Page 121 of Spearcrest Knight

“Oh?”

“I got my first acceptance letter.”

“Yes, I checked your application portal and saw. Congratulations, my love. Still, there’s plenty of time for other offers to come in. Oxbridge typically send out their admissions letters in early March.”

I hesitate. I should have known she’d snoop. I should have known she wouldn’t make this easy. Well, time to rip the plaster off.

“Thanks, Mum. But I’ll… I'll be going Harvard.”

There's a long silence, during which I'm sure Mum is mouthing my revelation to Dad while he frowns at her questioningly.

“I know Harvard is world-class, lovely,” she says finally with the careful tact of a politician. “But America is expensive—so expensive. And all the connections you made at Spearcrest…”

My heart is hammering and my palms are sweaty as I grip my phone. “I know, Mum, but some Spearcrest kids have also applied there, and think about all the connections I’ll make at Harvard too.”

“I know, love, but how will we possibly afford it?”

The lump in my throat makes it hard to speak, but I force my voice out. “Mum, you don’t need to worry about it. I'm old enough now, it’s my responsibility to worry about that. Even if I don’t get any of the scholarships I applied for, I’ll get a job over the summer. I’ll stay on top of everything.”

The silence that follows is so long I check my phone to make sure she hasn’t hung up on me. But no, she’s still there, quiet.

Then, in a small voice, she says, “It’s just… think about everything we’ve worked for.”

“Mum.” My heart is beating so fast my pulse slams in my throat. “I know how important you think Spearcrest is. But you wanted me to come here, and I came here. You wanted me to make friends here, and I did. You wanted me to work hard and make the most of my opportunities here—and I did just that. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life imitating Spearcrest kids, trying to be one of them. I don’t want to be one of them—I want to beme. I want to pursue law, and Harvard has one of the best law schools in the world. I…” I swallow back the lump of emotion in my throat. “I appreciate everything you and Dad have ever done for me. I’ll never not be grateful for that. But it’s time for me to make my own choices now, and this is what I’ve chosen.”

Another long silence follows, but for the first time, it’s not filled with lung-crushing anxiety. For the first time in a long time, the weight on my chest is lifted.

I breathe, long and deep, and wait.

“Well, your father and I are proud of you,” Mum says. It’s a non-committal response. If she’s disappointed or angry, she’s trying to hide it. “We’ll support you no matter what. We’ve only ever wanted the best for you.”

“I know, Mum.”

She sighs. “Well, it’s late anyway. You should go to sleep, love.”

She doesn’t want to continue the conversation, which I suppose is fair. “Sure, okay, Mum.”

“Goodnight, Sophie.”

“Night, Mum.”

She hangs up, and I slump down onto my desk, cheek pressed against a pile of Maths workbooks, staring into the blinding white orb of my lamp lightbulb.

I’ve done it. I can’t believe I’ve done it. I’m going to Harvard. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

A knock at the door startles me.

I find a Year 12 girl on the other side, wearing a rowing team t-shirt and holding an enormous chocolate bar. She raises an eyebrow.

“Is Sophie here?”

I frown. “Er, I’m Sophie.”

“Right. There’s a boy outside who wants to talk to you.”

“Boys aren’t allowed in the girls’ building,” I remind her severely.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I told him I’d pass on the message. You go get rid of him. Aren’t you a prefect?”

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