Steering the Stars (3 page)

     
 
A shrill voice jolted me out of my head. “You’re late.”   

     
 
“Excuse me?” My shoes squelched as I turned left and spotted a girl about my age leaning against the wall with her arms crossed in front of her body. Her outfit mirrored my own—boxy blue blazer with red piping and an embroidered patch over the breast, white collared shirt, a shapeless skirt, and dark tights that ended in clunky leather oxfords.

     
 
“You’re late,” she repeated.

     
 
I wiped cold raindrops from the tip my nose and stammered, “S-sorry. With the rain and being new to the city, getting here took longer than I thought it would.”

     
 
Motionless, the girl stared at me and clicked her tongue.

     
 
Confidence drained from me like water pouring from an open faucet. I felt my shoulders slump and my breathing change. I wasn’t normally the type to be intimidated easily, but this girl… well, she was intimidating. Maybe it was her perfectly parted dark hair or her unfriendly expression. Everything about her came off so severe, she might have stepped right out of a pamphlet for a deeply religious school or some kind of military camp.

     
 
Even though I wanted to curl up into a ball and roll right back out the door, I forced myself to smile and stick out my hand. “I’m Hannah.”

     
 “
I know who you are.” The girl uncrossed her arms but she didn’t take my outstretched hand. “You’re Hannah Vaughn, sixth form transfer student from America,” she went on, assessing me with critical eyes. “I’m Ava Cameron, one of the lower sixth prefects.”

     
 
I’d read
Harry Potter
and researched enough online to know that prefects were class officers that were able to hand out detentions or demerits. Sort of like hall monitors on steroids.

     
 
“Ah, hi?” I tried. “Nice to meet you?”

     
 
Deep creases appeared at the sides of her mouth. Maybe that was her best attempt at a smile?

     
 
“As a prefect and a fellow member of the writing program, I’ve been given your schedule and have agreed to acclimate you to our school.”

     
 
Lucky me.

     
 
She produced a piece of paper and pointed to it. “On Mondays, you begin with a double period of economics. Then, a fifteen-minute break and maths.”

     
 
“And when do I take my writing classes?” I asked, leaning in and trying to decrypt the complicated-looking schedule. “That’s why I’m here.”

     
 
Annoyance flitted across Ava’s face. “We move into specialties after lunch. But as I was saying…after maths, you should report to the dining hall for a thirty-minute lunch period. After that, you take accelerated composition in the McCabe Building.”

     
 
A body pressed into my space and a head covered in sunny blonde curls poked over my shoulder to get a look at the schedule. “Brilliant! You have that class with me.

       I blinked at the head. It belonged to a ruddy-cheeked girl with a wide, gap-toothed grin. “Um, hi?”

     
 
She stepped around to my front and grabbed for my hand. Once she had a good grip, she shook it vigorously. “I’m Tillie Hoover.”

     
 
“I’m Hannah,” I said and my relief was palpable. At least Tillie here didn’t look ready to sentence me to latrine duty or tar and feather me.

     
 
“Oh, I know. And let me tell you, it’s been ages since we’ve had anyone new and exciting around here. I can’t wait to show you around and introduce you—” Abruptly, she stopped and lifted my hand up to eye level. “Oooh, I love your varnish! What’s the shade called?”

     
 
I figured she meant my nail polis
h
.

       “Oh, I think it’s called Afternoon Breeze,” I told her, curling my fingers to my palms. My nails were short and square and painted a soft robin’s egg blue. The bottle had been a going away gift from Caroline. She’d held it up to the outside of my house and said,
Just in case you forget the color of home, all you have to do is look down.

     
 
“It’s fantastic,” Tillie said, nodding. “I looked all summer for a shade of blue that wouldn’t make my skin look waxy but I never found one.

       “If you like, I could bring it in for you.”

       Warm brown eyes squinted at me. “You would do that?”

     
 
“This is not a beauty school,” Ava injected. “And painted nails break uniform code.

       Tillie scrunched up her nose. “Oh, bollocks. That rule is never enforced.”

     
 
“Still,” Ava said, gruffly clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Didn’t you read the student handbook, Hannah?”

     
 “
I tried.” And I did try. “I just didn’t manage to make it past paragraph two before falling into such a deep sleep that I woke up with drool caked to the side of my face.”

     
 
Tillie giggled but Ava was undeterred. “I know things are done differently in
America,
but here we do have rules.”

      
 
Oh God. I could sense exactly where this was heading. This was the smugness Henry had warned me of repeatedly.
Remember that they hate Americans,
he’d said, chucking me on the chin as we’d traded goodbyes at the airport.
They think we’re a bunch of ignoramuses with a cache of guns and red Solo cups.
Be sure to prove them wrong.

       I needed a reset button. That’s all.

     
 
If I could only go back three minutes and start this conversation all over.

     
 
I blinked and looked around. To my total embarrassment, everyone in the office was staring. The kid with the sketchbook had stopped drawing. Even the receptionist was looking this way. I wondered if I should offer to pop some popcorn for them to munch on.

     
 
“It’s just nail polish,” I whispered.

     
 
Ava gave her head a shake. “Transfer students always think they’ll be given preferential treatment.”

     
 
“No, that’s not what I meant.”

     
 
Tillie rolled her eyes. “Oh, please get off it, Ava.”

     
 
Ava pursed her lips and widened her stance. “I’m not on anything. I simply think it’s a matter of—”

     
 “
Girls, I see you’ve met our new student!”

     
 
A man emerged from behind the reception desk. His clothes were tailored, his skin was bronzed like he’d spent the summer lounging on a beach in the south of France, and his hair was long and styled with a bit too much gel to be considered casual.

     
 “
Miss Vaughn, is that correct?”

     
 “
Y-yes.” How did all these people already know my name? Had the administration sent out some kind of missive to the entire school?

     
 
The man shook my hand. “Your essay was just wonderful. We’re so pleased that you won the writing contest and were able to join us all the way from America. Aren’t we, girls?”

     
 
Ava’s nasty expression flattened to something just this side of friendly. “Of course, Mr. Hammond. Tillie and I were just about to accompany Hannah to her first course of the day.”

     
 
Whoa
. I looked back at the man, who I now realized was Ethan Hammond, the head of the writing department.
This
was him—the man who had chosen my essay and sealed my acceptance to Warriner.

     
 “
Mr. Hammond?”

     
 
He smiled. “The very one. I believe I’ll be seeing you this afternoon in my classroom.”

     
 
“Oh… I mean...”
Way to make a good impression, Hannah.
“I’m looking forward to it.”

     
 “
We have a rigorous curriculum but I am always available if you have any questions or concerns. And I won’t bite. At least not on the first day.” He laughed loudly at his own joke. “I’m certain Ava and Tillie will make sure you feel comfortable as you familiarize yourself with school grounds.”

     
 
“Absolutely, Mr. Hammond,” Tillie piped up. And, no, I didn’t miss the dreamy way she said his name.

     
 
His green eyes crinkled at the corners as he tipped his gaze toward me.  “Hannah, I know you have a lot to think about at the moment, but if you permit, I’d like to suggest squash to you. We have a mixed team—that’s boys and girls for one sport. I’m not supposed to actively recruit students—you understand,” he said, leaning toward me conspiratorially. “School rules. But just between us, we are desperately in need of players this year if we hope to make any progress with the team. Ava and Tillie can share the specifics with you if you find yourself in the least bit interested.”

     
 “
Squash?” I looked around. Most of our audience seemed to have lost interest, but the black kid with the sketchbook was closely following the entire exchange. His lips were clamped and his cheeks were puffed out as though he might burst into laughter at any minute.

     
 
“Quite a few of my writers participate,” Mr. Hammond said seriously.

     
 
“Squash
?” I asked again.

       Tillie nodded encouragingly. “You know… squash?”

     
 
“No.”

     
 
She wrinkled her nose. “With racquets? And a ball?” When I didn’t respond, she shook her head in frustration. “For your sport?”

     
 
At that, I laughed and flapped a hand dismissively. “Oh, thanks for the offer but I don’t play sports.”

     
 
Her eyes rounded. “But you must!”

     
 
Mr. Hammond said, “You may want to reconsider. Nearly every student at Warriner participates in an athletic. It’s not a written requirement but it is highly encouraged. We like to think of it as way to engage your peers as well as the faculty.”

     
 
Sure, I signed up for new experiences when I moved to London but running around and getting sweaty was not one of them. “I don’t think…”

     
 
Ava spoke over me. “For girls, we have lacrosse, netball, and hockey.”

     
 
Mr. Hammond lifted a finger. “And don’t forget about squash.”

     
 “
Right,” she added, turning back to me with unhappy eyes. “
And
squash. I’m one of the team captains this year.”

     
 
“I’m not captain, but I play on the team,” Tillie told me.

     
 
Mr. Hammond cocked his head. “So what do you think?”

     
 
I rocked back on my heels, hoping they would read my discomfort and realize I was about as sporty as a station wagon. But that didn’t happen. If anything, his stare became more expectant.

     
 
“Hannah?” he asked.

     
 
OH. MY. GOD.

     
 
Squash
?

     
 
My heart was drumming and I could feel tiny beads of sweat forming up near my hairline. Blood rushed behind my ears.

     
 
I should have said no and laughed in their faces but I felt trapped. Panicky. Desperate to make a good impression on my teacher. Desperate to make a new friend in Tillie Hoover.

     
 
Adrenaline rushed through me and my traitorous mouth formed the word before my brain could fully process the seriousness of the situation. “Okay.”

       Tillie clapped with delight.

     
 “
Brilliant!” Mr. Hammond flashed me a megawatt smile. “We’ll discuss our practice schedule this afternoon. The official squash season doesn’t begin until late November and until then we only meet on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. And as for uniform—don’t worry too much as I’m sure we’ll be able come up with something in your size for today.”