She wakes up because the others are banging into the room and there are people shrieking in the corridor. ‘Oh my
‘I had a relapse,’ Julia says, sitting up. ‘If you want me to prove it, come over here.’
‘Whatever,’ Holly says. ‘I didn’t ask.’ This time she doesn’t sound like she cares. Her eyes are on Selena, who is rummaging in the wardrobe, head down so that her hair hides her face. Selena’s hands move through the drawer in slow motion, like this is taking almost more concentration than she’s got.
Holly is no idiot. ‘Hey,’ Julia says, shaking her arm that’s gone to sleep. ‘If you guys are going down to the Court, can you get me earbuds? Because I’m going to die of boredom if I’m stuck here any more without music.’
‘Use mine,’ Becca says. Becca is no idiot either, but all this is zooming straight past her; it’s outside her horizon. Julia wants to shove her deep into bed and tuck the duvet tight over her head, stash her in a warm safe place till all of this is over.
Holly is still watching Selena. ‘I don’t want yours,’ Julia says – there’s nothing she can do about the leap of hurt on Becca’s face. ‘They hurt. My ears are the wrong shape. Hol? Will you sub me that ten squid after all?’
Holly wakes up. ‘Yeah, sure. What earbuds do you want?’
Her voice sounds fine, normal. Julia holds on to the thread of relief. ‘Those little red ones like I had before. Get me a Coke, too, OK? I’m sick of ginger ale.’
That should keep them busy. There’s only one place in the Court that carries the red earbuds: a tiny gadget shop at the back of the top floor, last place the others will look. With any luck, they’ll be back just in time to grab their books for study, and Julia won’t have to see them for more than a few seconds.
The realisation that she’s trying to dodge her best friends slams her with another tsunami of sleep. Sounds spiral away from her, Holly saying something and the slam of Becca’s locker, Rhona still gibbering far away and a song playing down the corridor, sweet and light and fast,
That night, after lights-out, Julia realises what the knockouts were for: now she’s wide awake, couldn’t doze off if she tried. And the others, wrecked after last night, are out for the count.
‘Lenie,’ she says softly, into the dark room. She’s got no clue what she’ll say if Selena answers, but none of the others even move.
Louder: ‘Lenie.’
Nothing. Their breathing, rhythmic and dragging, sounds drugged. Julia can do whatever she wants. No one is going to stop her.
She gets up and gets dressed. Jeans shorts, low-cut top, Converse, cute pink hoodie: Julia does drama club, she knows about dressing the part. She doesn’t bother to be quiet.
The corridor light gives the glass panel above the transom a faint grey glow. Julia flares it to a blaze and looks down at the others. Holly is sprawled on her back, Becca is one neat curve like a kitten; Selena is a whirl of gold and a loose curl of fingers on the pillow. Their steady breathing has got louder. In the second before she opens the door and slips out into the corridor, Julia hates all of their guts.
Outside is different tonight. The air is warm and restless, the moon is enormous and too close. Every noise sounds sharper, focused on her, testing: twigs crack in the bushes to see if she’ll jump, leaves rustle behind her to make her whip round. Something is circling among the trees, making a high rising call that runs down her spine like a warning – Julia can’t tell if it’s warning something about her, or the other way round. It’s been so long since she was afraid of anything the grounds could hold, she’d forgotten it was possible. She moves faster and tries to tell herself it’s just because she’s on her own.
She is at the grove early. She slides behind one of the cypresses and leans against it, feeling her heart pound at the bark. The thing has followed her; it lets out its rising call, high up in the trees. She tries to get a look, but it’s too fast, it’s just the shadow of a long thin wing in the corner of her eye.
Chris is early too. Julia hears him coming a mile away, or at least she hopes to Jesus it’s him, because otherwise something else the size of a deer is crashing down the paths like it doesn’t care who hears. Her teeth are in the bark of the cypress and she tastes it on her tongue, acrid and wild.
Then he steps into the clearing. Tall and straight-backed, listening.
