snatched it out quickly and immediately my eyes were drawn to the first word …
her.
Her? The last line from Scarlet’s diary reappeared in my mind. Someone needs to know the truth about … her.
The question was – who was she?
I know you can do this, Ivy. I believe in you.
Your sister,
Scarlet x
P.S. This is the final straw.
I wiped a tear from my cheek. I’d spent a good deal of my life alternately being infuriated by Scarlet or trailing after her like a lost puppy, but now I missed her more than anything.
I folded the paper neatly and hid it in my dress pocket. I sat staring into Scarlet’s rose-scented desk, the silence of the empty classroom flowing around me. But then I noticed the ticking of the clock and realised that it was only two minutes until my next lesson.
I glanced up at the blackboard. It was still completely covered with names and dates! I picked up a dusty board rubber from Madame Lovelace’s desk and scrubbed it as hard as I could. Chalk filled my nose and I suppressed the urge to sneeze. It was useless. I’d wiped the whole thing and it had just turned from writing to a white cloud, no black in sight. It would have to do. Madame wouldn’t expect Scarlet to do a decent job of it, anyway.
I hurried out of the classroom and heard someone call out to me.
“Scarlet!”
I spun around to see Ariadne leaning up against the wall.
“Have you been there the whole time?” I said, baffled.
“I was waiting for you,” she said, staring at her shoes.
Oops. I hoped she hadn’t seen me looking in the desk. “Oh …”
“What were you doing in there?” she asked.
I ran a hand through my hair. “I didn’t want to get on Madame Lovelace’s bad side already, so I cleaned the blackboard for her.”
Ariadne looked confused and then panicked. “It must be time for home economics! It’s in W3, right? The third room in the west wing?”
“Of course,” I said. “Perhaps you should lead the way, so that you remember how to get there.”
Ariadne nodded and then set off in what I hoped was the right direction, her little leather satchel bobbing up and down on her back. I followed behind, keeping my hand curled tightly around the diary page in my pocket.
The rest of the morning was a blur. I tried to act indifferently in my lessons, even when they were fascinating, like the stuff about Isaac Newton and gravity, or fun, like making Victoria sponges in home economics. I spent lunch ignoring the looks that Penny tried to give me. By the afternoon I felt exhausted from the effort of being Scarlet, and couldn’t remember what I’d been doing most of the time. All I could think of was the letter in the diary.
And then it came to the last class of the day. Sport.
Miss Fox lined us all up in the hall and we stood there blinking in the low sunlight spilling through the windows.
“Now, girls,” she said sharply, “as it’s the beginning of term, you must pick which exercise to partake in. You may choose between swimming, horse riding, hockey, lacrosse and ballet. However, if you are lacking in any particular talent –” she looked one of the larger students up and down like she was a cow at a market – “I recommend you take part in one of the team sports. I’m sure we can find a place for you somewhere in the field.”
The girl hung her head even lower than it had been before. I shuffled uncomfortably, tugging at the hem of my uniform. I was glad not to be the focus of Miss Fox’s attention for once.
“Write your names on the sign-up sheets and join your classes,” said Miss Fox.
I thought immediately of my soft pink ballet shoes wrapped in tissue. I hadn’t danced since Scarlet died. But even if I felt hesitant about starting again, there was no choice. Scarlet would have picked ballet.
So I headed straight for the corner where a group of slim, elegant girls had already gathered. But before I could get there, Miss Fox had grabbed my arm.
“I presume you’ll be choosing ballet, Miss Grey?” she hissed in my ear.
I looked up at her, wide-eyed. “Yes, I’m good at ballet, Miss,” I said. “I’ve had lessons for years.”
Miss Fox gave me a nod, accompanied by a murderous stare, but before she could say anything else another teacher appeared next to us – a tall, strong-looking woman with bobbed hair – and started talking loudly about a shortage of hockey sticks.
I glanced over at the hockey corner. A group of nervous-looking girls stood there, and I was surprised to see Ariadne among them. She shrugged hopefully and I waved back. I couldn’t imagine poor Ariadne lasting through five minutes of hockey but it seemed Miss Fox had struck a nerve.
I joined the ballet girls. It took me a few seconds to remind myself to write Scarlet, not Ivy. I pulled out my fountain pen and signed my name with a flourish. I prayed that no-one was paying close enough attention to notice that I wrote with my left hand, not my right.
When I looked up, the other ballet girls were all staring in my direction.
“Scarlet,” said one of them. She had dark skin and big wide eyes, like a deer’s. It wasn’t a greeting, or a question, just a statement.
“Hello?” I said guardedly.
The other girls giggled and turned aside, whispering to each other. Several of them had already pulled their hair into tight buns, giving their faces a strange, sharp quality.
“Is this everyone?” I heard a voice say behind me.
I turned around to see a woman who looked so young that had she not been out of uniform I wouldn’t have been sure if she was a pupil or a teacher. She was wearing a black leotard with a long white satin skirt and a matching headband. Her hair was red, not a wiry copper like Penny’s but a lovely soft colour, almost blonde.
“Yes, Miss Finch,” said the deer-eyed girl.
“Nearly the same as last year, then. You girls go and get changed, and then meet me in the studio.” She smiled at me warmly. That was a relief, at least.
I trekked back up to my room to
