Sophie
school over half-term while everybody goes home because my parents work on campus and don’t have a holiday until Christmas. Most of the time, I end up spending most of my time curled on my bed reading a book. But this year, it’s different. A lot of students, under the pressure of university applications, are staying on campus too.
Araminta and Audrey are both staying for half-term. It’s a rare and precious opportunity because we’re all usually split up over holidays.
Sixth-formers are allowed to go into town during the half-term breaks, so we take the opportunity to go out for strolls, or to shop and catch films. It’s a much-needed break, and, crucially, a much-needed distraction.
Between my weird encounter with Evan in the study hall and the mentoring programme approaching fast, my anxiety is ramping up.
Unfortunately, having to mentor Evan is not my only source of anxiety. Aside from worrying about my grades and university applications, I’ve also started to worry about money.
At Spearcrest, my living costs are absorbed by the school. I live on campus and spend most of my holidays here too. My parents give me a small allowance for food, clothes and books, and that’s more than enough to get by on.
But now, the reality of money is settling in. Even if I can get loans or scholarships for my tuition, I’m going to need money. Money for travelling, for rent, for food, for bills. Money for everything—more money than my parents will ever be able to afford.
Especially if I get into Harvard Law School, where my parents don’t even know I’m applying.
Getting a job wouldn’t be a problem, and it’s not like I’m afraid of hard work. But Spearcrest has a rule forbidding students from getting part-time jobs. And doing so isn’t even an option, because unless it’s a holiday, we’re not typically allowed off-campus.
Money is an issue which constantly weighs on my mind even when I’m with the girls. Audrey, of course, doesn’t fail to notice this.
“What’s on your mind, frowny-face?”
It’s almost the end of half-term. We’re sitting in a little café in Fernwell, the local town, sipping sugary hot drinks while we watch the sun slowly set outside. The café is a cosy place full of leather seats and plants. There’s a sign stuck to the window reading “Hiring Now.”
I’ve been staring at it without realising.
“I wish Spearcrest would allow us to get jobs,” I said, turning back to Audrey.
She laughs. “I doubt it’s an issue many students worry about.”
Araminta scoops a spoonful of whipped cream from the top of her hot chocolate, raising her eyebrows, “You want to get a job? Would you even have the time?”
“In between chess club, book club, study club, student club and club club?” Audrey says a little wickedly.
“Maybe I could drop a club,” I say.
“Drop a club?” Audrey exclaims. “Who are you and what have you done with Sophie?”
“What club would you drop?” Araminta asks.
“The mentor programme.”
Now Audrey is truly aghast. “Miss Bailey’s academic mentor programme? You’ve been doing it since Year 10! You love that shit! Why on earth would you drop it?”
I hesitate. “This year she wants me to mentor someone in our year.”
“What? Who would need a mentor in our year?”
“Apparently a few people in our year are failing some of their subjects. Their posh mamas and papas are displeased, so Miss Bailey is using the mentoring programme to help those students.”
“Anybody failing at this point just doesn’t want to do well,” Audrey says, a little scornfully.
“Or doesn’t need to do well,” I say.
“I bet it’s one of the Young Kings,” Araminta pipes up. “They’ve made it pretty obvious they’re too rich and powerful to care about grades. I always thought it was just the image they were trying to project, but maybe they’ve been pretending to be useless for so long they’ve actually become useless.”
Audrey is watching me with her shrewd eyes as Araminta talks. She leans forward in her comfy seat.
“Oh my god, Sophie. It totally is, isn’t it? One of the Young Kings.”
I nod.
“Ugh!” Araminta exclaims in disgust. “One of them is failing? What a turn off! I bet it’s Iakov, I swear all that guy does is smoke and drink and fight.”
But Audrey is still watching me with those eyes that seem to see a lot more than they should.
“It’s Evan Knight,” she says. “Isn’t it?”
I nod again and drop my head back against the wings of the big chesterfield I’m nestled into. Both girls give me looks of sympathy. Audrey reaches over to rub my arm.
“I mean, let’s look on the positive side,” Araminta says. “It might put you at an advantage to be his mentor. I’m sure he won’t want people to know he’s failing. He might try to act nice in exchange for your silence.”
“Nice or not,” I say. “The programme is two hours a week, twice a week. Four hours of Evan. A week.”
“God…” Audrey mutters, shaking her head. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to tell Miss Bailey I can’t tutor him.”
“Are you going to tell Miss Bailey the truth?” Araminta asks, wide-eyed.
“What truth? I hate Evan Knight because he’s horrible and fake and a complete loser? I can’t say that to Miss Bailey, it would sound so pathetic.”
“Just tell her he’s a bully,” Audrey says.
Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows at her. “Because reporting bullying in Spearcrest has a history of going well and not at all having negative consequences…”
The truth is that Spearcrest as a school does have a zero tolerance for bullying.
So reporting bullying does mean the school will challenge and punish the bully. But that bully will be back at one point or another, and they will have the full force of very angry, very wealthy, very powerful parents behind them.
And that’s when your life can become a living hell.
Not something I would risk, especially not this year. I’ve done my suffering here. Now it’s time to stay under the radar and plan my escape.
When I go to her office on the first Monday of the new half-term, I stay as vague as possible and do my best to simply dodge the situation.
“Miss Bailey, if it’s not too much trouble, I was wondering if it would be possible for me to get a different tutee.”
Today, Miss Bailey is wearing a green silk blouse and black velvet culottes. She looks radiant in the pearl-grey morning light drifting through her windows, but as soon as she hears my request, her face drops.
“Oh, no Sophie, can you not tutor Evan anymore?”
“I…” Luckily, I’ve prepared an array of excuses. “I’m nowhere near the best student in Literature. I think another student who is achieving better grades might be better suited to tutoring him.”
Miss Bailey shakes her head.
“Sophie, you’re one of the only mentors in the programme also taking English Literature. You’re also an Oxbridge and Ivy Leagues candidate, which is going to go down well with the parents. Not that it’s at all your responsibility to worry about that, of course!”
She looks at me with an expression of worry bordering on panic.
“It’s just that…” I mumble, feeling completely ashamed.
“Of course, you shouldn’t need to worry about any of that,’ Miss Bailey repeats, holding up her hands. ‘I’ll just have to find someone to replace you, that’s fine—that’s fine.” She’s half mumbling as she scrambles between her computer and her planner, making notes, talking distractedly. “Okay, I will sort this out.” Then she looks up beseechingly. “Any chance you would mind just doing the mentoring sessions while I look for somebody else to replace you? One or two weeks, that’s it.”
The terror of having to mentor Evan for even a single session makes war with the devouring guilt of the stress I’m causing Miss Bailey, each trying to overcome the other.
In the end, I say, “Of course, Miss Bailey, no problem.”
The words spill from my mouth before I even have the time to shove them back behind my teeth. Already, a sunray of hope is lighting up Miss Bailey’s face.
“Oh, thank you so much, Sophie! I genuinely appreciate this, I hope you know I don’t take your work and kindness for granted,” she points her pen at her computer. “I promise you I will sort this out as soon as possible.” She grabs a thick manila folder and passes it to me. “Here are all the details for the session tomorrow. Thank you a thousand times, Sophie.”
She is beaming with such genuine gratitude I can’t regret giving in to her. I leave her office feeling like I did the right thing, and simultaneously so sick with nerves I’m nauseous.
I slump against the wall next to her door. The corridors of Spearcrest, with their chessboard tiles, tall windows and arched ceilings, normally feel cavernous, but right now they seem to be closing in on me.
I shut my eyes and take deep breaths, reminding myself this is the last year. The last year of having to endure the whims and caprices of rich kids.
The last year of trying to survive Evan Knight.
back in my dorm room after a very long, very hot shower, I climb into bed and finally open the manila folder Miss Bailey gave me. There are photocopies of some of Evan’s essays (tragic), notes from his Literature teacher about the topics and skills he needs to focus on and some textbooks.
There is also a printed map with an address written on a post-it. I frown, looking closer, then scramble for a note. Sure enough, I find instructions in Miss Bailey’s elegant handwriting on the back of the map.
“Out of respect for Evan’s privacy, his parents wish him to be tutored at their home near the school. Taxis are already booked and paid for, so don’t worry about getting there. I’ve attached the address and a map just in case.”
I toss the map away from me and drop back into my pillows, scrunching my eyes close. His house? I have to go to his house? Why? Because his parents don’t want anybody to find out their precious golden boy isn’t capable of reading a book without having his hand held?
It’s so typical of these rich arseholes to do something like this. I don’t even know why I’m surprised.
So once more, I force deep, long breaths down my constricted throat. My frustration is almost suffocating, but there’s nothing I can do for now. I’m sure Miss Bailey won’t let me down.
All I need to do now is make it through the next couple of weeks, and then I never have to speak to or think about Evan Knight ever again.
To comfort myself, I open my heavily annotated copy of Jane Eyre. Normally, it’s a comfort read, but today, Jane’s story hits too close to home. She, too, fell for someone’s sweet lies only to end up betrayed and hurt.
I can only hope to one day leave Spearcrest with as much pride and dignity as she left Thornfield.
