Night School

Leaping from her seat Jo screamed and danced around the table, pulling Allie into a hug. ‘I knew it! Didn’t I say? I’m, like, omniscient.’


‘You are a genius,’ Allie laughed. ‘And I guess I better have salad too, if I’m going to wear that white dress.’

Back in her own seat, Jo passed her the salad bowl. ‘This is going to be the best summer ball ever.’

But as Allie served leaves onto her plate, she looked up to see Carter staring at her furiously from a nearby table. When he realised she’d seen him he stood up and stalked from the room.





THIRTEEN


The two weeks until the dance seemed to last months, and Allie felt that the entire school was in a state of suspended animation. Classes dragged. Teachers refused to give in to student apathy and distraction so coursework piled up, but, for the first time, the library was largely empty in the evening.

‘If I get behind this week … so be it,’ Jo pronounced, the drama of her statement somewhat undermined by the fact that she was sitting on her bed and waving a tiara. ‘I’ll catch up next week.’

‘Hear hear!’ Allie was lying on her stomach on the floor, flipping through a beauty magazine and contemplating hairstyles. ‘Maybe I should get my hair cut short?’ She held up a picture of a pixie-ish model.

Jo tilted the tiara in her direction. ‘A new haircut lifts your spirits, young Allie. Never forget that. But that’s too short for your face shape, FYI.’

Allie turned the page. ‘Wise words, Josephine. Wise words.’

Back in her room, the white dress hung tantalisingly from Allie’s wardrobe door, with Jo’s shoes arranged neatly on the floor beneath it. Every morning when she woke up that was the first thing she saw, and each night she ticked another day off a mental calendar.

While Allie was trying to keep up with her classwork, she was finding it nearly impossible to concentrate. So a few days before the ball, when she found herself reading the same paragraph in her history book for the fifth time, she gave up on the entire enterprise. Standing up from her desk she stretched, then stood looking out the window at the sunshine.

I’ve got to move.

She pulled on her running clothes and gathered her hair into a ponytail. As she slipped down the stairs she passed only one other student and on the landing, when she leaned over to look down at the main floor, she could see nobody at all. Outside, the sun beat down on the soft green grass. From the front steps she could see a number of bodies baking on towels and blankets spread out on the lawn, but she never could understand the attraction of just lying in the sun. Instead, she struck out for the summerhouse, jogging at a brisk pace. Movement had always helped to calm her down, and now she threw herself into it, running faster down the footpath. She counted each footstep quietly under her breath.

‘Two hundred and ninety-six. Two hundred and ninety—’

‘Why do you do that?’

The voice seemed to come from nowhere, and it startled Allie so much that she tripped and nearly fell down, and had to grab a tree branch for support.

Carter stood on the edge of the path, his hands on his hips. Panting, she bent over to rest her hands on her knees while she caught her breath.

When she stood up, she tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. ‘What? You’re speaking to me now, Carter? I’m honoured.’

Ever since their altercation in the library Carter had avoided her, and she’d been happy to let him.

He acted as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘That counting thing. I’ve heard you do it before. Why do you do that?’

‘It’s none of your bloody business, you stalker. Now get lost.’

Turning back down the path she took off running again, but he easily matched her stride.

‘It was a simple question.’

Allie gave a frustrated squeak and sped up, anger propelling her. But he didn’t fall behind, and finally she shouted at him in short bursts.

‘You don’t. Ignore somebody. For weeks. And then. Ask them. Personal questions. You. Arsehole.’

‘Temper.’

‘Whatever.’

Silence fell as she concentrated on not speaking to him.

‘Allie, don’t trust Sylvain.’

‘I’m ignoring you.’

‘I can’t go into why. But he’s not who you think he is.’

She slowed down and glared at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

He started to speak, then stopped. Shaking her head in disgust she ran away down the path – after a while she couldn’t hear his footsteps behind her any more.

When the summerhouse roof appeared above the trees, even through her rage, Allie gasped. She hadn’t been able to really see it properly that night in the rain. It was beautiful – a fanciful construction, with a narrow, pointed roof rising twenty-five feet high, covered in brightly coloured Moorish tiles in an intricate design.