RUBY
While Ember reads my cover letter for my application to Oxford, I trace a lilac circle around her name with a gold marker in my notebook. Now, the act of having Ember read my letter feels much more official and solemn.
—"My passion for politics, from its philosophical foundations to its economic aspects in practical application, makes Philosophy, Politics, and Economics the perfect degree for me. It combines all the disciplines that interest me, and I hope to delve into the most important topics of contemporary society with the depth that only Oxford can provide," my sister reads aloud and then lies back for a moment. She holds the pencil between her lips and turns over on the bed to look at me.
I hold my breath. Ember starts to smile. I pick up one of her platform sandals from the floor and toss it at her.
—"Come on, Ember," I whisper.
It's two in the morning, and we should have been asleep long ago. But I've been fine-tuning my presentation until just a few minutes ago, and since my sister is a night owl anyway and often works on her blog until the early hours, I confidently walked into her room and asked her to read it.
—"It's a bit convoluted," she replies just as softly, the pencil between her teeth making it hard to understand her.
—"It has to be."
—"It also sounds a bit pretentious. As if you're trying to show off your knowledge and all the specialized books you've already read."
—"That's also part of the protocol."
I get up and approach her bed. She grumbles thoughtfully and circles a couple of things on the paper.
—"In any case, I'd strike this out," she says, handing me the sheet. "You don't need to praise and mention the university you want to enroll in over and over. They know it's Oxford. You don't have to tell them a thousand times."
I blush.
—"True." I take the letter and place it on her desk next to my planner. "You're the best. Thanks."
—"You're welcome. And besides, I know how you can repay me," she says, smiling.
That's how it always works between Ember and me. If one does something for the other, she expresses what she wants the other to do in return, so the first person can ask for another favor. It's a kind of barter, a continuous exchange of favors. But if Ember and I are honest, we just enjoy helping each other—that's all.
—"Go ahead."
—"Could you take me to one of your school parties for once?" she suggests nonchalantly.
I tense up. It's not the first time Ember has asked me, and every time, it hurts to disappoint her because it's the one favor I'll never grant her.
I'll never forget the day of the parents' meeting when Mom and Dad went to Maxton Hall to introduce themselves to my teachers. Maxton Hall, the prestigious school where the rich and elite children prepare themselves for entry into some of the most prestigious colleges, is a world apart from my own humble background. The ancient main building, far from being wheelchair-accessible, witnessed the disdainful glances of the other parents during a parents' meeting. My parents had dressed up, but that day taught me that Bell elegance couldn't compare to the sophistication of Maxton Hall. While the other parents arrived in Beaufort dresses and suits, my father wore jeans and a jacket. My mother donned a beautiful dress, but unbeknownst to us, she had flour from the bakery stuck to it—something we only realized when a lady shot her a disdainful look and turned away to gossip with her acquaintances.
Even now, my heart clenches when I recall my mother's pained expression, which she tried to hide behind a forced smile. Or my father's determined chin as, for the umpteenth time, he struggled to cross a threshold with his wheelchair, while Mom and I assisted him. They both tried not to show how much it hurt when the other parents wrinkled their noses and turned their backs. But they didn't fool me.
That day, I decided that henceforth, there would be two worlds for me: my family and Maxton Hall. I would carefully keep them separate. My parents don't belong to the English elite, and that's perfectly fine. I won't ever put them in an uncomfortable situation again. After the boating accident, they've already suffered enough, and the drama that unfolds at Maxton Hall is the last thing they need to face.
The same goes for Ember. My sister is like a firefly: her radiant personality and open character always draw attention. I know exactly what can happen at Maxton Hall, having experienced firsthand what those privileged students are capable of simply because they believe the world belongs to them. The stories I've heard about the elitism, the secrets, and the power dynamics... they're all too real.
The stories I've overheard in the girls' bathroom at Maxton Hall has turned my stomach over the past two years. I won't let that happen to Ember. I only want the best for my sister, and that "best" doesn't include the school or its attendees at all.
—'You know they don't allow outsiders in' I hesitate to reply.
—Maisie went to the back-to-school party last week, Ember retorts dryly. She said it was great.
—Then she must have slipped in without security noticing. Besides, I've already told you the party was a complete failure.
Ember furrows her brow.
—According to Maisie, it wasn't a failure. Quite the opposite. —I press my lips together firmly and close my agenda. —Come on, Ruby! How long do you plan to put me off? I promise to behave. Really. I'll act like I belong there too.
Her words sting. It hurts that she thinks I don't want her to come because I'm afraid she'll embarrass me. A lump forms in my throat as I see her hopeful gaze.
—I'm sorry, but it can't happen, I say in a hushed voice.
In a split second, hope turns into unbridled anger.
—You're crazy.
—Ember...
—Admit that you don't want to take me to your damn parties! —she accuses me.
I can't respond. Lying isn't an option, and telling the truth would hurt her.
—If you knew what goes on behind the scenes, you wouldn't keep asking me to take you with me, I whisper.
—"If you need something in the middle of the night again, go ask your stupid school friends," she hisses, then covers her head with the blanket and turns toward the wall.
I try to ignore the painful ache spreading through my chest. Silently, I gather my task notebook and the sheet of paper from her desk, turn off the light, and leave the room.
The next day, I'm a wreck, and I have to use concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes. After the argument with my sister, I couldn't sleep, and I spent almost the entire night tossing and turning. Lin quickly notices that something is wrong, but she still thinks it's about Beaufort and the weekend catastrophe, and I let her continue believing that.
After class, I head straight to the library. I want to make use of the half-hour before the next meeting to return some books and borrow new ones that weren't available last time.
The library is my favorite place at Maxton Hall, and I've spent most of my time there. With its vaulted ceiling and open balcony, despite the dark wooden shelves, it feels cozy rather than gloomy. As soon as you step through the door, you sense a pleasant and uplifting atmosphere where you simply feel good. Not to mention the countless books accessible here. In Gormsey's tiny library, there isn't a single book that would have helped me craft my cover letter, whereas here, right from the start, I felt overwhelmed trying to decide which title to begin with.
I've spent entire days in my favorite spot by the window—for one, because it's the only place at Maxton Hall where I feel comfortable; and secondly, because you can't take home the centuries-old books that aren't available for loan. Sometimes, when I'm here, I wish my day had more hours so I could immerse myself even deeper in the world of knowledge.
For me, the library here is like a glimpse of what awaits me at Oxford. Although there, the libraries, according to their website, are even larger and better stocked, and they're open twenty-four hours a day. Studying the introductory literature listed on the university's page can be distressing. Many books are complicated, and some paragraphs require multiple readings to understand. But it's also enjoyable, and I've gotten used to creating small booklets where I summarize the content and write reflections and notes.
I'm lucky that the three books I'm eager to read are available again. After borrowing them, I head to the group room. I arrive a little early, but that gives me time to write the agenda on the board and organize my notes. Since we spent so much time discussing the back-to-school party on Monday, today we need to cover some other topics.
I open the door with one hand while clutching the books against my chest with the other. I place the stack on a table. But even before I take off my backpack, I run my fingers over the cover of *Models of Democracy* by Arend Lijphart.
—"We have a date this weekend," I whisper.
Someone lets out a soft snort.
I turn around. At that very moment, my backpack slips from my arm and crashes loudly to the floor.
At the other end of the room, James leans against the windowsill with his arms crossed. He looks at me curiously.
—"It's a little sad, isn't it? "he says.
I need a moment to compose myself.
—"What's sad?" I ask as I pick up my backpack from the floor and place it on the table alongside the books. One of the holes at the bottom has torn a little more, and I curse inwardly. I'll have to ask Ember to help me sew it up.
—"To say with joy that you're spending the weekend with school-related matters," he sneers, "I can think of much better ways to occupy those days spontaneously."
—"What are you doing here?" I ask, undeterred and ignoring his insinuations.
—"Didn't you hear what Lexington said? I have to start taking responsibility and recognize that my actions have consequences," he says, mocking the director's words with a smirk.
I unzip my backpack and pull out my agenda, pencil case, and committee folder one by one.
—"So you've suddenly decided to follow what he says?"
James' gaze is impenetrable as he stands in front of me. In that moment, I can't gauge his emotions.
—"It seems I don't have much choice, do I?"
I give him a skeptical look.
—"The other day, you made your decision quite clear."
He shrugs. It's likely that the coach reprimanded him when he found out he went to the field. He deserved it.
—"I'm here. You can be happy."
At that moment, he bends down and picks something up from the floor—a marker. It must have fallen out of my backpack. He hands it to me. Since the gesture seems almost friendly, I clear my throat and search for something to say.
—"The punishment only lasts for one term, James," I point out; it's the first time I've said his first name.
His expression changes. Suddenly, he doesn't seem to be looking through me but directly at me, into my core. There's a fire in his eyes that ignites me and shakes my entire body. Excitement tightens my stomach. He abruptly averts his gaze and turns on his heel to leave.
—"Doesn't change the fact that I hate this." My heart races, and I swallow hard as he sits in a chair with his arms crossed, looking out the window.
I'm not sure what he means by "this." Whether it's the fact that he can't play lacrosse or that he has to spend time here. But I don't care either way.
I have too much at stake to be confused by a spoiled rich kid. Whether we like it or not, we both have to go through this, and the sooner we accept it, the easier we'll get through this stage.
Without saying another word, I turn to the whiteboard and write down the agenda items for our meeting. It makes me nervous not knowing if James is watching me or not, but my pride won't allow me to turn around. Fortunately, the door to the room opens soon after.
—"I'm sorry; my home printer went crazy, so I had to leave to print my cover letter. But now I have it..." Lin trails off mid-sentence when she sees James.
—"Hey," he greets her.
I wonder if he greets everyone like this. He probably says "hey" to teachers too when they call him in for Oxford interviews.
—"What's he doing here?" Lin asks me suspiciously, still eyeing James.
—"He's serving his punishment," I reply.
James remains silent. Instead, he leans forward, opens his bag, and takes out a notebook. He places it in front of him on the table. It's a black leather-bound notebook with the sinuous B representing the Beaufort brand on the cover. It's probably worth a fortune.
Once we visited a Beaufort branch in London when we were looking for a new suit for Dad. That was two years ago when he still had to go to court frequently because of the accident.
I still remember perfectly the price tags with four digits, thanks to which we didn't stay in the store for more than two minutes. We discreetly left through the same entrance we came in. Lin clears her throat next to me. Caught red-handed, I avert my gaze from James and curse the heat that, for the umpteenth time, rushes to my cheeks. It's appreciated that my friend has enough tact not to make any comments.
'Take this,' she says, handing me a transparent portfolio with several sheets inside. 'My presentation.'
I take mine out of the folder and give it to her.
'Mine isn't perfect yet,' I admit.
'Neither is mine,' Lin agrees. 'That's why we'll read each other's. Do you think you can take a look this afternoon?'
'Sure. Tomorrow we can review them during our free period after Math.' I quickly grab the gold marker and jot down in my agenda: 'Read and correct Lin's cover letter.'
'I feel honored to see my name written in ultra-fine marker,' Lin whispers, smiling.
I smile back at her and finish writing the agenda on the board as our team members gradually arrive. They glance at James, except for Camille, who greets him with two cheek kisses.
Once everyone is in, we start the meeting.
'The most important point we need to discuss today is actually our second major event of the school year,' Lin begins, her face lighting up. 'Halloween.'
Kieran murmurs a ghostly 'booooo,' and laughter spreads among those present.
'The masquerade ball went quite well last year,' Lin continues, opening a slideshow from the previous year on her laptop. She flips to the next slide, projects the screen and holds it up high so that the others can see the images.
'Couldn't we just do the same thing?' Camille suggests. 'I mean, if it worked so well... It would save us a lot of work.'
'No way,' Lin says, scandalized, and Camille shrugs. Meanwhile, I position myself to the right of the still-empty whiteboard and write 'Halloween' in the center. Then I circle the word.
'Today, we need to agree on the theme,' Lin announces. 'Let's brainstorm, shall we?'
For a few minutes, we remain silent.
'I only know what I don't want,' Jessalyn declares.
'Let's start there. That way, we can set some boundaries,' I encourage her to continue.
'I absolutely don't want orange. Black and orange decorations are for kids' birthdays; they don't fit with Maxton Hall at all.'
I nod and write at the upper right corner of the whiteboard: 'stylish decor.'
'What about black and white?' Doug suggests. He's the quietest member of the team and rarely speaks up, so his input surprises me. I smile at him and turn back to the board.
'Black and white is too cliché.'
Suddenly, the room falls silent.
I turn around slowly. James is leaning back in his chair, looking relaxed, which contrasts sharply with the sudden tension in the room.
'What?' Lin asks, expressing exactly what I'm thinking.
'Black and white is overdone,' James repeats, as dry as the first time.
'Bruh-got it,' Lin mutters.
He looks at her, frowning.
"I don't understand."
"We're brainstorming, Beaufort. This way, we throw out ideas and write them all down—**without commenting**—to find a spontaneous solution," I explain as calmly as I can.
"I know what brainstorming is, Bell," he replies, pointing to the board with his chin. "And I'm telling you, nothing good will come from it."
"That's coming from the guy who thinks we need strippers to create a good atmosphere," Kieran mutters.
No one says anything, but I sense the tension in the room rising. Except for Camille, everyone glares at James, though he doesn't seem bothered by it. He looks curiously at the group.
"Come on. You must have realized it yourselves."
"If you truly believe that, you're out of your mind," Kieran says, and Jessalyn nods in agreement.
"Guys," I interject, looking at both of them in consternation. "Calm down." I point the marker at James as if it were a weapon. "No need to laugh. We spent most of the vacation planning the party. It wasn't boring."
James leans forward in his chair, resting his arms on the table.
"It's a matter of taste."
I feel a vein starting to throb on my forehead.
"Oh, really?"
He nods.
"And why, if I may ask?" Lin insists, her tone bittersweet.
I recognize that tone. It doesn't bode well, and it sends shivers down my spine. James raises his hand and begins to enumerate.
"The buffet looked cheap. The music was crap. There was no clear dress code. And the atmosphere didn't kick in until way too late."
I sense Lin trembling beside me. If we were alone, she'd probably pounce on James for that harsh critique. Each of us put so much effort into that party, and it's unfair to label it a complete disaster—especially because it's not true. But as the team leader, I need to respond sensibly. Some aspects didn't work optimally, and we confirmed that during our Monday review of the event.
"As for the music," I say calmly, "I agree with you. It wasn't perfect. But despite that, people danced, so I wouldn't call it a total failure."
"Because dancing is what you do at a party, precisely. But the atmosphere wasn't nearly as good as it could have been with the right music."
Three years ago, I attended a conflict resolution seminar at my old school. The course lasted five afternoons, and they taught us methods for resolving disputes. I don't remember everything, but one thing stuck with me: you need to give the impression to all involved parties that they've been heard and redirect the energy from the conflict toward what truly matters.
With this purpose in mind, I take a deep breath and stare at James.
"I hear your criticisms, and I'll take them into account. However, that doesn't change the fact that we're still trying to find the Halloween theme. Doug's idea seems really good to me, and I'll jot it down. Just like I'll note all the other proposals so that we can ultimately assess which ones are more or less suitable." With that, I write "black and white" on the board. Then I turn around—"Any more suggestions?"
"Yes, I have an idea," Jessalyn interjects, raising her hands as if she has an innovative vision. "Classic chic with a grotesque twist. Cemetery candles, black flowers. A modernized version of the traditional Halloween party." I jot it down immediately.
"Just as boring," James mutters.
"If you can't contribute anything, shut up, Beaufort," Lin grumbles.
"A vampire party in red and black," Kieran suggests.
"Another bore," James murmurs. "I'll resist. I won't stab him in the eye with a marker."
"What's actually boring is how you're criticizing all our ideas," Jessalyn counters. "Why don't you come up with something for a change instead of spreading your negative energy?"
James straightens up and looks at his notebook. I doubt there's anything related to planning the Halloween party in there.
"I propose a Victorian-themed party. Weston Hall would be perfect for it. We could get cutlery and dishes from that era, punch bowls, lace napkins, and more. All in black, ideally. The primary light sources would be candles, just like back then, creating a spectral atmosphere. Naturally, we'd need to be careful not to set the school on fire, but with proper fire safety measures, we could achieve it. The dress code would match that period—decadent and refined. And the Victorians played a lot of games during Halloween. We could incorporate them throughout the party."
After James finishes, a few minutes of silence follow.
"It's... really a fabulous idea," I stammer.
His eyes sparkle as he looks at me.
"I thought we were just jotting down ideas, no commenting," I avoid his gaze and write the proposal on the board.
"Once I read that in the 19th century, cakes were prepared with five hidden objects,"Kieran says. "Finding these objects in their slice of cake was believed to bring great luck. We could modernize it and give prizes to those who find them."
"But first, we'd need to warn people. We wouldn't want anyone choking," Camille objects, wrinkling her nose.
"What music should we play?" Jessalyn asks.
"How about classical music with a twist?" I suggest.
"Not those weird dubstep-electro-classical remixes of yours," Lin groans.
"Hey! They're cool. Besides, I can concentrate really well with them." Everyone on the team looks at me incredulously. Seeking support, I turn to Kieran, who usually shares my taste. "Come on, Kieran. Tell them."
"There are fantastic remixes of Victorian music. I recently heard a great one by Caplet," Kieran says.
I smile gratefully and silently mouth, "Send me the link."
"Well, I'd organize an orchestra," James interjects. "And I'd learn a dance for the start of the party."
A murmur of approval sweeps through the room, which makes me feel a little uneasy. I have no idea how to dance.
"Okay, when I hear this, I almost feel like we've already decided on the theme," Lin opines, seemingly as surprised as I am at that moment. She points to the board. "However, I'd like us to vote. Who votes for 'black and white'?"
No one says anything.
"Who votes for the classic chic party?" Again, no response.
—How about a crazy vampire-themed party?
No one raises their hand.
—What do you think of a Victorian-style Halloween party? — I ask, and before I finish the sentence, four hands shoot up.
For a moment, it seems as if James finds it too foolish to give his opinion, but eventually, he does.
I hadn't expected this turn in the meeting. I glance at Lin, surprised.
It looks like this year we already have a theme for Maxton Hall's Halloween party.