Will bites into a pistachio. ‘I agree with Nat,’ she says.
Traitor.
‘How else are we going to get into the gym staffroom?’ Will continues. ‘It will be easy. We get Liz to leave the key for us somewhere. She doesn’t even have to know who we are.’
‘It’s too risky.’ I fold my arms.
‘Come on, Harriet,’ Will coaxes. ‘The only reason you don’t like Liz is because they made her the Tawney team captain over you.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘It really is.’
Natasha is watching us like a line umpire at the net. ‘Are you sure you guys aren’t together? You’re definitely bickering like a couple.’
Will glances at me and I look away quickly. ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Ask Liz Newcomb. See if I care.’
At the end of lunch, Principal Croon accosts me beside the filtered-water fountain. ‘Harriet! A brief word?’
Her office is as tasteful as I remember it: a large bay window, cucumber green walls and the scent of fresh potpourri. On the floor sprawls a mammoth rug, rumoured to have come from an Ottoman palace.
‘First of all, I wanted to thank you, Harriet, for all the hard work you are doing this year.’ Principal Croon’s teeth flash. ‘It really is extraordinary what you girls can achieve on top of your study.’ She looks at me expectantly.
‘Oh. Thank you.’ On the sideboard, an orchid’s slim stalk is bent forward as if listening to us talk, and with the recent upgrades to Rosemead’s security features, maybe it is.
Principal Croon folds her hands together, her burgundy nails shining like blood. ‘I have high hopes for you at Tawney this year, of course. You and Edie Marshall winning the Doubles would be such a combined coup for Rosemead Grammar and Blessingwood. So good for morale. And we’re incredibly grateful that on top of all of this you’ve managed to keep a hand in organising fundraisers and events as well.’
You have to admire the woman. She runs the whole of Rosemead, dresses like royalty, and still has time for tête-àtêtes with students.
‘I understand you are chair of the Formal Committee.’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘Dish is a fine choice of venue. It is in such a beautiful spot, right there on the harbour. And I understand you’ve organised buses to take guests there from Rosemead’s front gates?’
‘I have.’
‘A very sensible arrangement. I’m sure it’s going to be wonderful. I for one am very much looking forward to making the welcome speech on the night.’ She sits back in her chair. Abruptly, her smile vanishes. ‘There is one thing I want to make clear.’
I walk back from Principal Croon’s office with a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I am not even sure what just happened in there. The conversation I was apparently a part of does not seem remotely possible.
I drift through the rose garden, only half-aware of the Climbing Iceberg that is about to flower, and hardly noticing the Blushing Lucy in full bloom. I am preoccupied by a memory of the first time I saw Principal Croon.
She was standing at the top of Rosemead’s main staircase, poised and graceful, as a sea of students filed past. I watched her meet a young girl’s eye and smile at her. How I wished to be that girl! To be in the orbit of this majestic figure who seemed more powerful, even, than the stone lions that flanked her, more luminous than the sun-kissed sandstone.
It is a memory that has stayed with me through the years, complete with the orchestra of emotion I felt at the time: the desire to belong to the world she embodied; the hope that one day I would be a part of it; the deep admiration for the woman herself. Now the whole ensemble falters.
Did she really just say what I heard her say? Could Will and Natasha be right about her, after all?
Will. I feel a sudden need to talk to her, which makes absolutely no sense. This has nothing to do with Will.
All right, that isn’t strictly true. She is one of the few people in our year that Principal Croon’s pronouncement is relevant to: her, and possibly Natasha. But the person it is my duty to tell before anyone else is Edie.
Edie is due for dinner at six. When she arrives, my mother, whose clinic appointments finished early, shows her to my room. But rather than returning promptly to her study like she usually does after an interruption, she hovers in the hallway. ‘It really is so wonderful to see you again, Edie.’
‘You too, Mrs Price. That’s a beautiful shirt you have on.’
‘This old thing?’
‘And where did you get those shoes?’
My mother presses a hand on Edie’s arm. ‘You darling. I am so pleased you and Harriet are friends.’
‘If you don’t mind, Mother …’ I say, irritated.
Edie and my mother look at me with surprise.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble.
Edie steps past my mother and into my room. She turns around. ‘Will I be seeing you before Harriet’s formal, Mrs Price?’
My mother looks confused. ‘You’re going to Harriet’s formal?’
‘Of course.’
‘Oh,’ says my mother, fiddling with a button on her sleeve. ‘I’m not sure we’ll be around that evening … Anyway. I’ll leave you girls to it.’ Without looking at me, she gives Edie another brief smile and closes the door.
Edie groans. ‘I thought she was never going to leave. It’s been too long, Bubble. I’ve missed you.’ She reaches out a hand and pulls me onto the bed. I feel the warm press of her hip. I yelp.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Something’s digging into my side. Hang on.’ Freeing myself from Edie’s grip, I empty my pockets onto the bedside table. ‘I had a ballpoint pen in there. Silly me. It’s out now.’
‘Are you ready, then?’
‘Ready.’
We resume.
We’ve been kissing for a few minutes when Edie stops. ‘Are you okay, Harriet?’
‘What do you mean? I’m fine.’ I am trying very hard to put my conversation with Principal Croon out of my mind. ‘I’m enjoying myself,’ I assure Edie. ‘Us, I mean. This. Let’s keep
