Come on, Tals.” Alice pouted into the locker-room mirror, admiring how her netball skirt complemented her long, tanned legs. “We’ll be late for class. Don’t make us end up doing warm-ups with all the losers.”
“Can’t find my bloody socks,” Tally mumbled from the slatted wooden bench she was hunched on. Why did this always happen to her? She rummaged through her bag, sending shoelaces and bandages and rumpled T-shirts flying to the floor. Fuck. She’d promised herself she was going to get it together this term. Well, actually, she promised herself that every term—and she never did.
“I can’t stand watching this!” Alice declared. “Let me put you out of your misery.” Reaching for a shelf in her neatly ordered locker, she plucked out a perfectly rolled-up pair of socks and chucked them to Tally. “Here, borrow these. But don’t ruin them. And this time, wash them before you give them back to me. And don’t you dare lose them.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” Tally pulled them on, pretending not to hear the bossy strain in Alice’s voice. “Voilà!”
“Oh. My. God.” Alice snorted with laughter. Tally’s netball ensemble was a wreck. Her T-shirt was too small for her and was clinging in all the wrong places. Her skirt looked as if somebody’s cat had been mauling it, with loose threads hanging off the bottom and a cigarette hole in the middle of the thigh.
“I’m a total mess, aren’t I?” Tally burst out. “I should have bought new stuff last term, but I forgot.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; you look great.” Alice slipped her arm through Tally’s. At least, for someone who gets neglected by their selfish mum and cokehead dad, she added in her head. Not that she’d ever say that, of course. Honestly, Alice didn’t know how Tally could bear having such dreadful parents. Her own mum and dad weren’t exactly perfect, but at least they were dignified. At least they acted like adults.
Tally giggled, bumping her shoulder into Alice’s bony one. “You still haven’t told me what you were whispering to T about on the phone last night. I heard you sneak out to have your secret midnight chat. ‘Nighty night, Lover Boy. Miss you. Kiss, kiss, kiss…’”
“Shut up!” Alice squealed. Her heart was fluttering wildly at the mention of Tristan’s name.
“No way. Spill it!”
“I can’t. It’s private.”
“Okay. It was amazing.” Alice blushed, swinging open the glass door of the locker-room building. “He told me I was beautiful. And that all he could think about was being naked with me.”
“Oh my god. Romantic!”
Alice nodded. “He kept saying how much he wished he could sneak out of school into my bed. And then he read me some new love-song lyrics he was writing. I think they were about me, Tals. I’ve never felt this way before.”
Alice took a deep breath, feeling a pang of nervousness as she heard her own words. It was all true—things were going brilliantly with T—but she’d suddenly started to worry that they were moving too fast.
And then there was Dylan. For some reason, she couldn’t get the bitch out of her mind. Every time Alice saw her, a cloud of jealousy shrouded her brain and she lost the ability to think straight. In fact, ever since this morning, the same hideous scene had been looping over and over in her head: Dylan and Tristan on the beach, shagging on a fluffy white towel under the round moon. Tristan, her Tristan, was slipping his hands all over Dylan’s body, murmuring into her ear.
Not that Alice knew for sure whether the two of them had had sex. But she didn’t need to know. It was logical; Dylan looked like the kind of slut who’d give it up to anyone.
A whistle blew across the field.
“Oh shit. Hurry up!” Alice broke into a run. It’d be awful if they were late. She hated being told off, especially in front of other people.
Tally jogged after her, dragging her Green Flash sneakers over the lawn and letting her eyes linger on the landscape. The day was the chilliest yet this term, and the sky was gray and flat.
On the concrete court, their manly gym teacher, Miss Colin, was wearing her usual lilac shellsuit, ushering everyone into teams for warm-ups and shouting instructions in her flinty Yorkshire accent. She was stocky but surprisingly agile, and the girls respected her even though she had a mullet and a pug nose that made her look like a bulldog wearing a wig. Fear of her sharp tongue kept people in check.
Glancing down at Alice’s netball skirt, Miss Colin made a loud tutting sound. Every year these girls got tartier and tartier. This was a playing field, not a bloody nightclub. “Alice Rochester, team three,” she pointed.
Alice followed the direction of her finger. Victoria Lindley and Sarah Renault, two utter losers, were doing clumsy-looking stretches, and right behind them was Dylan, bending over to tie her shoe with her ass sticking straight up in the air.
Alice planted herself as far from them all as possible. Fantastic. A team full of losers, plus her arch nemesis. To make matters worse, Dylan wasn’t wearing the shorts that went with the regulation netball uniform; she was wearing frilly underwear instead, and Alice couldn’t stop staring at them. They were white with red hearts sprinkled over them and little bits of lace puffing out. What a joke. Someone should stamp Dylan’s stupid ass into the ground.
Alice spied round. Perhaps she could covertly dart onto a different team while Miss Colin had her back turned. Florence Norstrup-Fitzwilliam and Emilia Charles were chatting nearby, comparing the gold charm bracelets they both had on. Alice was friendly with both of those two—especially blond, vacant-looking Flossy, whose grandparents owned a villa near the Rochesters’ on the French Riviera. She tensed up, ready to bolt over. But before she could make a move, Miss Colin tweeted her whistle again.
“Each warm-up group choose a leader,” the gym teacher ordered. “When I call out your group, I want the leader to say her name. That way I’ll know who to pick on when it all goes tits up.”
Victoria and Sarah giggled. It was terribly funny when Miss Colin used common terms. That must be how they spoke in Yorkshire. Alice frowned as they turned their cowlike, questioning faces to her, deferring to her to be the leader. As she nodded regally without looking at them, the end of her ponytail flicked against her razor-sharp cheekbones.
“Team one?” Miss Colin kicked things off.
“Arabella!”
“Team two?”
“Flossy!”
That was Alice. She paused for a split second before answering, a brilliant idea suddenly slithering into her head.
“Dylan!” she said.
Miss Colin blinked. “Who on earth is that?”
“You know, Dylan,” Alice replied. “The new girl.”
“No!” Dylan whispered in alarm. “What the hell are you talking about?” She’d turned bright red and the entire class was staring.
“Oh, yes.” Alice shrugged selflessly, struggling to keep a straight face. “Dylan volunteered herself. She’s been telling us all how talented she is at sports and how she thinks she should be team captain. I’m sure she’s got loads to teach all us… amateurs.”
Snickers broke from Flossie and Emilia’s direction.
Miss Colin squinted at Dylan, sizing her up. “Of course, Dylan the American. I’ve heard about you. You sound very confident indeed. What position do you play?”
“N-no,” Dylan stuttered. “I don’t know.” She shot her eyes around. People were laughing. How did the entire cool crowd know about her remark to Sonia and Zanna the other day? “I’ve never played netball before. I don’t even know the rules. Except there’s no, like, dribbling, right?”
“Of course there’s no dribbling!” Miss Colin’s eyes glinted. “Are you making fun of a venerable English sport?”
“No! I never… I’m not…”
“Stop stammering. Time wasters aren’t welcome in my lesson. Netball may be a game, but it is not a joke!” Miss Colin had worked herself into one of her rages and was practically foaming at the mouth. “Sarah, you take over for team three. I don’t want to hear another word!”
Tally chuckled as she trailed behind her teammates. Poor Dylan. Alice clearly wasn’t going to get over her vendetta easily. And George’s party was coming up this weekend… Tally dreaded to think what was going to happen when the two rivals and Tristan were all in the same room.
A wedge of sunlight parted the clouds behind the court and all of a sudden Tally caught sight of a silhouette on the sidelines. Mr. Logan was standing there, lit up like some kind of angel. Tally caught her breath. Luckily, she was wearing the T-shirt she’d managed to shrink in the wash and she could feel it clinging sexily around her boobs. Thrusting her shoulders back, she bounced out to catch the ball.