Page 96 of Spearcrest Knight

A flurry of emotions burst to life. I have to read through the text five times before I can take in its full meaning. I decide to give myself the afternoon to think about it and figure out a reply, but soon get the second text, this time from my mum.

It’s summoning me off-campus for a small dinner tonight with her and dad.

My heart sinks when I read her text. We rarely see each other during term time, and my parents don’t usually make exceptions to rules unless something’s happened.

When the taxi drops me off outside a small restaurant in Fernwell, I half-expect my parents to be waiting inside with news that a relative has died. I enter the restaurant with my heart in my mouth, more nervous about seeing them than the bad news I’m anticipating.

I spot them straight away: Mum’s dark eyes and Dad’s worried face. They sit across from one another, not exchanging a word, Dad tapping his fingers against the white tablecloth, Mum sipping nervously on her white wine.

My heart drops like a crashing meteorite through my chest at the sight of them, leaving behind a crater of familiar emotions. Guilt, fear, anxiety.

“Hi Mum, hi Dad...”

They both stand up to hug me and I take a seat with them. Smooth jazz plays in the background, and the restaurant is lit softly and well-decorated, but the atmosphere is stifling. I breathe deeply, and can’t seem to fill my lungs with air.

“Sophie—how are you, my love?” Mum says.

My eyes sting at the question. I’m not upset and she’s not even really said anything, so why do I have the sudden urge to cry? But it’s not like I’m going to be telling Mum and Dad about everything that’s happened, so I swallow back the lump in my throat. “Um, fine, Mum. Just busy with schoolwork.”

“I can imagine,” Mum says.

My mind scrambles for reasons I’ve been summoned here. Did Mum and Dad end up finding out about my job or about me getting in trouble with Mr Shawcross? Did they hear I didn’t do as well as last time in my Maths exam? Did they somehow find out I lied about Christmas and wasn’t staying with Audrey?

“So,” Dad says with painful awkwardness. “How’re university applications going?”

My heartbeat falters. I squirm uncomfortably in my chair.

“They’re fine. My form tutor said the applications are strong and my personal statement is perfect.”

“Yes,” Mum says with a smile. “I bumped into Theresa in the staff room, she was full of praise.”

I gulp and wait.

“She was particularly impressed that you’re applying to so many Ivy League universities.”

There it is.

I wait.

“I hadn’t realised you were applying to universities in America,” Mum says, her voice airy. “I thought the plan was Oxbridge?”

“I’ve applied there, too,” I mumble.

“Right, yes, well done, honey.” Mum sips her wine and smiles again. “Are the Ivy Leagues in case you don’t get in?”

I hesitate, licking my lips.

“You have to believe in yourself, Sophie.” Dad says, patting my arm. “You’re working so hard, all your teachers are telling us so. Neither of us can imagine you won’t get into Oxbridge.”

I know this is the time to tell them I want to go to Harvard, but for some reason, the words stay stuck in my throat, coagulating into a thick lump. No matter how much I try, I can’t seem to spit it out.

“You are an ambitious girl, Sophie, you’ve always been.” The fondness in Dad’s smile somehow is worse than if he’d been angry. “There’s nothing wrong with having ambitious backup plans. But university is expensive, even with student loans,especiallyin America. And a lot of your classmates will also be attending Oxford and Cambridge. You can't underestimate the power of having strong connections. I know you miss your old school sometimes, and I know Spearcrest hasn’t always been easy for you, but remember, all its advantages are there for you to reach out and take.”

He stops and they both look at me with expectant smiles, as if waiting for a response. So I force one out. “I know Spearcrest is a great opportunity.”

The waitress arrives and takes our orders. After she walks away, Mum reaches across the table to touch my hand, which is fisted around my napkin. “We just want what’s best for you, Sophie. You know this, don’t you?”

My words are now a thick, glutinous lump in my throat. Words like: if you wanted what’s best for me, you wouldn’t have kept me trapped in this hellhole for all these years. If you wanted what’s best for me, you wouldn’t have forced me to endure bullying, mockery and insults all this time. If you wanted what’s best for me, you’d actually ask me whatIwant for once.

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