Night School

‘That is … bizarre,’ Jo said. ‘Do you think he’s jealous?’


‘No way.’ Allie was firm. ‘He hates me. The way he acted last night … it was like I repulsed him. And I don’t know what was going on between the two of them but it was seriously intense. I thought for a second they’d get into a fight.’

‘Carter wouldn’t dare,’ Jo said. ‘He’d be in unbelievable amounts of trouble if he did. Anyway, who cares? Sylvain fancies you! And he’s so going to ask you to the dance.’

Throughout the week the ball was the only subject of conversation – who was going with whom, what they would wear, how everyone was allowed champagne and there was no curfew at all.

Sylvain was involved in a major project, so Allie rarely saw him. But the way he looked at her each time they saw each other made it clear that Saturday night was not an aberration. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. When they passed in the hallway he would pull her into a hug, or run his fingers down her arm. Every time the encounter left her slightly breathless, and hungry for more.

But he still hadn’t asked her to the dance.

At the same time, Carter completely blanked her. Whenever she saw him he looked over her head. In class, their eyes never met. He treated her like she didn’t exist, and by Friday, Allie was determined to find out what was really going on. She just wasn’t sure how to do that.

After class that afternoon, she ran to the library in hopes of finding an obscure book of poetry for Isabelle’s English class. When she pushed the door open it slammed into someone heading the other way.

‘Sorry,’ she said, then stopped. Carter glowered at her in the doorway.

When he started to walk by her without saying another word, she’d had enough. ‘Hey!’ she whispered sharply. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘Nothing.’ His voice was distant.

‘Oh really?’ she said ‘Then why are you so broken?’ Shoving her way past, she walked into the library. She heard the door close behind her. Then he grabbed her arm and turned her to face him.

‘You do not get to call me broken,’ he hissed in a stage whisper.

She could see how angry he was but she couldn’t have cared less. ‘I can call you whatever I want, Carter,’ she said, shaking his hand off her arm. ‘And the way you’ve been acting lately is not normal. It’s totally lame.’

‘What is normal, Allie?’ he whispered angrily. ‘Define normal for me. Is Sylvain normal, for example?’

She felt a chill run down her spine. ‘What kind of question is that? What’s he got to do with the way you treat me?’

‘Nothing,’ he said, but his eyes said differently. His dark brows were lowered, and she could sense the tension coiled within him before he spoke again. ‘Everything. How can you be so stupid? I thought you were clever, but you’re just another stupid girl. You don’t know the first thing about him, or about this school, and yet you’ll make a public spectacle of yourself snogging him.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I’m not—’

‘Not what?’ he interrupted her. ‘Not falling for Sylvain’s well practised lines? Really? Because to me it looked like you are.’

He was so angry that she felt panic rising as she tried to reason with him. ‘Carter, I don’t understand – so I’m seeing Sylvain now. So what? Why do you care? You hate me anyway.’

He stood so close to her that she could feel his breath on her cheek. He smelled of spice and coffee. ‘You think I hate you?’ Those deep, dark eyes held hers. ‘I don’t. I just thought you were smart.’

When she opened her mouth to argue he put his finger lightly over her lips. Her eyes held his for a long second. She could taste the salt of his skin on her tongue. Then he swore under his breath, turned on his heel and walked away.

‘The question of the day, Allie, is should you wear your hair up or down?’ Holding a wide-tooth comb, Jo studied Allie’s head intently. It was Saturday morning and they were in Jo’s room. Allie sat in front of a mirror. They were surrounded by the gowns from Allie’s wardrobe and shoes from Jo’s limitless supply. Jo had insisted that they needed to ‘practise’.

Allie twisted a strand of hair around her finger and then released it. ‘Does it matter? The dance is in two weeks and Sylvain still hasn’t asked me to go with him. I might as well dye my hair green and shave it into a mohawk.’

Jo held one pair of shoes up to a dress, considered it, and then tried another pair. ‘Sylvain is going to ask you to go with him,’ she said. ‘I have it on the best authority.’

Allie looked at her hopefully. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Jo pointed a kitten heel at her accusingly. ‘So get serious. Hair up or down?’

‘Um … I don’t know.’ She picked up a brush and ran it through her hair. ‘So … who’s Lucas going with?’

‘Lisa of course.’ Jo’s voice was muffled as she pulled out another pair of delicate shoes.

‘And Carter?’