Jemimah! Jemimah,” Miss Sharkreve called, waving frantically at Mimah Calthorpe de Vyle-Hanswicke’s retreating back. She set off across the Great Lawn, her hair whipped by the wind and her skirt flapping out behind her like a loose sail. Mimah, who had been running in the direction of the school theater, slowed down and swung round, sighing.
“Where are you off to?” Sharko panted. She pretended to cough a few times to hide how unfit she was. “They’re expecting you at lacrosse practice.”
Mimah scraped the dry ground with her toe and didn’t say anything.
“Well, go on, you’d better hurry and change, or you’ll miss the beginning,” Sharko prompted.
“I’m not playing lax this term,” Mimah said.
A furrow appeared in her housemistress’s freckled forehead. “You can’t be serious. You’ve been on the team since freshman year. You’re our star.”
It was true. In fact, Mimah had competed in every school sport at one point or another: tennis, football, lacrosse, hockey, netball. But lax had always been her best. Everyone knew she’d be made captain next year when they were seniors.
“Not anymore.” Mimah shook her head defiantly. “I’m finished with it.”
Miss Sharkreve stared at her, concern misting her light blue eyes. “Mimah, are you all right?” she asked. “And Charlotte? I know some things have been difficult at home with—”
“I’m fine,” Mimah almost shouted. “We’re fine.” She’d pulled it together a little, but her voice sounded strangled, the way it would if she sprained her ankle in practice but didn’t want to be pulled off the team.
The truth was, fine was a massive overstatement—at least in her sister Charlotte’s case. Charlie was only fourteen and had been hit hard by their father’s public disgrace. Just last Easter, she’d been a total joiner at St. Cecilia’s—always doing school plays and singing in the choir and playing sports—but now Mimah hardly ever saw her around the school grounds. Charlie used to talk a lot too, but not anymore. At first, she’d kept asking their mother stupid questions, like when Daddy was coming back, and whether he and Mummy were still in love. Finally, their mum had slammed her ever-present whisky onto the table and shouted at Charlie to shut the fuck up.
And Charlie had. Lately, she’d fallen in with a freakish, stringy-haired crowd in her year who listened to garage and drum ’n’ bass. She’d started wearing skinny jeans and high-top sneakers. Her eyes looked sunken. Mimah was pretty sure she was popping pills, and wondered if she was doing other things too.
Miss Sharkreve glanced at her watch and nodded slightly. If Jemimah said she and her sister were fine, then it certainly wasn’t her concern to pry. In any case, it was tidier when the girls kept their personal problems to themselves.
“All right then.” She gave Mimah a long look. “I’m disappointed, but I can’t force you to play lax. I hope you’ll reconsider. You really have a duty not to let your school down.”
Miss Sharkreve liked the way those words sounded. Duty. Reconsider. It was her job to get the girls thinking about right and wrong for themselves. “Well, I must go,” she said briskly, turning in the direction of the art studios. It was almost time for the Saturday-afternoon life-drawing club that she supervised for the seniors. She had to meet the male models; it wouldn’t do for the girls to see them unsupervised.
Mimah stood still for a second. Then she rolled her eyes and took off toward the theater again. It was none of Sharko’s fucking business whether she played sports or not. It was nobody’s business. Why was it that the people she wished would pay attention to her insisted on ignoring her, and the people she wished would leave her alone were always on her back?