Advanced Level English. Room 305. Mr. Logan.” Tally read the whiteboard at the front of the classroom. Mr. Logan? Who the hell was he? She frowned at her crumpled school schedule while trying to catch her breath. Fantastic. It was her first morning as a junior, and she was already confused and in chaos. At least it was a beautiful day. The windows in here were wide open, with sunlight streaming through the blinds and fat, lazy flies buzzing in and out over the sills. And there was Alice, right on time as usual, settled in by the wall and saving her one of the only chairs still empty.
“What a treat, we’re back at school.” Tally rolled her eyes, dumped her pad of paper and pile of books onto the desk and flopped down. She’d left herself barely any room to write. Whatever. It was their first lesson of the year and they had a new teacher. They probably wouldn’t do any work.
“Hey, do you know anything about this Logan guy?” Blond wisps of hair fell over Tally’s eyes as she leaned toward Alice. “Is he a replacement for Mrs. Purcell? I heard she had a nervous breakdown. Hello?”
But Alice didn’t hear. She was hunched forward, biting her tongue in concentration and printing her name carefully on a new yellow and gray school diary. The girl was so anal. She always had to be the best. At everything. Tally hoped it wasn’t going to be too weird, just the two of them sharing a room together after all those years of sleeping in dorms of four or five girls. Of course she loved Alice madly, but over the summer Tally had got used to independence. She’d been staying in London with her dad and his despicable new wife (who were too busy socializing and fawning over each other to even notice she was there), and had basically had the run of their house. No curfew, no rules, no chores. Now she wasn’t sure she could stand someone else in her personal space. Especially Alice, who could never resist issuing orders to anyone and everyone.
Pensively gnawing the end of her pencil, Tally slouched back in her chair. Because of the balmy weather, most girls in their class were still wearing St. Cecilia’s summer uniform—a short-sleeved, yellow-and-white striped shirt tucked into a gray cotton skirt. And of course a dreaded school tie. Tally hated those ties; they made you look like some kind of second-rate office worker. A couple of losers sitting together on her row were also wearing yellow socks, yanked all the way up to their knees. Sexy. Not. Tally, on the other hand, had pulled on a pair of white platform sandals (without socks, obviously—she wasn’t a dirty hippie) and had gathered her hair back into a messy ponytail.
From the far corner of the room echoed a mournful pinging sound. It was coming from the desk of Jemimah Calthorpe de Vyle-Hanswicke. She was flicking the tab on her can of Red Bull and glaring at the backs of Tally’s and Alice’s heads. What bitches, Mimah thought. They hadn’t even acknowledged her presence. If this were last term, the three of them would have been sitting together just like they always had, hatching some plot to sneak into the woods for a cigarette during Break, or gossiping under their breath about the news of the day. Which, this morning, was all about Tristan’s American ex-girlfriend. Rumor had it that she was coming to St. Cecilia’s, but she’d failed to show up last night and no one knew why.
Anyway, Mimah told herself, maybe it was time to give up on being friends with Alice and Tally and Sonia Khan. Last term, when Mimah’s father had been splashed all over the tabloids for having sex with a twenty-year-old prostitute, those three had washed their hands of her like she was dirt. Then, to make matters worse, they’d helped spread rumors that she’d paid Seb Ogilvy a thousand quid to have sex with her. Mimah clenched her fists. They knew that she’d liked Seb for ages. It was one of their clique’s special secrets. Why did they have to be so mean?
She snatched up her empty Red Bull can and hurled it across the room toward the trash. Just then, footsteps sounded loudly in the corridor and the tips of two scuffed loafers appeared in the doorway, followed by a tallish, athletic-looking man wearing corduroys. Whack! The can bounced straight into his crotch. Mimah gasped.
“What on earth!” the man burst out, cupping his hand over his privates. “Aha!” He jogged over to where the can lay, kicked it showily into the air, and dunked it into the bin.
“I’m Mr. Logan,” he pivoted round, winking at the class. “And you must be my A-level English class.”
Tally and Alice shot glances at each other. Duh. It said “Advanced Level English” on the board, didn’t it? This Mr. Logan character seemed like a douchebag. Plus, he couldn’t be older than twenty-five, at the most.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he continued. He had a deep voice that demanded attention when he spoke, even though his accent was slightly, well, lower class.
“I’m passionate about literature—poetry in particular,” Mr. Logan said. “I hope you all are too, since you’ve chosen to study the A-level English course over the next two years. Secondly, just between ourselves,” he dropped his voice to a confidential low, “this is the first time I’ve ever set foot in a boarding school. I taught at a public school before. So I’ll need you girls to help me get acquainted with the ins and outs.”
Alice nudged Tally. “Ins and outs,” she snickered. “What a perv!”
“Excuse me?” Mr. Logan snapped.
“Oh, nothing, sir.” Alice gave a sugary smile. She knew how to control teachers. Especially male ones. “I was just saying how much I liked your… belt. Sir.”
“Of course you were.” Mr. Logan glared. But he touched his hand to his belt buckle, wondering if he’d mistakenly worn the one shaped like a wildcat. He hadn’t. “Right, what’s your name?”
“Alice,” Alice said, slowly uncrossing and recrossing her legs. She wasn’t wearing tights. “Rochester.”
“Pleasure,” Mr. Logan said. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, Alice.”
“Ooh, I’m not sure I want to get so personal, sir.”
“Keep it professional then. What A levels are you doing? What uni do you see yourself at? Even better, what’s your favorite subject?”
Alice cocked her head to one side and traced a circle with her middle finger on the desk. “I’d have to say French because I’m really quite fluent. You see, my family has a villa in the South of France. We go there every summer and our maid always tells me what an excellent accent I have.”
“How charming of your maid to say so,” Mr. Logan beamed down. “You know, I’d probably tell you exactly the same thing—if I were on your parents’ payroll. Do you think she’s hoping for extra tips?”
Giggles rippled through the class. Tally laughed loudly, until she noticed Alice’s red face gaping in her direction.
What? she mouthed. “Al, I’m sorry.” But Alice had already turned away, her jaw trembling.
“And you?” Mr. Logan asked. He was talking to Tally and his voice was kinder now. This girl looked a little less haughty than her friend. And besides, she was gorgeous—in a pale, Slavic way. Just like Lara, the heroine of Dr. Zhivago, his favorite Russian novel.
“I’m Natalya,” Tally said. Her voice was crisp and smooth, with just the hint of an Eastern-European accent.
“Natalya,” Mr. Logan repeated, rolling the name like syrup over his tongue. “Sounds Russian. Am I correct?”
Tally nodded. “My mum’s from Moscow. She still lives there.”
Mr. Logan looked straight into her eyes. She noticed that his were a bewitching, piercing blue.
“Russian,” he intoned, slowly rolling his r’s, “is an extrrremely beautiful language. And Russian people are extremely beautiful too.”
Tally swallowed. Mr. Logan had deep dimples when he smiled that made his face look manly and yet soft. Feeling hot and flustered, she turned toward the window and touched her fingertips surreptitiously to her cheeks, desperately hoping they hadn’t gone red.
Outside on the driveway, a car was just pulling up in front of the main school hall. The gravel crunched under its tires as it came to a halt. Curious, Tally watched the doors open and three people get out: a woman, a man, and a pretty girl about her age.
Tally squinted at the man. Did she recognize him? Wait… of course! It was that sleazy game show host Victor Dalgleish, the one who’d been on MindQuest for a million years. Her mum loved him. And he was pretty much the first man Tally had ever had a crush on too (embarrassing as it was to admit). But what the hell was he doing at their school?
And more importantly, was that blond girl who Tally suspected she was?