All That's Left Page 6

  It takes me a minute to understand what he means but then I remember the email Casey sent me. “Senior. I’m going to be a senior.”

  He nods. “I’m a junior so I can’t park in the senior lot, but I can drop you off as close to the entrance as I can get.”

  We turn into the gates of the school, and there are kids everywhere—literally everywhere. Yellow buses are parked up with kids spewing out of them, there are girls stood around gossiping and guys tossing a ball about, and it’s loud. There’s so much noise, and despite myself, I start to feel anxious, nervous—really, really nervous.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Just park where you usually park. I need to make a call before I go in anyway.” And by that I mean I’ll need a cigarette before stepping through the doors of this place.

  He nods and steers the car to the right, around the humongous building. As he pulls into a spot in the crowded car park, he glances over at me, and I realise I’m supposed to move. I reach down and grab my bag as he reaches for the door handle. “Wait,” I blurt out. He halts and looks back at me. “What’s your name?”

  “Oh.” He allows a small smile. “It’s Paul.”

  I smile back at him. “Thanks for driving me, Paul.”

  He glances down at his watch, and I see kids all around the car start streaming inside. The bell must have gone.

  “Do you think you could drive me home at the end of the day too?”

  “Y-Yeah,” he stammers. “Of course, if you need me to.”

  I smile. “Would you consider driving me in and home every day?” I ask, the idea forming in my mind just as I ask the question. This could actually be the perfect solution until I can pass my test. “I’ll pay you, of course. Is fifty dollars a week enough? Or a hundred?”

  He just gapes at me. After a minute, I take his silence as a yes and go to climb out of the car, throwing my bag onto my shoulder.

  He quickly exits his seat and falls into step with me. “Do you want me to show you the way to the office?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll figure it out. Thanks though.” I force a smile. “Thanks for the lift. I really appreciate it.” He stares blankly back at me. “Ride,” I correct myself. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll meet you back at your car at the end of the day.”

  He nods, shoots me a shy smile, and then takes off in the direction of the school as I turn away and start fishing about in this ridiculously oversized handbag before I realise my cigarettes won’t be in there. I turn back to the school and start making my way forward.

  I follow the crowd to the main entrance, staring up at the building in front of me. It’s four floors high with huge windows, and the building goes on and on. I swallow with unease. Scrap what I said before—this building is four times the size of my old school, not three. I’ll never be able to figure out my way around it.

  I’m fine. I can do this.

  My stomach rolls with unwanted nerves as I realise this is actually happening. I’m actually starting high school over here—just what I said I wouldn’t do.

  I really don’t have any control over my life right now and I hate it.

  I step forwards to join the students making their way up towards a large entrance, and when someone knocks into me heavily from behind, I turn with a scowl on my face. It’s a group of guys who look to be a year or two younger than me.

  They pull up short when I glare at them. “Whoa,” the one at the front mutters, his eyes moving swiftly up and down my body in a way that just pisses me off more. I hate it when guys openly leer at girls.

  “Hey.” One of his friends pushes in front of him. “You must be new. Do you need help finding the office? I can take you there.”

  I hear his friends mutter whilst he tries to move in closer to me. I take a step back, shaking my head. The last thing I need is some player trying to hit on me in front of his friends. I turn back around and head up the steps without another word, ignoring the fact that I can feel their eyes on me as I ascend the stairs. At the top, I pass through the doors and step into a huge corridor lined with metal lockers. Kids are stood around chatting and opening their lockers, grabbing books and rushing around. There’s a loud shout at the end of the corridor, and when I glance that way I see Ethan stood at the back surrounded by people, laughing as two guys high-five. It spurs me into action, and I take an immediate right and walk down an adjoining corridor.

  I do not need to deal with Ethan right now.

  Predictably, I get lost almost immediately, and when another bell rings, the halls empty out as students find their way to classes. I’m just starting to think I should have taken Paul up on his offer to show me the way when I spot a sign at the end of the hall that directs me towards the main office.

  I expect a small room with a couple of ladies working at desks like in my old school, but what I actually find is a huge open-plan office that’s bustling with people. There are a couple of adults behind a large main desk and what looks like offices at the back that are connected to the main room. There are two students lining up to be seen by the staff, and I walk up behind them and wait my turn.

  When a brunette who has glanced back at me in interest a couple of times steps away from the desk, I step up and face the middle-aged woman behind it. “Hi,” I start. “I’m a new student here. My name—”

  “Honey, you don’t have to even say it,” she tells me, smiling wide as she peers down the ridge of her nose at me. “You’re the absolute spitting image of him. Even if I didn’t know you were moving here, I think I could spot you as siblings if I saw you walking down the street.” I bristle. She’s not even letting me say my name before linking me to Ethan. “We are so happy to have you here.” Her eyes roam over my face. “You two certainly won the genetic lottery.”

  I force a polite smile.

  She turns around. “Guys, she’s here!”

  To my absolute mortification, more people appear behind her, smiling and introducing themselves, telling me how welcome I am and how happy they are to have me here, like I’m someone important, not just another standard student. Then the principal comes out and introduces himself, saying how happy he is to have me and how much the school admire my family. I listen to them all in a sort of daze. They’re talking about Ethan like he’s some sort of celebrity, and they’re acting like my dad has more power than the president. I’m so surprised I don’t even know what to say in return.

  A bell rings somewhere, and that seems to signal something to them. They all disappear so it’s just the original lady left with me. “We’ve been waiting on you all week. Casey just keeps on calling to check if you’ve showed up, and now we can tell her you have.”

  I can’t help my scowl at this. I still can’t believe my dad has his assistant chasing around after me. He’s too good to do it himself; he’d rather have someone else do it for him.

  I clear my throat, and she finally hands me a piece of paper. “Now this here is your schedule. Right now, you should be in homeroom, but don’t worry about that. We have someone coming to give you an orientation tour so you can figure out your way around this place, and you can just go to whichever class you have after it’s finished. The school’s pretty big, but you’ll get your bearings in no time.”

  I’m barely listening to her, my eyes scanning over the schedule in my hands. The list of classes goes on and on.

  I glance back up. “Um, I think there’s been a mistake.” She looks confused. “I already sat my GCSEs back in the UK so I don’t need to do history, gym, chemistry, or French anymore. I’m doing my A levels now.”

  Understandably, she doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about.

  “In the UK you finish school at sixteen when you sit exams—they’re called GCSEs—in all your subjects,” I explain. “Then you go to sixth form or college and study for your A levels, but you only have to do four subjects for that. I’m studying advanced maths, chemistry, physics, and English lit. I’ll just be focussing on them, so I don’t need to do these other subjects.”


  “Honey, I’m not sure—”

  “I’m not doing them again,” I tell her point-blank. “I already did them. I got straight 9s.” My jaw clenches at the look on her face, and I take a deep breath. Of course she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but I don’t like the way she’s looking at me like I’m talking complete nonsense. “9s are the same as getting an A++. I can’t get a higher grade than that. I don’t need to do them again.”

  “Well, this is your schedule.”

  She’s not listening to a word I’ve said. “It needs to be changed.”

  “We can’t do that, sweetie.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because this is America, not the UK, and you have to do it like we do it over here.”

  “I understand that, but what’s the point of me repeating it? I’ll be going to university next September and it makes more sense for me to focus on my A-level subjects in preparation for that. I’m still planning on sitting my A levels. I’ll fly back for the exams.”

  She just sort of stares at me in return, her mouth gaping open a bit. She has no idea what I’m talking about.

  “Can I speak to the principal again please?”

  She looks surprised at this, but I don’t care. He just told me if he can do anything to help me, just to ask. I’m about to ask.

  The woman in front of me stands up slowly and goes to knock on the door of an office in the corner. She disappears inside the room, and a couple of minutes later, he reappears.

  “Is there a problem, Isabella?”

  I ignore the fact that he’s calling me by my loathed full name and instead explain what I just told the other lady.

  When I’m finally through with my explanation, he pastes a condescending smile on his face. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  I just about manage to not let out a noise of frustration. “Why not?”

  “I spoke to your father on the phone only last week and he explained that he wanted you to finish your education here in America, the same as Ethan. That means following a full schedule just like the rest of our students.”

  Of course he bloody did. God forbid he might actually be proud of me for my incredible GCSE results at the end of year 11, the last year of high school in the UK. I didn’t even get a single congratulatory text from him. My mum was over the moon, but my dad couldn’t have cared less that I was in the top 5% of the country in terms of results.

  “But it makes no sense,” I insist. “I’m moving back to the UK the second I turn eighteen. I’ve already passed these subjects. I don’t need to do them again. I can’t improve on them. Didn’t Miss Greene email you?” I’m starting to get worked up. My old teacher told me she’d deal with this for me. “She told me she was going to. I don’t need them for university. I’m not planning on going over here.” I’m planning on completing my A-level work online and then flying back for the exams. That way when I go home, I won’t be behind the rest of my year group and I can just start university next September as planned.

  “I’m afraid the decision has been made, Miss Carlington.”

  “That’s not my name,” I snap back immediately. I’m getting so frustrated I could scream.

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I realise I don’t hear any chatter around me. I glance around and see everyone is looking over at us.

  “Look, Isabella, your teacher sent over your information, and I can see you’re extremely intelligent. She was very complimentary. You’ll have no trouble catching up with your fellow students.”

  I know I won’t struggle to catch up. “That’s not what I’m concerned about. I don’t see the point in repeating classes. It’s a waste of my time.” And it’s probably a completely different syllabus, one I know nothing about and don’t need to know anything about. It’s a complete and utter waste. “Please.” I hate that there’s a hint of desperation in my voice.

  “I’m afraid these are the instructions from your father.”

  “And if my father told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?” I snap. Crimson blushes over his face, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. He’s acting like my dad’s puppet, just like everyone does just because of the colour of his money, and that’s just the way my dad likes it.

  “Miss Carlington—”

  He shouldn’t have called me Carlington again. That’s what does it.

  “Right, well, maybe I should call my father right now.” I’m so pissed that I’m actually going to do it. I haven’t initiated a phone call with him myself in years, but I’m willing to do it now. I see the principal hesitate at this as I pull out my phone and scroll for his number. I hit the button to call it and place it to my ear. Of course he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t answer as I stand there with all these adults watching me, pitying expressions on their faces because they know it’s pointless what I’m saying. They know I’ll end up having to do what they say eventually.

  After at least two full minutes of me calling, the phone call is ended on the other end.

  “Look,” Principal Robertson starts, “I know it’s tough moving to a whole new country for senior year, especially when the semester has already started and at the end of the week, no less, but I’m sure you’ll be happy here. Your brother loves it here, and I’m sure you will too.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not my brother.”

  I look around the room, knowing I’m not going to win this argument but not ready to give in quite yet. I glance back at the timetable and for the first time see my name printed in the corner. Isabella Carlington.

  “You’ve got my name wrong,” I say, pushing my schedule back across the desk. “I go by Kavanagh. It’s my mum’s name.”

  He frowns at this. “I wasn’t told that.”

  “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be, would you?” I sigh. “Will you just change it please?”

  “Honey, you don’t want the same name as Ethan?” The original lady I spoke to chuckles. “That name holds quite a bit of sway around here.”

  “No,” I say flatly. I can’t believe she just said that to me. I can’t believe she’s openly admitting that the name Carlington will open doors for me, like I’d want to be associated with that for even a minute. I let out frustrated sigh. It’s not even 8am yet and I’m exhausted. “Please change it to Kavanagh.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “Really?” I turn back to the principal. “Are you going to ring my dad and get him to confirm if that’s okay too?”

  His jaw tenses, and I know I’m right. I know for whatever reason, he doesn’t want to piss my dad off, but I’m not leaving this room with that name on my schedule. He must see the determination on my face because he concedes this just as the door to reception opens and another student enters.

  The schedule is taken away from me and returned a couple of minutes later with my correct name on it. “Will it be changed in all the systems too?” The last thing I need is teachers calling me by the wrong name in class.

  She nods her agreement, her mouth in a flat line, and I can tell she doesn’t agree with my outburst, doesn’t think my behaviour is acceptable.

  “Thank you.”

  She looks behind me. “Ah, there you are.”

  I look back to see the student who just walked in step forward.

  “This is Pippa. She’s one of our top students here. She’s going to give you your orientation tour.”

  I stare at her for a minute, my jaw tight, before I nod in defeat. It doesn’t look like I’m getting my classes changed any time soon, and honestly I just want to get out of here. I can deal with my dad later—or, more to the point, email Casey so I can actually get in touch with him.

  I turn to the girl in question. She’s small, not just smaller than me, but small in general. She’s probably only five foot, five one at the most and is dressed like she’s a librarian or going to a job interview or something. Her high-necked white blouse hits just above her elbows and is tucked into a navy pair of straight trousers. I look down at my
own bare legs and suddenly think perhaps I’m not dressed appropriately, but then I remember on the walk in I saw plenty of girls in shorts and miniskirts and low-cut tops showing a lot more skin than me.

  Her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and is the colour of honey, and freckles dust every surface of her skin. The thick-framed glasses she wears on her nose highlight her big brown eyes, and the glasses have slid down slightly so that she has to push them back up. She’s sort of staring back at me too, for some reason looking all kinds of nervous, and when our eyes meet, she jerks her gaze away and clears her throat. “Um…hi.”

  “Hi,” I reply.

  She doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, just sort of watches me awkwardly, and it takes the woman behind the desk telling her she’d better get started before she seems to remember what she’s here for. She hurries towards the door, indicating that I should follow her.

  I reluctantly follow her through it and then we’re back on the main corridor I walked in through. I glance over at her; she’s biting her lip, looking like she wants to be here about as much as I do. “Look, you don’t have to show me around. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

  Her eyes widen. “No, no, it’s totally fine. This is one of the biggest schools in the state. It took me weeks to find my way around it when I first started here.”

  “Really, it’s not necessary,” I tell her, glancing around and looking for the nearest exit. I really don’t think I can do this today. My hangover has kicked in, and I cannot deal with the bullshit that is this schedule and my dad controlling me from afar. “I can figure it out.”

  “Well actually”—she glances around to make sure no one’s listening then leans slightly closer to me, dropping her voice conspiratorially—“I think my Spanish teacher is giving us a pop quiz this morning, and this means I’ll miss it and have extra time to study.” Her eyes dart around nervously like she’s just done something really bad. “Spanish is my worst subject, and I’m pretty sure I can stretch this tour out to last the whole period.” She looks back at me. “I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

  I can’t help it—I smile back at her. That’s exactly what I would do if I were in her situation. “Okay, let’s do it.”