“Right,” I said, but I rolled my eyes.
“I’m being serious, Poppy.” She frowned. “You have such a talent, and you just need to get the grades that show that. When you get to university, I’m sure you’ll be free to experiment how you want then. But right now this is about making sure you have the fundamentals understood and demonstrated. I’m sure you’ll still have an amazing portfolio.”
“Not as good as I could make it though,” I muttered.
It was true. The Art GCSE portfolio was fine—but it wasn’t as good as my original plan. And even then Miss Wersham wasn’t particularly happy with it, even if she did give it the highest grade possible.
“It looks awfully sad,” she observed when she saw it for the final time. “Don’t you think?”
I supposed she was right. But I was sad. After everything that had happened with Julian, what else was my art going to represent? I moved from more cheerful pieces to harsher swathes of reds and blues and blacks with abstract backgrounds and forceful depictions of myself in the centre. It was how I was feeling.
“Are you alright, Poppy?” she asked me, concern in her eyes. “If there’s anything you want to talk about, you know I’m here for you.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “I just like painting this kind of stuff. It doesn’t mean anything.”
And I am fine. Mostly.
I didn’t have the heart to tell Miss Wersham the teachers hadn’t been doing the best job of being there for me, but at least since Year Eleven and sixth form things had calmed down.
Annabel, Chloe, Esther, and Tanya didn’t pick on me anymore. Not really. Not since our GCSEs meant things had to get serious, and then our A levels. Sure, they might occasionally make a passing comment or laugh at something, but they did that with most other people, that wasn’t exclusive to me. I could breathe a bit better these past few years, because every day wasn’t a torment. And I had the art group, at least. I tried not to let it bother me when they all walked home together or hung out after school and never invited me. I just think they’re jealous of my talent anyway.
It has been so much nicer. To exist in the same space as those four and not feel terrified of my every move, worried about the scrutiny I’d get. Instead, okay I’m alone, but I’m happier.
And I’ve found ways of coping with the loneliness. It might mean I have to always wear long sleeves, but it’s something.
When I got home from school that day after everyone talked about where they were applying I spent all evening researching all the different art schools across the country. There were lots of amazing ones, but I knew my heart was set on Slade.
Imagine! Me going to London. The capital. I’ve only been to London once before and that was for a birthday trip to all the main attractions when I was really little, so I barely remember it. I could be like all those professionals with their fancy clothes and a nice handbag, sitting on the Tube. In the evenings I’d have lots of friends from university so we’d all go out drinking and clubbing and not come home until dawn.
And yet, when I went to apply, my fingers hovered above the mouse, too terrified to click to start my application.
What if it was just like school? What if no one liked me? And worse, what if they were all much better at art than me and laughed at me and then I didn’t even have that?
What if I didn’t even get in at all?
The stress of it had me reaching inside my bedside drawer for my piece of mirror, but just as I was about to cut myself and feel some relief there was a knock at the bedroom door.
“Poppy, are you busy? Mum says dinner is almost ready.”
It was Wendy.
I jumped up, slamming the bedside drawer shut, and opened the door to her. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, already looking past my shoulder. She saw my computer screen and let out a squeal of excitement. “Oh my God, you’re applying to universities! Which one have you picked?”
Without waiting for permission, she pushed past me and sat at my desk, clicking through the various tabs I had open.
“Slade School of Fine Art?” she said. “Wow, this is in London. It looks amazing!”
I went over to her, hovering behind her nervously. “It’s one of the best art schools in the whole country.”
“You will definitely get in,” she said. “Why haven’t you started your application yet?”
“I was just looking,” I told her. “I’m not sure if I’m even going to apply. I’d never get in. I don’t think I’m good enough.”
She looked at me as if I’d grown another head. “What are you talking about? Of course you’ll get in. You’re the best in the whole school!”
I wish I could have Wendy’s confidence. She’s always been so sure of herself. She’s so smart she could do whatever she wants in the future. I didn’t know how to tell her that I wasn’t so brave or intelligent. Art was my only option, and the idea of putting myself out there for the world to judge me suddenly felt like too much, especially when I got judged enough as it was right now. The thought that I’d apply and then not get in, and that those four would somehow find out . . .
Wendy softened when she saw the doubt in my face and turned to me, grabbing my hands. “Hey, you only need to look around this room to see how talented you are.”
Paintings I did for fun at home decorated the walls of my bedroom. I tried to keep things lighter here, but even then, looking around, I could see the marked difference in pieces I had done when I was eleven or twelve compared to one I had completed only a few months ago. The paintings were better—I got better every year—but they were darker too.
“I know you’ve had a tough time,” Wendy said, surprising me. “But it’s been so long since everything happened with . . . Julian and those stupid girls. You smashed your GCSEs. You’re going to smash your A levels. And you deserve to go to the university of your dreams and go be that famous artist you’ve always wanted to be.”
She clicked on the “Start Application” button, and began filling in my details.
“Wendy!” I said, but I didn’t really try to stop her. One of her hands was still holding mine.
“There’s no going back now,” she said, grinning. She gave my hand a squeeze. “You deserve this, Poppy. Go to London and be happy!”
“As long as you don’t follow me in a couple of years.” I laughed. It felt good to laugh.
“Hey, London is a big place!” Wendy protested with a smile. “You’ll be too busy with all your new London pals to have time for your silly little sister anyway.”
Seeing her there, helping me get my application started, suddenly brought tears to my eyes. I managed to wipe them away while her back was turned but gave her a big hug.
“What was that for?” she said. “You’re not off to university yet, you know! You still have practically a whole year here!”
“I’ll always have time for my silly little sister,” I said. “Thank you, Wendy. For believing in me.”
“Any time,” she said. “What are sisters for?”
She stood up and nodded, satisfied, when I sat in her place and continued with the application.
“Shall I tell Mum you’ll be a little late?”
“Yes please.”
After she left, I finished off the rest. Again, my fingers hesitated at the “Submit” button.
This was really it.
I might have no friends. I might turn and run at the sight of Annabel, Chloe, Esther, and Tanya walking down the corridor towards me. I might spend my evenings listening to sad music and relying too much on an old, jagged piece of mirror to give me any kind of feeling beyond being lonely.
But I am definitely good at art. And I definitely deserve a place at Slade.
I’m going to get out of here and make my dreams come true.
And so I pressed “Submit.”
Now it’s a waiting game. I have to produce a portfolio and send it to them, but that will be easy. I have so many paintings to choose from. I just have to believe in myself.
A couple of days later, on the Wednesday, I told everyone I had applied for Slade.
“You applied for Slade too?” Ollie said, looking a bit put out.
“It’s my dream as well,” I said. And it felt so good to say it out loud.
It didn’t matter that when I was walking home a bus drove past me through a puddle and splashed mud all up my skirt and tights. Or that of course the moment this happened Annabel and Chloe happened to be walking on the other side of the street and burst into laughter.
It didn’t matter.
I still had a massive smile on my face thinking of the future.
March 20, 2013
Dear Diary,
I DID IT!!!! I GOT INTO SLADE!!!
I can’t believe it. I actually can’t believe I’m writing this.
I got an email yesterday telling me my UCAS application had updated, but I had no idea what it was going to be. And then I saw it.
An offer from the Slade School of Fine Art. All I need is ABB in my A levels, including an A in Art, and I’ll be there in September.