Page 25 of Spearcrest Prince

Anaïs: My portrait of you. Memento mori: remember you will die, so don’t be afraid to delude yourself to your heart’s content.

His reply pops up two seconds later.

Séverin: Fuck off, Pauper.

I leave him on read, only because I guess it will frustrate him far more than any reply could.

Chapter 10

L’Invitation

Séverin

DespitetheterriblepictureI sent Anaïs, I submit a different one for my assignment.

It’s a photo I snapped right in between two insults. In that picture, Anaïs is perfectly centred. She sits in that little cross-legged hunch, her sketchbook on her lap, hiding most of her body. Her head appears above her sketchbook, and her mouth is rounded, pursed around a word—probably an insult. It’s not a smile necessarily, but her expression has the mischievous quality of some cartoon woodland creature. Her fey eyes glitter with a sort of wild energy.

After I submit the assignment, I immediately feel as if a weight is lifted from my shoulders. I delete the text chain between Anaïs and me, then solemnly vow to resume ignoring her. Not a message, not a word, not so much as a glance. I want her to believe she means nothing to me and that I don’t have a single second to waste on her.

Unfortunately, avoiding Anaïs is easier said than done—especially when pretentious and overzealous teachers are involved.

Every year, the Arts Department runs a residential trip to the Isle of Skye. Its purpose is usually to get us all to experience the beauty of nature and develop our artistic vision and voices with the inspiration of everything nature has to offer.

The real reason everyone goes on the residential, though, is that the accommodation is co-ed, and everybody fucks like crazy.

When Weston announces the trip, I’m immediately cheered up. Time away from Spearcrest will be a welcome distraction. And getting laid will hopefully push the thought of Anaïs out of my head once and for all.

“As you all know, every year, we set a theme for the residential trip. Last year’s theme, The Sublime, inspired our students to create pieces that have since been featured in some of the best galleries in the world. We expect this year to be no exception. This year’s theme isAletheia, the concept of Truth. The philosopher Heidegger differentiates the idea ofAletheiafrom the idea of Truth as we understand it by translating it as ‘disclosure’—the interpretation you make will be left up to you.”

Truth and disclosure strike me as two very similar things, but before anybody can raise their hands for questions, Weston continues.

“This year, however, we wish to reflect a unique cohort with a unique approach to the trip theme. This year, we wish to pose the theme as a question: what is more truthful, a painting or a photograph? We wish you to question the concept of truth—or disclosure—and investigate what it means to you and how you perceive and practise that truth. Instead of the photography and fine arts classes working on the same assignment separately, you’ll be working in pairs. Between the two of you, you will need to search deep within yourselves and decide which of your art forms is the mosttruthful. You will present your findings in the form of a 3,000-word essay due once you return from the trip, and you will later present your work at the prestigious Spearcrest end-of-year exhibition.”

The Spearcrest Exhibition is a big deal—each year, a panel of judges select the most talented artist to receive an award and a cash grant. I don’t care about the grant, but I do care about the award and the prestige.

It would give my mother another reason to show off to her friends, and that’s the greatest gift I could ever give her.

“Are we going to be in the same pairs as last time, sir?” Parker Pembroke’s plummy accent pipes up from somewhere in the classroom.

Weston nods. “Yes, Mr Pembroke. You’ll be paired with Miss Wilkins.”

I turn to throw a disdainful smirk at Parker. He ignores me but lowers his head, pretending to be taking notes.

What is up with him anyway? Parker is rich and good-looking (by English standards), I can’t imagine he must struggle for dates. So why this sudden interest in Anaïs? It’s not exactly like she’s drop-dead gorgeous. Especially when compared to the other girls in her class.

Of course, the satisfaction of witnessing Parker’s disappointment is quickly offset by the realisation that my plan to keep away from Anaïs—or the problem that is Anaïs, as I like to think of her—is going to have to be put on hold.

Unless…

Nothing is forcing me to do the work the way the teachers want us to. This kind of pretentious philosophical assignment is easy to bullshit. If the teachers had tasked us with taking thirty different shots of each other around the Isle of Skye, I’d be forced to see Anaïs. But the way things stand, I can still hold her at arm’s length, where she should be—where I should have kept her that stupid, annoying night in the club.

Myfathermustbereading my thoughts, though, because a couple of days before the residential, I get a text from him.

Papa:Progrès avec la petite Nishihara?

I roll my eyes. This man texts me about once or twice a year when he needs me to do something. I respect the fact he doesn’t bother with insincere small talk—it’s a habit I’ve inherited from him—but sometimes I wish he wouldn’t be quite so brusque.

I consider leaving him on read for a few hours, but this isn’t a conversation he’ll drop, and it’ll just hang over my head until we’ve had it.

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