Kiss in the Dark by Lauren Henderson Page B

Plum. I wouldn’t like to get Sharon angry; she’s built like a brick shithouse, to use a rugby term, and has already taken out several girls’ front teeth with her legendary lavender hockey stick. But Plum thinks she’s above us all here at Wakefield Hall, an exotic orchid in a field of common daisies and dandelions. She doesn’t care who she pisses off.
    “No offense, Sharon,” Plum trills, flashing a smile at her. “It’s just that your legs are so marvelously robust. But you’re not butch, like Taylor over there. I mean, just look at her.”
    I feel Taylor’s whole body stiffen.
    “If I were Jase, I’d be wondering what you two get up to when you’re alone,” Plum carries on. “I mean, you and Taylor do spend a lot of time together getting hot and sweaty, don’t you, Scarlett?”
    More nervous giggles are triggered by this sally. I sigh. I really just wanted a quiet dinner; I’ve got enough going on in my life without dealing with Plum’s latest bitch offensive. But keeping my head down won’t cut it with her. I tried that when we were at St. Tabby’s together, and it wasn’t exactly a successful strategy; it just encouraged her to go even further.
    “Wow, Plum, you’re obsessed with Taylor, aren’t you?” I retort. “Honestly, it sounds like you’re the one who’d like to share some hot sauce with her!” I turn to Taylor. “Taylor, what do you say? Why don’t you take Plum for a run sometime? She could do with being a bit less spindly, and it sounds like she’d love to get sweaty with you.”
    This goes down very well with the sporty crowd, who don’t like Plum’s attack on Sharon, their de facto leader. They laugh obligingly, shifting to see Plum’s reaction.
    By now, pretty much the entire Lower Sixth table has abandoned any pretense of conversation and is listening avidly. What a bore. The system in the dining hall—each year of girls seated at one very long wooden table, benches on each side, like something out of an Oxbridge college—usually works very well, because no one is isolated. Everyone from that year has to sit together, but you can save spaces for friends, or squash up if you need to. The arty people sit together, the sporty ones ditto; it’s generally friendly, with girls making room for other people’s friends if they want to swap places.
    Or it was, until Plum arrived, took one look at the setup, and decided that she was going to rule the Lower Sixth dining table, as she did everything else in her life. Since she came to Wakefield Hall, Taylor and I have picked seats as close to the end of the table as possible, trying to stay out of her way. And it’s worked fairly well so far—or it did last term, when Plum was still establishing her position.
    But she came back from the Christmas holidays loaded for bear. It’s as if she feels that she’s achieved full princess status now; she’s taken her throne and she’s going to make us bow down to her, whether we like it or not.
    Seated on either side of her are Lizzie and Susan. Lizzie’s cleaving to Plum I understand, as Lizzie’s always been a big suck-up, and very weak-willed; she’ll automatically run around after the strongest personality she can find. While Susan—well, that’s very clever of Plum. Susan is such a natural beauty that she could be a dangerous rival to Plum. I’m sure a lot of the younger girls have huge crushes on her. By bringing her into her circle, letting her sit beside her, Plum is taking the power of Susan’s beauty and incorporating it into her own.
    “Want to share, Plum? Want some of Taylor’s hot sauce?” I pick up one of the Tabasco bottles and wave it in Plum’s direction, waggling my eyebrows suggestively at her.
    Sharon Persaud grins at me encouragingly. I’m on a roll.
    And then I feel a sharp, stiff nudge in my ribs. Wow, Taylor really doesn’t know her own strength. I have to brace myself with my quads to stop myself being knocked sideways. I look over at Taylor to