What Have They Done to Liza McLean?

MEG

I’m going to have to kill her.

There’s no other choice this time. It’s her, or me.

Through the thick, dark-stained timber door I can hear Liza’s laugh. Light and melodic. I know she’s winning him over and for some reason that makes me even more furious. My fists, which always seem to be gripped in two tight balls lately, constrict further and I make a conscious effort to release my fingers and stretch them out, wiping sweaty hands on my skirt.

I’m in the Douglas College winter uniform and my damp palms feel gross on the scratchy wool. The blazer is just as bad, so I cross my arms and tuck each palm underneath it against the sides of my torso. I sigh lightly at the relief of the cool, soft cotton of the shirt. It’s almost mid-Autumn, but still too warm for heavy winter fabrics in the day, if you ask me.

How on earth did I end up with a little sister like Liza? Me, all sharp insides and soft, round exterior and her, lean and angular outside with the lax and easy disposition. Her, tall and dark, and me, short and fair. It’s almost as though we are opposite in every way. Not almost. We are. So very different.

There goes the laugh again, and my hands are instantly back to fists.

I have murderous thoughts towards Liza most days, but today feels especially bad. It’s like she doesn’t even care. We are both charity cases at Douglas College, she should know that better than anyone. It’s an incredible opportu- nity and, although it’s not the most warm-and-welcoming school in the world, and although when I think about my old friends at my old school, tears spring into my eyes, it’s Douglas College, for goodness sake.

Douglas College.

The oldest, most prestigious school in the country. Prime Ministers, and Ambassadors, and globally revered CEOs, and illustrious creatives who have won equally illustrious awards . . . they all seem to come from this school. Some famous person once said something about not wanting to be a part of a club that was prepared to let them in, and there are moments when I think that about Douglas College. I know I’ve only got a year and a half left of high school, but it seems like Liza is determined to make sure I don’t get to graduate.

This isn’t the first time I’ve sat outside the principal’s office waiting for her. I’ve actually lost count, and we’ve only been here two months. If I didn’t know what a thoughtless, selfish, space cadet Liza could be, I’d think she was doing it on purpose, just to mess with me.

My right knee is doing that bouncing thing it does when I’m anxious and I’m aware that someone is watching.

I shift one hand to my thigh to stop the movement, and scan the room. Pam, who works at the school’s front desk, is typing away, seemingly oblivious to me. My staring at her must make her uneasy, though, because she suddenly stops tapping on the keyboard and glances up. She gives me a gentle smile – you know, the sort that middle-aged office workers seem to give without hesitation – and then goes back to her screen.

Moving my line of sight, I catch the gilt-framed portraits of the school board looming over me. Prudence Johnson, head of the board, seems to be staring into my soul with a half-smile that indicates she knows all my secrets. I twitch in the chair.

Someone else is still looking and if it’s not Pam, then it must be . . . I glance to my left and Benedict Hargreaves offers me a grin. Immediately my knee starts to move up and down again.

I turn my head quickly away from him, even though it’s too late. We’ve locked eyes. Benedict Hargreaves (the fourth – if you can believe it) is without question one of the most interesting students at Douglas College. He’s in

Year Eleven, same as me, and he’s the only student in the entire school who doesn’t reside on campus. He’s got his own house down the street, that’s how rich he is. The rules don’t apply to him, clearly.

Take his uniform, for example. There is a strict dress code at Douglas, but you can pick the students who come from the uber-wealthy families. They still wear a uniform, but it’s customised in a way that somehow makes it seem high-end. Even right now, Benedict’s trousers are higher, longer, and looser than the standard uniform. His knitted school jumper is a little tighter than everyone else wears it, but the sleeves are longer so it’s clearly intentional, and his tie is askew – something I’ve been in trouble for more than once. It’s almost like he’s channelling a Harry-Styles- circa-2021 aesthetic, including the floppy, relaxed brown waves that he pushes out of his face whenever he seems a bit stressed. Not that I’ve noticed. Much. It’s just, how can you not? It’s not like the guy blends in.

I’ve never spoken to Benedict Hargreaves, and he’s never spoken to me. Fee kids don’t seem to pay much attention to scholarship kids. We’re beneath them. Except for Liza, that is. Of course she’s managed to charm her way into the inner sanctum. Her new bestie is Kitty de Vries and at first I thought Kitty was taking Liza on as a project, or a game, but it seems they’re genuine buddies these days.

I can still feel Benedict’s eyes on me, and I glance sideways beneath my lashes at him.

‘Surprised to see you here,’ he says.

I have no idea how to answer that and a blush races up through my body and into my cheeks. My tongue feels four times bigger than usual and my voice is croaky when I go to reply.

‘I . . . I . . .’

He doesn’t seem to notice my awkwardness and takes my poor excuse for a response as an invitation to continue. He’s leaning back in the chair, his right ankle crossed over his left knee.

‘You normally hang out in the library, don’t you? It’s Meg, right?’

I can’t believe he knows who I am. ‘Yeah,’ is all I can muster. ‘Meg McLean.’

He changes position and leans forward, dropping his raised foot to the floor. He reaches one hand across the two chairs that separate us.

‘Nice to meet you, Meg McLean,’ he says. ‘I’m Benedict Hargreaves.’

I try to give my sweaty hand a subtle wipe before taking his and provide what I hope is a quality shake. His palm is much larger than mine, cool to the touch and strong.

‘The fourth,’ I respond. I notice the pupils in his very blue eyes shrink with the comment and he drops my hand. ‘My reputation precedes me,’ he says drily. His voice is low and even and his accent is unusual. Posh, but in an

old-fashioned way. ‘Or is it just my name?’

I shrug, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. My body betrays me in every way. Sweaty palms when

I’m angry or frustrated. Stupid grins and giggles when I’m dying of embarrassment. I’m perpetually inappropriate.

‘Nothing bad,’ I assure him. It’s the truth. All I know about Benedict Hargreaves is that his dad is loaded, he’s got a whole bunch of half siblings with weird made-up jobs who are always in the tabloids, and he’s the only student in the entire school who lives off campus. Rumour has it his house is amazing. I believe it.

He leans back against the wall, no longer looking at me. ‘It’s a small enough school, I guess. Everyone knows everyone, right?’

He’s not wrong. Douglas College is elite, and the numbers reflect this. There are only sixty kids in our year level. A far cry from the almost five hundred of my old school. However, the way I get ignored most days tells me that although the school might be smaller, the cliques are tighter.

His earlier enthusiasm has dissipated and for reasons I don’t quite understand, I want it back.

‘I’m not in trouble,’ I confess. ‘I’m waiting for my sister.’ Benedict looks back at me. Is that disappointment in his face? Typical. Sorry I’m not a wild child like my eter-

nally cool little sister.

He moves his mouth to speak, but whatever he’s about to say is silenced by the door opening and Liza’s singsong voice.

‘Yes, sir,’ she’s saying to Principal Phillips. ‘I cross my heart and kiss my elbow. You will not see me here again.’

‘I certainly hope not, Miss McLean.’

I’ve never heard him sound so soft and kind. How on earth does she do it?

I stand up as Liza reaches me. ‘Meggsie!’

Like it’s some sort of surprise that I’m waiting for her. ‘Liza,’ I say under my breath. ‘Pip called to talk to us and when I couldn’t find you . . . it seems you’re here . . .

again.’

It’s no good though. She’s not listening to me. She’s one hundred per cent checking out Benedict Hargreaves. I grab her upper arm and steer her towards the main door of the office. She turns and looks back at him and when I follow her gaze, I see him raise an eyebrow at her

and grin. Typical. Liza has everyone at her feet. ‘Hargreaves!’ Principal Phillips bellows from his office.

That sounds more like him. It’s only then that I realise I never found out what Benedict Hargreaves was in trouble for.