Page 101 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

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“The first thing you need to know about being a respected leader is—”

“No’ tae lie about said status?” Finlay offers casually from his position against the wall.

Finlay, Luke and I are standing in the living room, and for the first time in an entire day, the TV has been switched off. It’s no longer the focus of our life, the ball-and-chain of doom. I’m facing Luke, who had been examining me with a sweeping, critical eye, which is now turned over his shoulder and glaring straight at Finlay.

“This would be much easier without you.”

“A sentiment shared by a great many people,” Finlay chirps, eminently cheerful. “Unfortunately, my idea o’ friction actually encourages progress tae get done. So chop-chop, prince boy, and teach oor sassenach well.”

“Do not use that name.” Five words, clipped and testy, and the closest thing to a growl Luke could ever utter.

“Apologies, Jessa,” Finlay says glibly. “Old habits die hard when it comes taesassenach.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, noting Luke’s eyes as they narrow to slits.

Finlay shoots me a pleased grin and gestures at us to continue.

“The first thing you need to know,” Luke repeats in a pointed tone, “is that looks are everything.”

From my periphery, I make out Finlay tilting his head to the side in interest.

“Looks?” I ask hesitantly, glancing down at myself and feeling thoroughly underwhelmed.

“Yes. If you wish to be taken seriously, you must appear perfect at all times. No one will care about the contents of your mind if you have the misfortune to be covered in fluff.” And here Luke plucks a small speck from my shirt. It saysSmash the Patriarchy!in a cutesy font, with a chunky, lethal hammer preparing to attack from above. “Fashion is also a risk in times when your mouth matters more. For example, this shirt.”

Luke gestures at it with a twist of his lips. “As noble as the sentiment is, it is more fitting for photo ops instead of speeches or rallies. If you turned up wearing this, the crowd would be too distracted trying to make out the text. And, as a strident self-proclaimed feminist, a crowd of people squinting at your chest is the exact opposite of your intentions, I’d imagine.”

I frown, this time glancing over at Finlay. It’s always Finlay. “I’m going to be addressing rallies now?”

“Not necessarily,” Finlay answers, crossing his arms. “It’s a way for ye tae get mair confidence. We’ve all been brought up on this type o’ education and it’s blindingly clear that you huvnae. You have words tae say but ye’re too feart tae say them. That’s where we come in.”

“Okay, fine,” I mutter, growing more and more self-conscious. “Slogan shirts bad, plain shirts good. I get it. What next?”

“They are not by definition bad or good,” Luke reiterates. “A photograph alone would be worth a thousand words. But why let a T-shirt define you when your words could do it so much better? This is the difference between an activist and a leader,” he adds. “Activists want someone to look up to, someone different and mysterious enough from them but with the authority to make correct judgments that successfully grow a movement. They do not want someone identical to them in scruffy clothes. Letthemdo that.”

“Scruffy,” I deadpan.

Luke gives me another critical once-over, and he reaches out to pinch my shoulders, setting them wide apart. “Mercifully, your posture is decent.” He tilts my chin up so that I have no option but to meet his soul-searching eyes, and I feel the heat creep across my face in an instant. “I imagine years of dance training has drummed that into you.”

It has. It has also drummed bruises and broken bones and self-esteem issues into me by the dozen, but let’s not discuss that.

“If you nail posture and a more politically neutral fashion, then you can fake your way to the top.” He pauses, and then adds in a wry tone, “Ask me how I know.”

I give him a skeptical look. “Surely there’s more to power than that. It can’t just be about walking around with a straight back and boring clothes?”

“Of course not, but it is years of my training distilled to its essence. I am intimately acquainted with the rituals of the aristocracy. I have studied fashion etiquette, social etiquette, and dining etiquette until tablespoons fell from my ears. However, with each new year, the old ways gradually erode. They fall out of fashion. How you look will always be more important than how youare. And even in centuries to come, if we are all eating dinner on our laps or wearing fig leaves in the future, leaders will still be required. And who do the people look upon? Those who are well-groomed with impressive stature. If you look like you talk the talk, it is all they require knowledge of before placing their faith in you.”

It’s a pretty speech, and the fact that it’s being directed at me — that I could be some kind of leader, one of those well-groomed, impressive people who make important decisions daily — spins my head.

“Benji doesn’t,” I point out quietly.

Finlay nods. “Aye, she’s right enough. Benji’s doon-tae-earth. He’s a leader — ye cannae deny that — and he doesnae talk like a pompous arse. Maybe that’s why he has so many followers. Ever thought o’ that?”

“Yes, well, we will see how long your political crush lasts,” Luke answers, nonchalant, and Finlay rolls his eyes.

When I give Luke a querying glance, he explains, “This is all my assessment. I am sure Fin in the corner has a differing opinion, though he has never needed to present higher than his birth. I would suggest thatJamie Crieffis nothing but a flash-in-the-pan. Within Antiro, I predict there will be leadership contests and a never-ending batch of divisions, purity spirals and petty squabbling. All of this could therefore be avoided if he chose to conduct himself with respectable authority instead of demands for outright bloodlust. His passion will kill him in the end.”

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