Officially, the head of house is supposed to review complaints about the communal facilities, update the students on campus events, and provide a safe atmosphere for grievances or concerns. In reality, it’s just a pointless ten minutes where everybody yawns and buries their head in their phone as Arabella munches on crackers and lazily reads off a handwritten list provided by McGuire.
This week’s announcements include a reminder to turn off the TV and lights after using the common room, a plea to stop using up all the hot water in the showers, and fair warning that McGuire will be conducting a “surprise” bed check tonight for the girls who haven’t already submitted paperwork for weekend leave.
After we all file out of the common room, Flossie and Alice blow us air kisses and head upstairs to get their overnight bags. Flossie’s parents are back in the UK and have invited her and Alice to spend the night with them at their country place nearby. Georgie rushes off, muttering that she’ll see us at dinner. She’s wearing makeup, which is rare.
That leaves Libby, India, and me.
“Come by mine,” says India.
“I shouldn’t.” Libby looks upstairs apprehensively. “I’m drowning in homework since I started the school year late. It’s going to take me weeks to catch up.”
“You know the teachers will totally cut you a break. They don’t expect you to do all the assignments.” I don’t even know why I’m saying it. I know better than to argue with Libby over schoolwork.
“I need letters of recommendation and these teachers hardly know me yet. Universities are going to be looking hard at my marks this year. I can’t be a slacker.”
“You? A slacker? That’s hilarious,” I say.
“How about I study for an hour or two, but then I’ll come meet you guys later tonight after dinner?” Libby says. “I have a stash of cookies I picked up in town.”
“White chocolate chip?” I ask.
“What else?”
“You are dismissed.” I nod. “Go. Be free. Study until you have attained enlightenment, young grasshopper.”
Libby smiles at us, rushing upstairs gratefully. India and I follow behind, climbing the stairs at a snail’s pace.
“I swear, she’s the only person I know who thinks an A-minus is a failure.”
“Bless her,” India says. “It’s sweet. At least one of us is doing her homework.”
We walk into her room and sit on her bed. There’s a single framed photo on the bedside table: India, her parents, and her four brothers, smiling prettily into the camera on a gray beach. The setting sun pokes through the window, bouncing off the gold signet ring on the pinkie finger of her left hand.
“She’s a rock star—academically, at least. Although she’s always on my case about university.”
“Already? But it’s not for ages,” India says.
“You’re preaching to the choir.”
“I always wanted a sister. Are you two close?”
“Very. Even after she went away to boarding school, we texted each other every single day. I missed her like crazy that first year. Now we mostly only see each other in summer, though.” I’m quiet for a second, suddenly feeling sad for all the time lost.
“You think she’s enjoying it here?”
“Definitely.”
“Good.”
“Well . . . mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“She’s finding her rhythm.”
“That takes time. She transferred schools in her last year, left all her friends, has her little sister looking over her shoulder—it’s a lot.”
“True.”
“But it’s kind of you to worry about her,” says India. “You’re a good sister.”
“I just want her to fit in. Greene House was so different.”
“How so?”
I think back to the times I visited the campus with my parents. “It was so serious—much more regimented. The girls put pressure on themselves like you wouldn’t believe. They have an amazing humanities program, and everybody gets into great universities, but it always seemed like such a miserable grind to me. I wanted to be at the same school as Libby, but after I toured it, I realized you couldn’t have paid me enough to go there.”
“She does seem rather tightly wound,” India says.
“Nah, she’s not that bad. And she wasn’t like that when we were kids—I mean, yeah, she was always less outgoing than me, but when she’s comfortable, she can be really silly and just funny. Greene House wasn’t the right place for her.”
“Why don’t you have a girls’ day out tomorrow, just the two of you? You’re always around us, around Edward—maybe she just needs a little quality Charlotte time.”
“The world needs more Charlotte time,” I say, laughing. “That’s a good idea.” I think back to Edward talking with his mother and how tight-lipped he was being, changing the subject. “Random question, but speaking of Edward—do you think he’s been weird recently?”
India considers the question. “I wouldn’t call it weird, exactly—he’s just off in the clouds again. He’s been like this since we were kids. Every once in a while, he gets overwhelmed by life and just . . . disappears.”
“Huh.”
“He skipped dinner twice this week, remember?” she points out. “His life is hard. Most people don’t understand that.”
I think back to Libby telling me she felt sorry for Edward. “I shouldn’t take it personally, right?”
“No. But he needs somebody understanding. He’s under a lot of pressure, especially now.”
“Why now?” I feel like I don’t know him at all. It has only been a few weeks that we’ve been dating.
India turns away, reaching for the pack of Camel Blues she keeps in the jeweled case next to her bed. “Close the door, will you?”
As I close the door to the hallway, she opens the window, lighting up a cigarette.
“Don’t take it personally,” she repeats. “He’s got stuff going on.”
I roll my eyes. “We’ve all got stuff going on.”
“Family stuff.”
“Oh.”
“He turns eighteen this year,” she says, as if this explains everything.
“Which means . . . ?”
“It means our little caterpillar is about to become a butterfly, and he’s freaking out about it,” she says. “You guys don’t talk about this at all?”
When Edward and I hang out, we don’t do much talking—we’re either watching TV, making out, or absentmindedly scrolling through our phones.
Suddenly, I feel like a terrible girlfriend. Am I his girlfriend? Or am I just some girl he’s dating?
I shrug. “Not really.”
“Don’t feel bad,” she continues. “You’ve got a lot going on, too. It’s not up to you to fix everybody’s problems for them. Just give him some space and he’ll come around.”
“You’re right. Good idea.”
She collapses back on her bed, her mermaid hair floating on her pillow around her as she takes a deep drag of the cigarette. “I’m full of ’em.”
Later that night, Edward and I are in the Colvin Hall common room, snuggling together on the sofa while watching telly. I invited Libby to come watch television after dinner, but she begged off to keep doing homework. Even though she’s only a couple of weeks behind schedule, she’s panicking about catching up.
It’s been warm for October, but suddenly the weather has turned freezing, the wind whistling outside the window. I snuggle closer to Eds for warmth and lay my head on his chest. Neither of us is paying attention to the TV: I’m hopping between Viewty and Snapchat, and he’s texting somebody.