Page 21 of All Saints: Pledge

She scoffs. “Helena, the fact thatanyonefrom our town made it into Oxford is insane. Much less two of you. Honestly, it feels like more than coincidence.”

“Three of us,” I say absently, slitting open the envelope in my hand. It’s thick paper. At least when they send a giant bill, they do it nicely. God Bless the English. “Clara is here, remember?”

She’s silent a long beat. “Clara…Kendall and Clara,Clara?”

I glance at the screen. “Yeah. Um. Have I not mentioned that?”

Jaqueline is speechless. And then pensive. “I mean this in the most scholarly of ways, but what the actual fucking hell?”

“I believe the British favor saying bloody hell.”

“No, I mean it. How are all three of you atOxford? Like, stick a tin foil hat on me, but it’s conspiracy-level weird. Doesn’t it strike you as odd?”

I’m silent because… yeah. Exactly all that. And add a cup of secret society and Kendall’s father running the scholarship interviews. I cough. “I mean, I was a straight-A student.”

“Yeah.” Jaqueline is far away, chewing her lip. “I mean, I’m happy for you. I truly think you deserve it. But. Clara wasn’t that good of a student. Good enough to get into college, sure, but…Oxford?”

I shrug, trying to sound nonchalant instead of like I’m letting her in on a secret that toes the line of my NDA. “Kendall’s father works here, maybe Kendall had him pull strings so he and Clara could be together. And maybe Kendall only got in because of his Dad too.” There. That’s close to my suspected truth without involving my scholarship.

“Yeah. Maybe.” She’s not convinced. “Just please watch out for yourself, okay? I don’t love how this is shaping up into a true crime flashback. There’s something else going on here. And it seems to center on Kendall.” Her best friend gut instinct is too good. Another sigh. “Okay, since this is your dream and everything, and I’m rooting for you to become Prime Minister or whatever, what is your plan B?”

I chortle. “I can’t become Prime Minister, Jac, I’m not a British citizen. And what do you mean Plan B?” While we chat, I open the thick envelope and unfold the heavy paper. It’s a statement that my current term is paid in full, compliments of my scholarship. Relief sweeps over me. At least I’ll be allowed to finish my term, not forced out in the night. Something flutters to my desk, and I grab at it.

“Yeah, what are you going to do if you lose the scholarship? Didn’t you say you couldn’t afford even another term on your own? We need to plan a way for you to stay in Oxford. Marriage of convenience?” She snorts at her own joke.

I blink. “I…” The paper that fluttered to the desk? It’s a check.

For tenthousanddollars.

That guy at dinner had said he’s just in it for the money. No freaking joke. If this is what test one paid, what about test two? My inner circuitry rewires in a moment because…tenthousanddollars and a paid for term? That’s a hell of a lot of money. So much money, that if I’m careful, I can fund my own stay here long enough to get a job or qualify for a legitimate scholarship. I’ve heard Margaret Dusberry is looking for second year interns. If I can stay long enough?—

“Helena?”

New plan. I soak this society for as much money as I need to fund my stay at Oxford. I’ll have to play the game a while longer. I’ll have to deal with Kendall. But it will be worth it.

I slowly raise my eyes to the screen. “Screw coming home. I’ll figure out how to do this on my own. Here. Get a job, or apply for other scholarships.”

Jaqueline’s brow crinkles. “You really think you can find a job to help you pay for a college in anothercountry? Don’t you have a student visa?”

What if I stay long enough to fall in love and marry someone here? What if I stay in this fraternity long enough to get all ofthe financial benefits and then bow out gracefully at the end? I don’t have anything to lose at this point, and I can’t explain it but Oxford feels vital to me. Like I’m meant to be here. “While we were talking I got my confirmation that my scholarship renewed. You were right, Jac, I was worried about nothing. All my volunteering and performance has been enough. This term is paid for. It’s all going to work out.”

She presses her lips together. “I want to be happy for you, but are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird. Even weirder than the start of the conversation, if that’s possible.”

“I’m completely fine. Better than fine. I have to go but thank you. Love you.”

And it’s true. I’ve figured out how to turn this game to my advantage, starting with a hefty downpayment on my future. What could possibly go wrong?

I get up from my desk, and in doing, nudge the envelope again. There is something else in it. I pause halfway to the door, intent on cashing this check.

The small card is black, and my stomach sinks. It’s another summons—for tonight.

12

My grandfather forbade me from attending Oxford University—he’d strictly wanted me to attend a state school. Levelheaded, utilitarian, practical. He’d told my parents he’d only help me with college if I didn’t go abroad anywhere, and specifically, not Oxford. So of course, for as long as I could remember, I’d been secretly obsessed with Oxford. First, because it was forbidden, and then much later because I decided I wanted to study International Relations, become an ambassador, and then someday an educational pundit. When I’d learned that both Margaret Dusberry and Zelman Brandis—the notable Australian thinker, winner of a Pulitzer Peace prize, and educational advocate—had graduated from and would teach at Oxford for the next five years? It felt like fate was finally calling me to be somebody. I follow Nobel Laureates and political pundits the way some of my classmates follow boy bands. I wanted to be someone who advocated for equal access and quality of education across race, gender, and geography. Secretly? I want to sit on the Presidential cabinet, as Secretary of Education. Or Secretary of State. Something huge and meaningful. Jaqueline constantly referred to me as a “lesscheerful Leslie Knope”, because of my conviction that the right people in higher government would make all the difference for the citizens of our country.

And it’s all tied up together, in my memories of my grandfather. He sat on the city counsel for our small city. I watched him in the chambers, seconding motions or arguing with salient points against things that could harm our community. He’d been the linchpin vote keeping an asphalt plant from being built next to the elementary school in our community. He gave our little area of the world his all. His incredible intellect. His dedication to all animals and people having good, safe, healthy lives and access to nature. And he made a difference. People respected him, came to him with problems outside of his official duties. I know several times there were men who pulled up alongside his beat up farm truck and tried to talk him into running for state office, mayor, or governor. I’d heard my Dad talk to my mom, about how he’d flatly declined every time. And I remember wondering how someone could see the impact they made on a small scale and not want to expand their influence for good. It’s what launched my dream for…more. To take that influence my grandfather had on our corner of the world, the seeds he’d sown in me to do right by others, and broaden its impact. To fight greed and corruption. To earn everything myself with the hard work of my own hands.

In direct juxtaposition, here I am applying makeup so that I can go to my Secret Society meeting. At Oxford. Where I’m accepting money for something I don’t fully understand. Something that has included being drugged and kissed by a man I consider my sworn enemy. This is the stuff that political opponents willdelightin discovering and smearing across tabloids.Thisis where I have to wonder if I’m helping my cause or hurting it by participating. And yet. I’d looked it up. Fourteen U.S. Presidents had been Freemasons. The Bushfamily famously attended the Skull and Bones society at Yale. I wouldn’t be the first, and I feel like it’s enough mooring to keep me on the path.

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