‘While the Gems were distracted by the bomb, the rebels launched a rescue mission and saved the condemned Imps from the gallows. Rose slipped down the outer wall undetected, her worth as a rebel secured.
‘So Thorn sent Rose on the most dangerous rebel mission to date: the Harper mission. Rose infiltrated the Harper estate deep in the Pastures, and posed as a slave for the master of the house – Jeremy Harper, a powerful Gem official. Rose quickly befriended Jeremy’s son so she could discover classified Gem information.
‘Jeremy’s son was a Gem named Willow.’
Willow. The main reason I wish I was Rose. And even though my hands still tremble, the residue of adrenalin moving through my veins, I keep gripping his picture, holding it up for the class to see. I just can’t bear the thought of a drawing pin jabbing a hole in his perfect face. I’ve gazed at this poster for hours, memorized every contour of those features – all caramel skin and cheekbones. I hear a couple of sighs from the girls, a couple of ‘phwoar’ noises followed by a cluster of giggles. I tuck his image back into my pile of notes, a sense of possession gnawing at me.
‘Spying and relations with a Gem: two crimes punishable by death for any Imp unfortunate enough to get caught. But Willow was kind and beautiful, and Rose soon realized that her greatest threat was the strength of her feelings for him. Unable to betray him, she fled the manor without ever revealing her true identity as a rebel. She returned to the Imp city, informing Thorn that the Harper mission was a failure—’
‘Boring,’ Ryan says.
‘Ryan, seriously,’ Miss Thompson snaps. ‘Stop interrupting, you’re in sixth form now and I expect better.’ She turns to me and smiles. ‘And I think we’ve just reached the midway twist, the turning point, is that right, Violet?’
I nod. ‘Rose fled the manor to protect him, she prioritized Willow over the rebels. She chose love.’
‘Yes. An example of how popular, modern novels still follow the traditional plot structure . . . carry on.’
‘Willow disguised himself as an Imp and followed Rose across the city, desperate to win her back. But he was captured by the rebels and, finally, he learnt of Rose’s initial plan to betray him. Heartbroken, held captive, all hope seemed lost.
‘But Rose told him she truly loved him, and together, they escaped from the rebels, determined to forge a new life together.
‘Sometimes, however, love cannot conquer all.
‘The Gem authorities tracked them down and Rose was taken to the Gallows Dance, accused of seducing an innocent Gem boy.’
Another YouTube clip. Rose at the Gallows Dance, but this time, she stands on the wooden stage at the front of the Coliseum with a noose around her neck, the crowd of Gems chanting for her blood.
‘STOP!’ Willow vaults on to the stage. ‘My name is Willow Harper. And the Imp you’re about to hang has a name. Rose. And she is the bravest, kindest person I’ve ever known. Imp or Gem, she is a human being. She isn’t a temptress or a criminal. She is my best friend. And I love her with all my heart.’ He gazes into her determined face. ‘I love you, Rose.’
‘I love you too,’ she cries back.
I know what’s going to happen, of course I do, but I still feel the weight of tears on my lower lashes, this overwhelming urge to reach into that 2D image and snip the rope.
The trapdoor beneath Rose’s feet flies open. Her body drops, her legs twisting and kicking as she dances her final dance.
The clip ends. Nobody speaks.
Finally, Miss Thompson breaks the silence. ‘What a wonderful black moment the author created. But surely there’s some sort of resolution?’
I nod, and shuffle to my last page of crumpled notes.
‘Willow cradled Rose’s lifeless body, his tears falling into her face. He berated the Gems for allowing government sanctioned murder to continue, he begged them to join him. So moved were the Gems by this tragic scene, they ripped the gallows to the ground.
‘The Gallows Dance was finally banned.
‘Rose’s death sparked a revolution.
‘And the Imps and Gems called themselves humans once again.’
The walls seem to absorb my final words, and I somehow manage to swallow even though I have no saliva in my mouth. Another silence. I wish Alice were here, she would clap and cheer and shout ‘encore’ . . . and everyone else would join in.
I catch Katie’s eye for a moment. She winks. Not quite the public display of support I’d hoped for, but it makes me feel better all the same.
‘Thank you, Violet.’ Miss Thompson peers at me from over her glasses. ‘What a wonderful presentation.’
‘Thanks, I wanted to do the book justice.’
Miss Thompson smiles. ‘I can tell from the amount of colour you put into it. We’ll make a writer of you yet.’
I flush with pleasure. Writing has always been Alice’s thing – I’ve never dared touch it, until now. ‘Thanks, Miss Thompson.’
Kiss ass. Teacher’s pet. Hisses from the back of the class.
I slide back into my chair. Katie nudges me and whispers, ‘That went really well.’ But I can still hear Ryan and his accomplices sniggering, the edges of their words blurring together, and my cheeks begin to feel hot and itchy again and the bastard notes won’t stop sticking to my palms. Rose wouldn’t have fallen to pieces like this. I let my hair fall in front of my face, providing a dark, wavy shield.
‘So there we have it,’ Miss Thompson says. ‘We’ve heard the plots of three very different novels, yet seen how they all follow roughly the same structure.’
The bell rings, accompanied by the scrabbling of books and pens and rucksacks.
Katie helps peel the paper from my clammy hands. ‘God, you really love that bloody book.’
‘Yeah.’
‘You should have seen your face when you mentioned Willow.’
‘That’s just my face.’
She bats her eyelashes. ‘But Willow was kind and beautiful, and Violet – sorry, I mean Rose – soon realized that her greatest threat was the strength of her raging hormones.’ She puckers up her lips, making the freckles on her nose elongate.
‘Sod off.’ I laugh. Katie always makes me laugh. The tension drains from my body and I finally manage to stuff the disintegrating notes into my bag. Katie only moved from Liverpool to London last summer, so I haven’t known her long, but we had this instant connection. She’s got this dry sense of humour and she uses all these hilarious insults like ‘turdweasel’ and ‘dumbledick’, and she talks with a gentle Scouse accent which always makes her seem grounded – ‘Salt of the earth,’ my dad once called her. Yet she looks like something from a Jane Austen novel, with her doll-like features and light red hair . . . She actually plays the cello. The only thing I play is the Xbox.
‘Don’t worry about Bell, he just fancies you,’ she says.
‘Yeah, right. He’s embarrassed cos me and Alice caught him blubbing in the cinema last year.’
She shoves her chair back. ‘Come on, you know you’re hot.’
I laugh. ‘Yeah, I’m sweating like a pig after that car crash.’