary school uniform looks first-class, as if it had been made for his body. That’s probably because his mother designed it. The only thing about him that is not accurate is his reddish-blond hair, which, unlike his sister’s, is not perfectly styled, but wildly jumbled.
‘Hey,’ he says.
Have I ever heard him talk? Roaring on the lacrosse field or drunk at the Maxton Hall parties, yes, but not like this. His ‘Hey’ sounds familiar, and so is the sparkle in his eyes. He acts as if it were something completely normal for him to sit down next to me during his lunch break and talk to me. We have never exchanged a word with each other. And it should stay that way.
Carefully, I look around and swallow hard. Not all, but clearly a few heads turned in our direction. It feels like the invisibility cloak I’ve been wearing for two years has slipped a bit.
Not good at all, not good at all, not good at all.
‘Hey, Lin. Would you mind if I kidnapped your girlfriend for a moment?’ he asks, without once looking away from me. His gaze is so intense that a shiver sends a shiver down my spine. It takes me a while to understand what he said. The next moment I turn my head to Lin and try to make her understand without saying that I would mind, but she doesn’t look at me at all, only at James.
‘Sure,’ she croaks. ‘Go ahead.’
I just manage to grab my backpack from the floor, then James Beaufort’s hand is on my lower back, and he maneuvers me out of the cafeteria. I take an extra step faster so that his hand disappears, but even after that I can still feel his touch as if it has burned itself into my skin through the fabric of my jacket. He leads me around the large staircase in the foyer and only comes to a stop behind it at a point where our classmates, who are still running in and out of the cafeteria, can no longer see us.
I can imagine what he wants. Since he hasn’t even looked at me once in the last two years, it must have something to do with the matter between his sister and Mr. Sutton.
Only when I am sure that no one can hear us anymore do I turn to him. ‘I think I know what you want from me.’
His lips curl into a slight smile. ‘Are you doing that?’
‘Listen, Beaufort—’
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to interrupt you at this point, Robyn.’ He takes a step towards me. I don’t back down, but just look at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘You’ll forget what you saw yesterday as quickly as possible, will you understand? If I find out that you lose a single word about it, I’ll make sure you get kicked out of school.’
He presses something into my hand. As if in a daze, I lower my gaze and stiffen as I realize what it is.
In my hand is a heavy bundle of fifty-pound bills. I swallow dry.
I have never held so much money in my hand.
I look up. James’ arrogant grin speaks volumes. It clearly tells me that he knows exactly how much I could use the money. And that this is not the first time he has bought someone’s silence.
His gaze and his entire posture are so smug that I am suddenly seized by an incredible rage.
‘Are you serious?’ I ask between clenched teeth, holding up the wad of money. I’m so angry that my hands are shaking.
Now he looks thoughtful. He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulls out a second bundle and holds it out to me. ‘More than ten thousand are not possible.’
Completely stunned, I stare at the money, then again in his face.
‘If you keep your mouth shut until the end of the term, we can double the whole thing. If you make it to the end of the school year, we’ll quadruple it.’
His words repeat themselves in my head, over and over again, and the blood boils in my veins. How he stands before me, throws ten thousand pounds at my feet, and thus wants to forbid me to speak. As if that were nothing. As if that’s what you would do when you were born with a golden spoon in your mouth. All of a sudden, I realize something very clearly:
I just can’t stand James Beaufort.
I detest him. Him and everything he stands for.
How he lives – without consideration or fear of consequences. If you bear the name Beaufort, you are untouchable. No matter what you do – dad’s money will fix it somehow. While I’ve been working my ass off for the past two years to have even a tiny chance of being picked up at Oxford, high school is nothing but a walk in the park for him.
It’s unfair. And the longer I stare at him, the angrier I get about it.
My fingers cramp around the bills in my hand. I clench my teeth tightly and tear open the thin strip of paper that holds the bundle together.
James frowns. ‘What—’
I jerk my hand up and throw the money in the air.
James returns my stoic gaze ironically, the only reaction is the throbbing muscle on his jaw.
While the bills are still slowly sailing to the ground, I turn around and leave.
