I’ve got a surprise for you lot.” Mr. Logan’s voice wafted down from the low stone wall he was crouching on. This morning, he’d had the bright idea of bringing his students out from their stuffy classroom and into St. Cecilia’s sunken garden, which was famous for being one of the most beautiful in England (at least, if you believed the virtual tour on the school website). Rare plants burst from every square centimeter of its soil, their leaves and petals flashing like colored glass in the late-September sun. Even Mr. Logan’s wall had blossoms sprouting out of it. He’d taken a flying leap up there as soon as the students had reached the garden, sending pebbles and bits of chalk showering into the front row of the class and, more specifically, into Alice’s face. Alice glared at his tatty loafers. She was certain she’d seen him purposely scuffing them on the paving stones outside the staff room. No doubt he’d bought them last week and messed them up so he’d look more like a bona fide intellectual. Pathetic.
“Get ready, everyone,” Mr. Logan ranted on. “Today, we’re going to read some of Othello aloud. I’ll cast the roles and we’ll act out the scenes. See? English really can be fun!”
Alice scoffed to herself. No, English really couldn’t be fun. Especially not today, when her entire life felt like it was going to shit. If high marks hadn’t been so important to her father—and to her, naturally—she’d have skipped this class and gone sunbathing. Her tan from the South of France could do with a little topping up. During the Summer Terms, she, Tally, Sonia, and Mimah had always lain out on the grass in this area of the grounds, hiking up their skirts and unbuttoning their blouses, under which they wore tiny push-up bras to titillate the gardeners. There was one gardener in particular over whom Mimah and Tally fought—but that was only because they were so fucking man-starved at school. In the real world the guy wouldn’t have stood a chance with either of them. He was about nineteen and looked identical to the string beans that he cultivated in the vegetable patch: long, skinny, and slouched. He was a good person to know, though; he never minded picking up a few bottles of gin or vodka for their posse on his way into school in the mornings, and occasionally, he was up for letting them into his shed to share a spliff. Their seminaked sunbathing was sort of his payment.
If you wanted to put it vulgarly, that is.
“Alice!” Mr. Logan’s voice seemed to break over her head. “You’ve been grinning at me like an automaton for ten minutes now. May I help you?”
Alice snapped open her pen and scribbled down automaton to look up later. You got extra points in exams for using long words. “Oh. No, sir,” she said. “I was just interested in what you were saying.”
“I’m so glad. In that case, why don’t you be the first to answer my question?”
“Your question.” Alice cleared her throat. “Which question was that?”
“The one I just asked: Which theme in Othello did you write about for your prep?”
“Ah yes.” Alice took a deep breath. “Actually, I meant to talk to you about that.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. Well, you see, there are just so many themes in Othello, and I find them all so terribly fascinating, I couldn’t choose which one to write about.”
Mr. Logan tapped his foot impatiently.
“So I wanted your advice before committing.”
“Bullshit!” Mr. Logan yelled. Alice jumped.
“Do I seem like an amateur to you?” he choked. “Do I seem so stupid that I’d buy into that transparent excuse?”
“Y-yes. I mean no!”
“You’d better mean no.” Mr. Logan’s face had gone a nasty red underneath the designer stubble he’d cultivated over the weekend. Alice hadn’t bargained on this.
“Where’s your essay?” Mr. Logan shouted. “Show me what you’ve done.”
Alice bit her lip. “Please, sir, I’ll have it for you soon. Honestly. I just need a bit more time.”
“Time,” Mr. Logan snarled. “If I don’t see that piece of work on my desk by Break today, I’m putting you in detention.”
Alice paled. Vindictive bastard. There was no way she could do the essay by Break. Nor could she, under any circumstances, go to detention. It would spoil her spotless record. What would her father do? What would Oxford do? Hopefully, Oxford didn’t look at your junior year report cards, but you never knew. You didn’t get where Oxford was by not being thorough.
“No, please, Mr. Logan,” she gasped. “I can explain. Please, please give me a chance!”
“See me after class,” Mr. Logan snapped, spotting the tears welling in Alice’s eyes. He turned hurriedly away and started assigning parts. He couldn’t stand the sight of women weeping.
Tally put her head on Alice’s shoulder. “You all right, honey?”
“I hate him,” Alice sniffed imperiously. She’d pulled herself together now. Tally’s hair smelled of fruit.
“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t mean any harm. I think it’s really sexy when he gets pissed off.” Tally gave a lingering sigh. “Have you decided what you’re going to write to T?”
“Natalya,” Mr. Logan butted in. He was smiling his dimpled smile. “I’d like you to play Desdemona in this pivotal scene.”
“Fabulous!” Tally immediately jumped up, almost knocking Alice over in her hurry. “Where do I start?”
“Right here. But first, could you remind us of the context, please?”
Tally squinted at her copy of the play. “Oh yeah. This is where Desdemona’s maid, Emilia, is preparing Desdemona to go to bed with Othello. The next act is their big showdown. Where he murders her. Most foully.”
Mr. Logan nodded approvingly while Tally took her place on the stage, a raised slab around the fountain and did a little curtsy.
Alice picked some daisies out of the soil and ripped their heads off. Tally was so pathetic in front of Mr. Logan. And the acting around the fountain was so bad she could hardly bear to watch.
“I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed,” read Gabby Bunter as Emilia. Lord knew why Mr. Logan had cast her; she was too fat to be anybody’s personal maid. Gabby was muttering her lines with zero expression. Her book started to shake uncontrollably. What a nerd.
Meanwhile Tally had adopted some kind of breathy, low-pitched voice that she obviously thought sounded tragic.
“O, these men, these men!” she huffed, putting on a mopey face.
Finally, when the scene was over, Mr. Logan dashed onto the stage, applauding loudly.
“Natalya, that was wonderful.” He brushed straight past Gabby, who drooped her head to one side and slunk away.
“I’ve rarely heard Desdemona read with such… pathos.” Mr. Logan was practically drooling.
I’m going to be sick, Alice thought.
“Oh, thank you.” Tally blushed demurely. Jumping down from the stage, she flung herself back on the grass next to Alice.
“Hey,” she whispered, “I’ve been thinking. About Tristan. Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”
“Why the fuck should I?”
“Because he’s a good guy. He was probably telling the truth about not shagging Dylan.”
Alice winced.
“And you know what I’ve just realized?” Tally went on. “You can never prove it if someone’s been faithful to you. You can only prove it if they’ve been unfaithful.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“You know, like if you’d actually seen T in bed with someone else—that’s proof. Then you’d know for sure that he was cheating. But there’s no way of knowing for sure that he’s not cheating. Being suspicious of someone is an endless quest. Sometimes, you have to trust people or you’ll go mad.”
Alice nodded slowly. Maybe there was some wisdom in that.
Just then, the bell rang in Quad and reverberated around the grounds.
“You.” Mr. Logan beckoned to Alice. “I haven’t forgotten.”