(no subject)

[libelle_c]

Chapter Four

It was early morning on Abigail’s birthday. She woke up, grinned to herself then sat up. Natalie and Jeanette were both still sleeping soundly in their beds. She stretched her legs out and placed her feet on the floor, put her hands on the bed and supported herself into a standing position. She glanced down briefly at Natalie with her new hair cut, exactly what she had planned from their first day back: it was shorter, layered and had highlights to give it a lift. Abigail crept over to the window seat and drew back one of the curtains ever so slightly. It was still dark. She watched the grounds for a minute or two before returning to bed and falling back to sleep.

When she awoke again, it was to see that Natalie was no longer in her bed. This was a surprise as Abigail was nearly always the earliest riser. She wondered if she had overslept, but Jeanette was still snuffling in her slumber and so it couldn’t have been too late. The clock told her that it was only eight.

Strange, she thought to herself, I’m normally so punctual! However, she merely shrugged to herself and headed to the bathroom. Once showered and changed, Abigail started to walk to the dining room, leaving Jeanette and Vivien - who were now giggling and gossiping on Jeanette’s bed, still in their pyjamas - in the dormitory.

When she got to the dining room, however, it was to find a surprise.

A corner of the room was decorated with large banners that screamed, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” and the table nearest that corner was laden with treats and presents. Upon her entering, all of her friends began releasing string from party poppers and singing “Happy Birthday to you!” in loud, out-of-tune voices. Abigail flushed from all the attention but laughed nonetheless. She ran over and Natalie hugged her.

“Happy Birthday, eighteen-year-old!” she yelled joyously. “And you better be grateful - I got up extra early for all this!”

“Thank you so much,” stammered Abigail, overcome by emotion. She shook her head. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“But we wanted to!” Freddie came over and hugged her too. “Here, have a present.”

The parcel he handed her was wrapped in brown paper and tied with white string. She smiled at how traditional it was. Freddie, despite his aptitude for sports, was truly an art student through and through. Tugging at the strings and ripping off the paper revealed a book about famous dancers. “Thank you,” she said with a grin.

Much of that morning was spent thanking her friends. She even thanked Macy and Saria, despite feeling that their presents - namely a corset and matching underwear, with some condoms thrown in for good measure - were a bit uncalled for, not to mention inappropriate. Hastily stuffing these away into a plastic bag, Abigail fought through the throng of people to see Quen sitting at the end of the table looking completely exhausted. She sat down next to him. He smiled weakly at her.

“Sorry,” he said before she could say anything, “I didn’t get much sleep last night, or else I’d be a bit more enthusiastic in honour of the big day. Happy Birthday, Abigail.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “You’re still coming out tonight though, right?” They had all planned to go out to the town for a meal and dancing.

“Of course I am. Anyway, I’ve got your present, but I didn’t bring it down here ‘cause it’s delicate. It’s in my room. Come with me after breakfast?”

The next fifteen minutes were very difficult. Not wanting to be rude after all the trouble everyone had gone to for her, Abigail sat down to eat breakfast and talk with everyone. She resisted the temptation to grab Quen and run, even though her curiosity was peaked. Finally, after a couple of bites of toast and a reluctant nibble of chocolate birthday cake, Abigail stood up and said, “Back soon!” then began walking through the rows of chairs and tables. She looked back to see where Quen was. He was just getting up to follow her. Freddie was looking at him but he didn’t look back.

“What’s going on?” Abigail asked as soon as he caught up with her, just as they entered a corridor. “Why do I have to go to your room? What’s the present? Is it big?”

Quen merely laughed and tapped the side of his nose. “You’ll see,” was all he said.

This did nothing to satisfy her curiosity. “Quen!” she groaned. “Just tell me something, please!”

“We’ll be there in five minutes!” he protested.

“Tell me!” she begged. “At least give me a clue!”

“If I do that you’ll work it out, you’re too clever for your own good and you know it.” There was a glint in his eye. “Now stop asking me questions before I decide to leave it for another day and-” The rest of the sentence was cut off as Quen was unceremoniously pinned to the wall with an aggravated scream from Abigail.

“Quen!” she exclaimed seriously, gripping his forearms. “Don’t joke, you know I can’t stand waiting around.”

“Well if you get off me then maybe we can continue.” Reluctantly she released him and they resumed their journey.

“Have you had any other presents? Did you like the book from Freddie?”

“Yes,” she replied. “It was lovely of him.”

“I was with him when he bought it last weekend,” Quen told her.

“Oh, did you buy the two presents together then?”

“No, no, I got yours during the summer.”

They reached the building where Quen’s room was. Abigail expected him to say “Wait here” and so didn’t say anything, but instead Quen looked around for a moment before opening the door and pulling her in with him.

“Quen!” she cried, scandalised. “This is a boys’ building! I’m not supposed to be in here!” She made to go back out of the door, but Quen grabbed her by the waist and began dragging her down the corridor.

“Stop!” she shrieked, “we’ll both be in trouble!”

“Well stop making so much noise and we won’t get found out.” By the stairs, Quen let go of her and took out his key. He unlocked the door and pulled Abigail inside quickly. The room was slightly smaller than her own, containing only two beds but still with a large window seat and a door that led off to an en suite bathroom. It was noticeably more messy. Despite herself, she pulled a face.

“Sorry,” said Quen, and she knew he was referring to the mess, but he didn’t sound completely sincere. He looked at her. “Close your eyes.”

“Close my -? No!”

He sighed. “What’s wrong? Please just close your eyes for one moment?”

“Why?”

“Just do it, please?”

They continued to look at each other.

Abigail didn’t know what to say; the situation had suddenly got so much more serious. “Quen…”

“Look, do you trust me or not?”

“Of course, but I -”

“Abigail.” Their eyes caught and so did Abigail’s breath. “Please do this. I’m not going to do anything that you won’t like, I just don’t know that the wrapping’s stayed on, I’m not very good at it.”

She stared at him, still a bit suspicious. “Then why didn’t you just ask Freddie to do it?” she asked.

Now he looked awkward. “I wanted it to be all from me. So can you please close your eyes just for a moment? You can trust me. At least, I hope you can, but if you really -”

Flooded with guilt, Abigail held up a hand to silence him. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just being paranoid. Don’t worry, Quen, I’m shutting my eyes.” She did so.

Now, without her sight, her other senses were heightened. She heard the sound of a wardrobe door being pulled open, then a rustling noise that was presumably Quen sorting out the wrapping paper. A window was open and cool air rushed around the room; she could both feel it and smell it, along with a slightly sour smell: a mixture of cologne, beer and something else.

“Okay,” said Quen, sounding nervous. “You can open your eyes now.” Abigail heeded him. “Happy Birthday,” he added, and passed her a big gold package. She took it and he smiled, regaining his confidence. “I hope you like it. I think you will.” Relieved that she could at last solve the mystery of this present, Abigail began to unwrap the gold paper. Green fabric glinted beneath it. Carefully, Abigail put her hands within the gold. Her fingers caressed strong, smooth fabric. She grasped whatever it was and extracted it. Abigail gasped as slowly she began to reveal a long green dress.

It was beautiful. The dress was modest, with a bateau neckline that she estimated would hit just below her collarbone, long, fitted sleeves and a skirt that was neither too tight nor too loose. The material was smooth and dark green with a hint of a gold shimmer. Abigail was truly overwhelmed.

“Quen,” she breathed. “It’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen…” She looked up at him. He was watching her with a slight smile to his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said simply. Grinning widely, Abigail set down the dress on his bed and flung her arms around him. “You’re a star,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “Quen, thank you so much. Oh, but you’re such an idiot!” She drew away from him suddenly, laughing. “You didn’t have to do that, you could have just bought me a book, you know. It must have cost you so much! Wherever did you get it?”

Quen sat down on his bed. Abigail sat next to him, placing the dress across her lap and tracing her fingers across it lovingly. “Well, I got it during summer,” he told her, “a place in London Camilla, Mel and I went to - you know, the girls who were living near me that I made friends with in summer?” She nodded meekly, trying to keep her smile in place. “I saw this dress, and I thought it was beautiful, and I remembered your birthday was coming up… And Camilla’s about the same size as you, so I had her try it on. It looked really good, so I figured it would be a good present.”

Abigail felt her stomach clench suddenly. She pretended it was because of the cake she had eaten that morning but she knew that wasn’t it. He had just described the dress as looking really good on this Camilla girl; what if it didn’t look as good on her? She shook herself. She was being so superficial. Quen was her friend. It didn’t matter what she looked like. She wondered, even so, what exactly had happened between he and the two girls over the summer, then wondered additionally if she really was jealous. Marlee had told her that she never felt jealous while in relationships.

“Jealousy means you’re insecure,” Marlee had told her. “It’s not usually based on intuition or anything like that. If you and the guy have a strong relationship there’s no need to be jealous.”

And yet some girls just were anyway, she knew that. If she and Quen were an item, would she still feel jealous..?

“Earth to Abigail! Are you going to answer me or not?”

She jolted abruptly back to earth. “Sorry, Quen, I was, er, thinking about this dress. What did you say?”

“I just said you will tell me if the dress doesn’t fit, won’t you?”

“I’m sure it will, Quen,” she assured him. She had a sudden mad desire to say, “I’ll try it on right now!” and strip off right in front of him. That would get him to notice her, all right. “I’ll wear it tonight if it does,” she promised.

“Great.” He looked truly pleased at this prospect.

“We’re leaving about seven, okay? I better go now,” she said. “I want to get some homework done so that I’ll have tomorrow free in case I’m too tired. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Seven. Okay, I’ll see you then,” he replied.

Still clasping her dress to her chest, she began to walk to the door but turned around to face him. “Thank you for this. It was so nice of you.”

“It’s fine,” he smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” He looked so kind, so caring sitting there on his bed and smiling at her that Abigail couldn’t help but want to run and kiss him. She stayed where she was however, and with a final wave opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

“What are you doing here?” Aaron had frozen at the bottom of the stairway. He hadn’t seen which room she’d come out of, so Abigail made up an almost-convincing lie.

“Looking for you,” she said promptly. “I’ve done my half of the research -” thankfully this was in fact true, “- and wondered when you were around so we could start putting together our presentation. We only have a couple of days and I’ve got lots of dance practice next week.”

His face was impassive. He shrugged and said, “I’ve got running practice this week anyway. I’m around for a short while tomorrow evening. We can meet in the library.”

“Fine,” replied Abigail, then feeling that niceties weren’t going to make any difference, she walked away, luckily meeting no one else before she was back in the main building.

*

“He did what?”

“Natalie, will you please be careful? You do have a deadly weapon in your hand you know!” It was evening, and Abigail and Natalie were in their dormitory. Abigail was seated in front of the mirror, with Natalie behind her, curling her hair with hot iron tongs. So far, the curls looked very pretty indeed, but Abigail was beginning to regret asking her friend for this favour because she was now facing the fear of getting burnt.

“Sorry, sorry,” Natalie picked up another strand of hair and began coiling it around the tong. “But he honestly said that?”

“That’s what she said.”

“So tell me again, what happened?”

Abigail sighed and repeated the story. “I went to reception to phone home and everyone said happy birthday to me, then Marlee took the phone and told me she and Tom had split up. We talked about it, I asked her how it had happened, and she told me. You know the rest.”

“Tell me again,” was the insistent reply.

Abigail did so. “Marlee and Tom were out shopping together, and they’d been a bit rocky recently. But she really noticed things were different when she came out of a changing room wearing this skirt and Tom told her it made her calves look fat. It then transpired that Tom thought Marlee had chubby legs. It was a really stupid argument but by the sounds of it Tom never said anything apologetic, and when Marlee asked him to take it back he wouldn’t, he kept saying it was true.”

“And then?”

“Well then the next day Marlee brought it up again and asked him what it was all about and he told her was sorry and that he didn’t really think it she was fat. He was trying to get her angry with him so that she’d finish with him and he wouldn’t have to finish with her.”

Another couple of curls were created. They bounced youthfully around Abigail’s face as Natalie tutted and pulled her hair into place. “I don’t know,” said Natalie ruefully, “it’s a terrible thing for him to do. He obviously wasn’t a nice guy after all.”

“Yes,” agreed Abigail absentmindedly, her eyes straying to the reflection of her bed, where the dress from Quen was lying.

“I mean, it’s stories like this that make me truly appreciate Sean,” Natalie went on proudly. “I’m so lucky to have such a great boyfriend. I know I can trust him with anything.” When there was no reply, she continued further. “Just wait till you fall in love, Abigail. It’s the most amazing feeling. I hope you meet a nice guy soon.”

“I know lots of nice guys already.”

Natalie shook her head. “You know what I mean! Someone who you can have your first kiss with. And no -” she said, seeing Abigail’s mouth drop open ready to contradict her, “ - I do not count Mark!” She was referring to an incident a couple of years ago at a family Christmas party. Mark was an older boy who was a friend of Abigail’s cousin, who had way-laid her beneath the mistletoe that evening, much to her delight. For a few joyful hours Abigail had actually been able to think about a boy that wasn’t Quen.

“Why not?” asked Abigail indignantly. “It was perfectly legitimate!”

Natalie rolled her eyes, tugging at a curl. “I know, but he was…” She struggled for the words. “He wasn’t boyfriend-material, was he? You never saw him again and that was it.”

“It’s not like he left me broken-hearted, Natalie! It was just a one-off thing, that was all.”

“I’m not disputing that,” Natalie argued, gesturing wildly with a can of hairspray, “I’m saying, it wasn’t anything special. I just want you to find someone who really appreciates you, Abigail, who loves you for who you are and who will treat you like a princess. Anyway, your hair’s done now. We better start getting changed.”

Half an hour later the girls walked down to the common room, Abigail in the green dress that to her delight did in fact fit her perfectly, Natalie in a floaty pink top and tight black skirt with leather boots. Quen, Freddie and Sean were waiting in the common room.

“Great!” called Sean as they entered. “We can leave - I’m starving! You look lovely, ladies,” he added, miming tipping a hat before grabbing Natalie around the waist. Abigail was reminded of how Quen had grabbed hold of her in the same way earlier that day, but shoved this thought out of her mind as she turned to look at both him and Freddie.

“Ready when you are.”

*

“Did you know that if you sneeze too hard you can fracture a rib?”

“Freddie, kindly stop being such a prat?” Natalie threw a peanut over the table at her cousin. After a delicious meal at a restaurant, the five of them had settled in a pub for an hour or so. All of them were feeling distinctly relaxed and merry.

“Sean, my good man!” exclaimed Freddie suddenly. “Pool table’s free. Give you a game?”

“You’re on,” agreed Sean and they both stood up, Natalie following and perching on a barstool nearby.

“Best birthday ever?” asked Quen, staring across at the birthday girl.

Abigail giggled happily in reply. “Yes, it’s very good!” She felt surprisingly daring; her alcohol consumption had removed her usual inhibitions. She leaned forward slightly and looked up through her eyelashes at Quen. “But you know what would make it even better?”

“What?” he whispered back, blinking at her in a not entirely sober way.

“If someone were to ask me to dance.” Music was playing outside and couples were dancing. She stared imploring at Quen. “Please? You know what dancing means to me.”

“I know,” he replied and stood up. “Princess Abigail,” he hiccoughed, proffering his hand to her which she took, “you shall go to the pub garden.” Hands still entwined, they walked outside. It was very cold, but Abigail barely noticed once they were dancing. She laughed merrily as Quen spun her round, swing-dance style. Then the music changed and slowed down. Quen slid his arms around her waist tenderly and she followed suit by encircling her arms around his neck.

For awhile they danced, sometimes holding eye contact, sometimes not. Abigail felt her reticence melting rapidly away: she felt as if she could get away with anything tonight…

“Thank you for this dress,” she said, not knowing what else to say. “It was so sweet of you.”

“It’s fine, I wanted you to have it. You look beautiful.” To her surprise, Quen bent his head and kissed her temple.

All at once, Abigail experienced a huge surge of feeling that was bigger than she was: she wanted more than this.

“Quen,” she heard herself say, and as he turned to look at her she reached up and put her mouth to his quite forcefully, shutting her eyes deliriously. His lips were soft and sweet beneath hers but she felt no pressure in response. Opening her eyes, she drew back abruptly and detached his arms from her waist, striding not wholly steadily back into the pub.

“Hey,” said Natalie, as soon as she re-entered. “I hope you don’t mind, but I think it might be time to go. Those two are getting a bit worse for wear.” She pointed to the table where they had been sitting earlier, where sure enough Sean and Freddie were sitting gesturing wildly at one another. Abigail caught a few words about goats but didn’t pay this much attention. Desperately trying to block out the last two minutes she stood there mutely as Natalie rounded up the three boys and they all got into a taxi, Quen and Abigail not exchanging a single word.

*

A loud clunking noise made everyone look round. “Ouch,” whined Sean, rubbing his elbow, which had apparently just collided with the gate as he stepped through. Natalie came after him, looking amused. “Honestly,” she said, “no more alcohol for you ever.” But she couldn’t suppress a giggle at her boyfriend’s behaviour, inappropriate as it was.

“Let’s just all get to bed,” she continued. Natalie was the only one speaking, apart from the occasional odd sentence from Sean or Freddie. Quen and Abigail had barely spoken at all.

They got to the girls’ building first. “Night guys,” said Natalie, kissing Sean’s cheek. “Make sure he gets into bed in one piece, okay?” she said to Quen, who promised that he would. “Night Freddie,” she added with a dubious look at the blond boy swaying in front of her.

“Wait, you go on without me,” he told Quen and Sean. “I want to speak to the birthday girl.”

“Whatever, I’m going to bed,” said Natalie. “See you guys tomorrow.” She opened the door to the building and went in.

“It’s cold!” complained Abigail. “No offence, Freddie, but is this going to be a short conversation or not?” He chuckled. “What -? No, never mind, just come inside for a second.”

Inside, the lighting was glaringly artificial and gave Freddie’s hair and skin a tinge of yellow. Abigail leant against the wall weakly. Freddie stood in front of her, lurching forwards slightly as he spoke.

“I really hope you had a good day today. I really wanted you to,” he babbled. “You’re one of my best friends, and the smartest girl I know, and an amazing dancer. A really sexy dancer actually, even though I know you don’t like me saying that.”

She didn’t reply, exhausted and still feeling the residual shock of all that had happened tonight.

“Anyway, I just… I just…” His head was bent and there was an expression on his face that she’d never seen before…

“What?” she whispered, bending her head in the opposite way to his. His face was inches from hers, and she found her eyelids fluttering shut. Soft lips collided with hers and her mouth fell open to meet him. The kiss was clumsy and passionate, full of heat and desire. Then, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped.

They broke away.

“Goodnight, Freddie,” said Abigail, then turned on her heel and walked to the stairway without looking back. She didn’t even have any thoughts by the time she fell into bed, just an overall feeling of disorientation that stayed with her until she finally passed into sleep.

Chapter Five

The first day Abigail feigned sickness.

“It’s not a hangover,” she told Natalie, who was busy getting ready for lessons, “it hasn’t gone away. It must be a migraine of some sort.”

“Okay, well I’ll tell reception for you on my way to History.”

“Thanks,” replied Abigail weakly.

“No problem,” said Natalie shortly, and with a final coat of her lipstick and a slam of the door she was gone, leaving Abigail alone and in bed.

Maybe I can just drop out of school, Abigail thought feverishly to herself. That would solve things. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Quen again after what happened. He knew now. He knew all about her being in love with him. But he doesn’t love me back. She wanted to scream and cry and run away all at once, but mostly she just felt embarrassed. There was no going back now, and she had no idea how they would ever solve things. If, indeed, he even wanted to solve things. What if she’d broken things forever and Quen no longer liked her, even as a friend?

Then there was Freddie. Abigail wasn’t so worried about this, as she knew it was only a drunken impulse that could easily be forgotten about, but it still didn’t make things any easier, all things considered. She didn’t need the added aggravation. She wondered for one bizarre moment if Quen had told Freddie about Abigail kissing him, and Freddie had kissed her in a way of trying to comfort her. Or maybe he thought it meant she was up for kissing anyone. She dismissed however when she realised that there was no way that the two could have communicated between the two events.

I wonder if they’re talking about me with each other. How would the other react when they found out she had kissed both of them that night? Honestly, this was starting to get like a soap opera. She was being ridiculous. They probably didn’t even mention it to one another. Freddie would tease her about their kiss the moment he saw her; it was a joke, a funny story that would become a memory that might be a little embarrassing. Quen… well, maybe Quen would realise that she had been drinking and think nothing of it. She would tell him there was nothing in it, if he asked.

I have nothing to worry about, she told herself sternly. Tomorrow, I am going back into school and acting as normal, no excuses.

*

The next day, Abigail walked through the door of her form room for registration. A quick glance to the corner told her that Freddie and Quen had both already arrived. She gulped but didn’t look at either of them, striding straight up to the teacher’s desk, from where Miss Kirby was already watching her.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” she said with admirable steadiness, “would you mind if I was exempt from form time today? I’ve got some research to do for an English project and I said I’d meet my partner in the library seeing as I have so much dance practice this week.”

“Certainly, Abigail,” said Miss Kirby, quickly marking her in on the register. “And are you better since yesterday? Did you have a nice birthday at the weekend?”

“Oh, yes,” squeaked Abigail, her voice shooting up a few octaves. “It was lovely. I’ll see you later.”

And she dashed from the room.

It was a stroke of genius that she’d had yesterday, to meet Aaron at form time. It was positively bizarre that she was avoiding seeing her two favourite people in order to see her least favourite instead, but then life definitely had its abnormalities. When she got to the library Aaron was already seated at a table. There was also a man sitting across from him.

Not wanting to intrude on whatever this was, Abigail moved subtly to a bookshelf that was near their table. She pulled a book off the shelf at random and opened it up, concealing most of her face behind it. As she studied the scene before her, she could see that the man was talking in a low, stern voice and Aaron was listening raptly though looking thoroughly miserable.

“Have I made myself quite clear, Aaron?” asked the man, sounding cross.

“Yes, Papa,” Aaron responded quietly.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” He stood up. Abigail shut the book quickly and shoved it onto the shelf. She walked out to where she was more conspicuous. Sure enough, Aaron spotted her right away, beckoning her forward.

The man turned to face her. His complexion was darker than that of his son and more lined, and his eyes, although still blue, were darker and narrower. He smiled, his thick red lips parting to show rather square teeth. “How do you do,” he greeted her formally, extending his hand. “Are you a friend of my son’s?”

Abigail smiled politely and shook his offered hand. “I don’t know Aaron that well actually,” she said carefully, “it’s just that we’re doing a project together in English at the moment. Macbeth.”

“Ah, Macbeth,” said Aaron’s father, with an air of intelligence, “‘What’s done is done!’ An excellent play. Well I must be going. It was nice meeting you. Goodbye - and remember what I said, Aaron.”

He left. Abigail sat down opposite Aaron and silently got on with her work. He did not look at her and she sensed somehow that he was extremely distressed about something, but decided not to push things. It wasn’t as if they were friends.

*

She was intensely glad to have Dance that day. Dance was an outlet for her, where she could be herself without worrying what anyone else thought, without risking anything. Abigail pulled her tee-shirt over her head then folded it and put it back in her bag. Then she undid the buttons at the top of her skirt and, sitting down, slid it down over her legs until it hit the floor. She had already put her black leotard on under her clothes that morning, so all she needed to do was put on her bubble-gum pink skirt. It had three different layers to it and it was very short, but easy to move in when she was dancing. Dance was the only time in which Abigail would dress so scantily in public.

She left the changing rooms for the dance studio and immediately began warming up to a song that her teacher had left playing on the CD Player, as she did every lesson. There were a few other girls scattered around the room but her teacher was nowhere to be seen. Abigail busied herself with stretching her legs and arms, then rotating her hips in preparation for the upcoming exercise. Once she was quite warm, she paused, and as she did so her teacher appeared again, but she was not alone: she was accompanied by a tall man, around forty, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase.

Abigail’s teacher looked around for a moment before seeing her and calling, “Can you come here a moment, Abigail?”

Perplexed, Abigail did as she was told.

“Mr Johnson would like to speak with you for a moment,” she explained.

“Come with me, Miss Lionel,” said Mr Johnson in a friendly but firm manner. “This will only take a moment.”

They stepped outside the dance studio to where there were chairs. Mr Johnson indicated for Abigail to sit down, then followed suit and sat down in the chair opposite her. Mr Johnson opened his briefcase and took out a clipboard and pen.

“Now, Miss Lionel,” he began, clicking the top of his pen so that the nib was exposed, “or do you mind me calling you by your first name?”

“That’s fine.”

“Good. Do you prefer Abigail or Abbie?”

“Abigail, please.”

“Right. Okay, then, Abigail, I’m sure you don’t know why you’re here.” He looked across at her calculatingly. She shook her head truthfully. “Good. Right, well you have been selected at random as a student to be part of our survey. I’m from a company that works with the Department of Education, and I’m just going to ask you a few questions about your life. If you feel I’m asking questions that are too personal or embarrassing you can say so. It won’t take long. Shall we begin?”

“Okay,” said Abigail, nodding.

“Okay, question number one: what subjects are you taking in school?”

“Dance, English and Chemistry.”

“And what grades are you predicted in each?”

“As in Dance and English, a B in Chemistry.”

It went on for a while longer. Mr Johnson finished asking her questions about school and turned to her hobbies outside of school, work experience, her health, and then finally her family and social life.

“Are you parents together or separated?”

“Together.”

“And do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Abigail couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, I’m the oldest of six. I have three sisters and two brothers.”

“That’s great,” he said, marking something on his clipboard. “And now moving onto your social life. You share a dormitory, I believe? I wonder if I could have the names of the girls you share with?”

“Natalie Campbell and Jeanette Turpin.”

“And would you class yourself as: a) Single, b) Single, Looking, c) Single, Not Looking, or d) In a relationship?”

She blinked for a second then said, “Erm. a) Single.”

“Right,” he said, jotting something down then continuing, “Well, that’s about all I need, so thank you very much, Abigail, and you can return to your lesson now.” They shook hands then Abigail began to walk back. She pushed open the door then heard, “Oi, Johnson, done yet?”

Curiously, Abigail looked around and saw the same police officer that she had seen coming out of Miss Kirby’s office on her first day back. She realised that that meant that Mr Johnson must be a policeman too… but why ever would he need to question her?

*

The next day was a Wednesday. Abigail successfully avoided Quen once more because form time was devoted to an assembly given by the head. She sat with the girls in her Dance class and could not help but feel proud as the head teacher reminded everyone about the upcoming dance competition that they had all been practising so hard for, wishing them luck and assuring them that they would do well.

Later, however, was not so easy.

Abigail and Freddie were in the same Chemistry class, and were always partners. Today, when she came in after lunch, it was to find him already sitting at their desk and looking towards the door; he had been waiting for her. The Chemistry lab had shelves that ran all around the room, except in the spaces occupied by the windows and double doors. Some held books and others held ingredients for experiments. The desks were wooden and dark brown and designed for two students to sit at each desk, a bunsen burner laid out on each.

Squaring her shoulders, Abigail walked determinedly over to her desk and sat down on the stool, sliding her bag off and delving into it to retrieve her books and equipment. Freddie watched her all the while but didn’t say a word. She thought he might be angry but she could not say for sure.

“Strange seeing you, Abigail. I thought maybe you thought I was diseased, you’re so eager to avoid being near me.”

Or maybe she could.

“Freddie,” she began steadily, “I -”

But before she could make up any kind of excuse, he cut her off. “I don’t want to hear it, okay?”

Most of the lesson was a learning theory, where their teacher dictated and they copied down silently. It was very boring. These kinds of lessons were normally bearable only because Abigail and Freddie would write notes on each other’s pages. She often thought that that was why Chemistry was her lowest grade, but didn’t mind so much.

She glanced up at her teacher and grinned as she thought of her and Freddie’s biggest joke, about how much their Chemistry teacher looked like a bird of prey. With sudden inspiration, Abigail, clutching her pencil, leant over and began to draw a bird at the top of Freddie’s work. To her surprise and dismay however, he jerked the piece of paper out of her reach, looking irritable. Feeling very rejected, Abigail did nothing to try and improve things further.

When there was only half an hour left of the lesson, their teacher announced that they would be doing a practical experiment.

“I realise that there’s not a lot of time,” she said as there were a few groans around the room, “but it’s good practice for your exam when you’ll be working until quite stressful conditions. Now, off you go!”

It was plain that Freddie was intent upon giving Abigail silent treatment. Instead of simply asking her to pass him something, he leant over her to get it instead. She ignored him for awhile but eventually got angry.

“Freddie, for God’s sake, just ask me to pass it to you!” she shouted.

He sneered at her in a most uncharacteristic way then carried on working, measuring out different ingredients. The teacher was walking around the room checking on each partnership’s progress. Freddie leant over once again to get a stirring rod, but Abigail pushed it deliberately further away from him, staring at him meaningfully. He ignored her, hesitated, then shot towards it in order to get to it before she could get a chance to move it again. This last movement caused him to overbalance slightly, and in doing so he knocked their whole experiment to the floor with a piercing crash.

“Freddie!” scolded their teacher. “Clean that up at once!”

“You bloody idiot!” screamed Abigail, turning on Freddie.

“Abigail!” Their teacher was beside herself. “Both of you clean that up immediately, then sit down until the end of the lesson. Then you will begin your experiment again, and once you’re done with that you can wipe down the tables.”

Fuming, Abigail got a dustpan and brush and cleared away the smashed glass and Freddie mopped up the spilt residue. Then, without looking at each other, they dropped into their seats and sat looking in opposite directions, breathing heavily.

At the end of the lesson their teacher left them alone, saying that she had to oversee a Year Seven detention, and that, “As Year Thirteens I expect far better from you!”

They worked in silence. First they repeated their experiment, this time not distracting or provoking one another, noting down their findings in their notebooks without stopping to discuss or confer. Then, still not speaking or even looking at each other, they moved on to cleaning the tables, Freddie working at the back, Abigail at the front. She wrung out her cloth in the sink as she moved back to work on the middle tables. She and Freddie were now both working in the middle. She glanced up at him, but he determinedly avoided her eyes. It was when he moved on to clean the tables that she had already done, however, that she really couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do you always have to be such a petulant idiot?” she demanded. “Could you not have just talked to me if there was something wrong?”

Freddie looked up at her angrily. “Talk to you, how am I supposed to talk to you?” he shot back. He was gripping the cloth so hard that water driblets were appearing on his hand. “When, when you’re always off finding a reason not to be around me? I wanted to talk to you but you never gave me a chance!”

“Well now I am, so talk away, tell me what the hell is going on!”

He slammed a fist down on the desk. “That kiss.”

Abigail felt herself flush. Quen must have told him about the kiss…

She shook her head. “Freddie, that was…”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I don’t know what you’re thinking about it, but let me tell you my side first.”

“Your side?” She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean my thoughts about… you know. The other night. Us kissing.”

“Oh!” she said, suddenly understanding. He didn’t know about Quen. He just wanted to talk about what happened between them. She felt suddenly light-hearted and couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, Freddie, I thought it was about something worse! We can talk about the other night. I can’t say I’m not embarrassed, but I don’t want things to be awkward.”

She sat down on top of a desk and put her feet on a stool. Freddie drew out a stool himself, sitting so that he was opposite her. He didn’t look at her, but fixed his gaze on the floor. When he started to speak, she had to listen hard to hear what he was saying; his voice was muffled, as if he was reluctant to be saying what he was. “I wanted to talk to you because I think what happened the other night shows that there’s something between us. Something more than friendship.” He looked up. “Abigail, I -”

“No!” she interrupted him, feeling suddenly quite out of her depth. “Don’t say it!”

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Abigail,” he said, staring at her in earnest. “But please don’t be scared off. You must have known. Quen figured it out really easily. I don’t…” He gulped, his gaze shifting away. “I don’t want any more than what happened Saturday night. I know we wouldn’t work as boyfriend and girlfriend. Are you okay?”

He looked at her in some concern. Her head was reeling painfully: he and Quen talk about this, Quen doesn’t like me in the way that I like him…

“Anyway,” he carried on, “I should have told you a long time ago. It’s not a big deal, really. I’m attracted to you and everything, but to be honest it’s always just been an infatuation, I never liked you as much as -” He stopped himself abruptly. “Er, as much as you deserve,” he said hurriedly. “Are you going to tell me your side of things? I’ve been truthful with you, after all.”

Abigail felt her throat go dry. She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation at all. “It’s very simple,” she choked out eventually. “I’d had a bit too much to drink on Saturday, and then we were left alone and… I don’t know, Fred. I agree with you. There is something between us, but that’s because we’re friends. I couldn’t ever think of you in any other way.”

He nodded as if none of this came as any surprise to him. “But there is someone you think of in that way, isn’t there?” he said quietly.

“No,” she protested, too quickly.

He smiled at her weakly. “Don’t think because of what I’ve told you we can’t talk about it. You can tell me anything.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” she lied and jumped off the desk, grabbing her bag as she went. “I have to go.”

“You’ve been avoiding me this week,” he stated. “But am I the only one you’ve been avoiding? I know you and Quen haven’t spoken either. I asked him if he’d talk to you for me but he refused. That means there’s something wrong between you two, too.”

Abigail hesitated next to the door. “What did you tell him about you and me?” she asked, her voice barely lower than a squeak.

Freddie answered defensively. “Nothing. Just that on Saturday when we were left alone together I teased you a bit and you got annoyed and we had an argument. I haven’t told anyone about what really happened, I promise.”

“Alright. Thanks, Freddie.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Tell me about you and Quen. You never know, I might even be able to help.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” she said again and to her disquiet Freddie raised his eyebrows.

“Well that’s not how he sees it.”

“What?”

Now Freddie looked uncomfortable. “I think you two need to talk. Properly. Say whatever’s on your mind. Because I know at least that you’ll never be happy unless you tell him how you feel, how you really feel. And I suspect that how you really feel involves not just friendship or a stupid crush, but actual, real lo-”

“Shut up!” Abigail shrieked suddenly, shocking both Freddie and herself. “I don’t want to talk about this, okay?” She strode from the room angrily.

Outside, Mr Daschal and Miss Kandy were walking hand in hand. Why can’t I be like that? She wondered to herself fretfully. She walked quickly down the corridor, wanting to cry but knowing she couldn’t until she at least got to her dormitory. Not looking where she was going, she smacked headlong into someone.

Dazed, she relinquished contact with the person and stood back to see Quen. With a cry of confusion, bewilderment and overall emotion Abigail turned away from him and shot up the corridor, turning hastily into an empty classroom where she sat down on a desk and burst into tears.

Minutes later she was interrupted. She looked up at the sound of footsteps, heart jolting madly. But it wasn’t Quen. It was Freddie.

“He loves you,” he said shortly. “And I know you love him. It’s complicated for Quen, everything is, but if you talk to him you can work it out. If you don’t say anything, this will eat away at you until you can’t handle it anymore.” He looked at her and there was sympathy in his eyes. “You only live once, Abigail.”

Chapter Six

It was with a great deal of bravery the next week that Abigail strode into the dining room, looked around for Quen and Freddie, and upon seeing them went and joined them at their table.

“Hi,” she said uncertainly, sitting down and reaching for a piece of toast. They both said Hi back and then there was silence as everyone present carried on with their breakfast, no conversation taking place. Abigail would never have thought that it would be possible for so much awkwardness to take place between such good friends, but it had. Oh well, she thought, trying to be optimistic, best to get it out the way as soon as possible. It seemed silly and immature that they should all be experiencing this in their last year, when nothing of the sort had happened during lower school.

But maybe that was because they were just all avoiding saying what was really going on.

Abigail had given a lot of thought to Freddie’s insistences that Quen was in love with her, and decided that they were false. Freddie was obviously misreading the signs. Yes, Quen was fond of her, but that was it. For the moment, that was all she needed. Romance caused so many complications.

“Excuse me?” An interruption came in the form of a girl two years their junior. She was smiling shyly and looking in the direction of Freddie. “Are you done with the jam?” she pointed to the pot that was on the table in front of him.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” However, she seemed reluctant to go anywhere. She lingered. “I’ve seen you playing football in the courtyard,” she told him, “you were really good.”

“Oh,” he said, a bit taken aback. “Really? Thanks.”

“I was wondering if maybe you’d come and watch me play netball sometime?” the girl positively squeaked, her nerves obviously getting the better of her, “but don’t worry if you can’t, or anything. I’ll see you around, Freddie.” She scuttled away.

There was a moment’s silence before Quen and Abigail’s restraint was broken and they both burst into laughter.

“Oh shut up,” said Freddie dismissively, though he couldn’t help but smile. Then they were all quiet again.

“So,” said Freddie cheerfully, “do either of you -” But Quen had caught Abigail’s eye, causing her to burst out laughing once again. Freddie sighed exasperatedly and gave up trying to talk over the extreme laughter of his two best friends. They were still laughing as Natalie appeared, Jeanette in tow.

“I just saw Miss Kirby, Abigail,” said Natalie, sliding into a seat next to her, “she said you need to go to the head’s office.”

“What have you done, forgot to return a library book?” Jeanette sneered as Abigail stood up. No one else heard. Abigail pushed past Jeanette without answering and, waving to the others, walked out of the dining room and up the nearest staircase.

What was going on? Was she in some kind of trouble? A lot of strange things had been happening recently, what with the visits from policemen and the ‘survey’… But she’d never done anything wrong. Perhaps they had made some mistake and thought she was responsible for something that she was innocent of. Whatever it was, the teachers would surely back her up. There was no need to worry.

Worried, Abigail knocked twice on the door of the headmistress’s office. The people inside had been talking but at that point they all stopped.

“Come in,” came a voice from within. Abigail turned the door knob and opened the door. The headmistress was seated at her desk, glasses slightly askew on her wrinkled face, with Miss Kirby looking much younger by contrast standing next to her. Abigail opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything -

“Well hi!” She turned to see a girl she had never before laid eyes on leaning against a cabinet in the corner. She had bright blonde hair that flicked outwards as it hit her jaw line, perfectly shaped eyebrows and long, black-painted eyelashes that made her blue eyes look noticeably deep. She was wearing what looked like a poor imitation of a uniform: a pleated black mini-skirt failed to conceal much of her long, lean legs and the tight white blouse she wore was undone to the extent that her large cleavage was emphasised even more. The glittery red belt she wore around her waist matched the loosely-strung red tie around her neck.

Abigail was staggered.

“This is Gwenndolyn Maurell,” announced Miss Kirby swiftly. “She’s just transferred from Sicily. Gwenndolyn, this is Abigail Lionel. Abigail, we’d like you to be Gwenn’s guide.”

“Oh.” What else could she say? Gwenndolyn giggled, shyness apparently being beyond her.

“Actually, only my mother calls me Gwenndolyn,” she informed them, her voice a purr that was mostly English, with a hint of another accent that Abigail couldn’t place. “To everyone else I’m just Gwenn!”

“Well, I’ll let you take over then, Abigail,” said the headmistress. “I’m afraid we’ve arranged to have Jeanette transferred to another room in order for Gwenn to move in. We thought it would make it easier for her to become accustomed.” She smiled at the new student, bearing yellowing teeth. “Good luck, Gwenn, come and see us if you need anything.”

“Thanks!” replied Gwenn cheerily, and she looked around to pick up her luggage, which was in the form of bright pink, blue and yellow suitcases with white flowers decorated on them. They were much prettier - not to mention more flamboyant - than Abigail’s standard black ones.

“I’ll help you,” she offered, and took the handle of the pink one.

“Oh, you are sweet,” Gwenn simpered as they made it out of the office. Abigail felt a bit patronised, as if Gwenn had reached down to her admittedly shorter height and patted her on the head. “What’s it like here? Are the teachers strict? Do many hot guys go here? Wow,” she said suddenly as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Gwenn’s suitcase crashed into the back of Abigail’s legs as she stopped abruptly. “Who are those guys? Do you know them?”

Her heart sunk to somewhere in the region of her knees as she looked up to see her two best friends coming out of the cafeteria. Before Abigail could think of a suitable cover-up, Gwenn was saying loudly, “You know Abbie, it’s all very well us getting these suitcases down the stairs, but it would be helpful if someone could open the door for us.” She looked over hopefully. To Gwenn’s delight and Abigail’s dismay the boys had looked up and seen them and were now walking over.

“Hi there,” said Gwenn before anyone else could say anything, “I’m Gwenn! I’m new here.”

“Hey, cool,” replied Freddie smoothly, smiling easily at this newcomer. “I’m Freddie. Where did you transfer from?”

“Sicily,” she answered breezily, twirling a strand of golden hair around a polished finger. “It’s a bit cold here, isn’t it? I come here once a year to visit my grandmother, but even so,” she shuddered, “I like heat and beaches more than woolly jumpers and gloves.”

Freddie was still smiling. “So what made you decide to transfer?”

She flashed him a dazzling grin and said, “Well, it wasn’t really a decision as such. I sort of played a prank in my old school, involving the boys locker room, and well, I don’t think my teachers appreciated it too much, to tell you the truth.” She laughed. “But it was worth it! Besides,” she went on, “I love dancing. This school sounded great, and my mother thought a change of scenery would be good for me.”

“Dancing, eh?” said Freddie, nudging Abigail in the ribs. “Then you and Abbie here,” she shot him a death look, “are certain to get along, she’s the best dancer I know.”

“Oh that’s so cool!” exclaimed Gwenn enthusiastically. “Now we can do it together! There’s really nothing I like better than dancing, you know. Well,” she grinned again, enigmatically, “I might be able to think of one or two things, but other than that.”

“We better get going, you’ll need to unpack,” Abigail reminded her cagily. She began to move.

“Wait!” implored Gwenn. She turned to Quen. “You haven’t told me your name. Are you going to or will I have to coax it out of you?”

“I’m Quen,” he told her with a polite smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Gwenn sighed happily. “Everyone here is just so nice,” she said. “Well, Abbie wants me to get going, to I guess I’ll have to catch up with you guys later. See you!”

“Bye Gwenn, bye Abbie!” said Freddie, acting as if he couldn’t see Abigail’s irritated expression. Quen gave her a quick smile before disappearing down the corridor with Freddie.

Abigail and Gwenn crossed to the doors and went outside. “That Quen guy is hot,” said Gwenn. “Is he single? The blond one - Freddie, is it? - really fancies you, Abbie!”

Freddie’s proclamations of libidinous feelings were still a bit of a sore spot for her. “I prefer Abigail, actually,” she corrected shortly. “And I’m sorry, but if you want to discuss their looks with anyone, I’m the last person to do that with. I’ve been best friends with them both for years.”

“Ooh, have you?” Gwenn gushed interestedly. “You must know everything about them then?” Abigail didn’t reply. “My best friend’s a guy too. His name’s Dean and I’ve known him since forever. We were always getting into scrapes when we were little, and well, I suppose we haven’t changed!” Her face fell. “I’m going to miss him like hell while I’m here.”

“Don’t worry,” said Abigail consolingly, “it’s only six weeks until the Christmas break. I used to miss my family a lot when I first came here, but you soon get used to it.”

Gwenn sighed, the bubbly air about her deflating slightly. “I’ll miss my mother too. Her and Dean and Missy and Ned. They’re my little family.” She looked almost sad.

“Are they your brother and sister?” Abigail asked.

Gwenn laughed, visibly brightening. “No, no,” she giggled, shaking her beautiful head, “I’m an only child. Dean’s my best friend, and Missy’s his little sister - she’s sixteen, but completely gorgeous - and Ned’s their father. Ned and my mother are great friends and we all live really close to each other. It’s a lot of fun.”

They reached the dormitory. Abigail got as far as retrieving her key from her pocket and putting it near to the door when it was thrown open, revealing Jeanette. Her suitcases were at her feet and she looked livid. Everyone present looked at each other for a moment, before the tension was broken by Jeanette seizing her bags and stalking out the door and past the two girls, her nose in the air.

Gwenn looked at Abigail questioningly, for once not saying a word. “Don’t ask,” said Abigail loftily, looking behind her to make sure Jeanette had gone. “She’s a nightmare, just don’t pay her any attention.”

Once Gwenn had unpacked, the two girls set out again so that Abigail could show Gwenn around the rest of the school. When they entered the common room, she looked around to see Sean, Natalie, Freddie and Quen.

“Natalie, this is Gwenn, our new roommate,” she explained. Gwenn and Natalie said hello and began talking, Gwenn explaining how she had come to the school and what subjects she was taking. Abigail let her mind wander and her eyes fell on Quen, who was watching Gwenn with an unreadable expression on his face. Freddie, she saw, was looking at Gwenn with an openly admiring expression that made Abigail feel a little queasy, and a lot like hitting him.

“Oh, you’re so lucky!” Abigail tuned back into the conversation to hear Natalie. “The island sounds so beautiful, I’d love to go to Italy.”

“You’ll have to come over sometime!” invited Gwenn with a tinkly laugh.

“Really?” chimed Natalie eagerly. You don’t even know each other, thought Abigail irritably. She wasn’t looking forward to have Gwenn around, turning things upside-down and changing everything from what Abigail was used to.

At that moment, Sean’s stomach rumbled audibly. He had been sitting as patiently as possible, trying to listen attentively to his girlfriend and the newcomer, but apparently his hunger had now overcome him. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “D’you mind if I go get something from the dining room? I’m starving.”

Natalie laughed and patted his stomach affectionately. “I’ll come with you, I’m hungry myself. I’ll see you later, Gwenn.” They left.

Great, though Abigail crossly, she and Natalie will be best friends, and knowing my luck she’ll start going out with Quen and Freddie, only somehow neither of them will mind…

“So,” Gwenn’s perky voice interrupted her grumpy reflections. She was looking between her and the two boys. “Which one of these guys is your boyfriend?”

Abigail choked. They had just overcome all the awkwardness, and now it would be back! Panic-stricken, she chanced a look at her two friends. Quen was looking abstractedly at the ceiling, as if he hadn’t heard Gwenn’s question. Freddie’s face faltered for a second before he grinned.

“Oh, I am,” he said with impressive put-on bravado, “I’m everyone woman’s dream. I’m always up for a bit on the side, though, Gwenn,” he said with a wink.

“In your dreams, sunshine,” laughed Gwenn. “Besides, I’m sure Abbie - Abigail - is a great girlfriend. Personally, I’ve just never met the right -”

Abigail wanted to make things clear. “I’m not his girlfriend,” she said quickly. “He was joking. We’re just friends.”

Gwenn looked to Freddie, who nodded in confirmation. “I was joking. I’d only go out with someone who didn’t fall over in train stations quite so mu-”

“FREDDIE!” Abigail screamed, drowning everyone’s laughter for a second.

“When did you fall over in a train station?” Quen asked her interestedly.

Unseen by the other two, Freddie made a kissing face at Abigail, whose complexion darkened in rage. “It was only once,” she said shortly.

Next section.