of me? No one in the world was called Livetta or Carlivonia, were they? On the other hand, her own name was Persephone.
“Olivia,” I said, feeling annoyed with myself because, under Persephone’s critical eyes, I kept wishing Lottie had bought my school uniform in the right size after all. And that I had my contact lenses in, instead of wearing the nerdy glasses that, along with my stern ponytail, were supposed to correct the impression given by the too-short skirt and the too-tight blazer. Which they did.
The headmistress had wanted Persephone to be my big sister because, as a glance at our schedules showed, we had almost all the same classes. Just moments ago, in the headmistress’s office, she had been giving me a friendly smile; in fact, her eyes had been positively shining when the headmistress told her that I’d lived, among other places, in South Africa and the Netherlands. But the light in them went right out again when she asked were my parents diplomats or did they own a diamond mine and I had to say no, neither of those was right. Since then she had switched off the smile and kept wrinkling up her nose instead. She was still wrinkling it up. She looked like one of those grumpy monkeys in Hyderabad who stole your breakfast if you didn’t watch out.
“Olivia?” she repeated. “I know at least ten Olivias. My friend’s cat is called Olivia.”
“Well, you’re the first Persephone I’ve ever met.” Because that’s a name you wouldn’t even call a cat.
Walking on, Persephone tossed her hair back. “In our family, we all have names out of Greek myths. My sister is called Pandora, and my brother is Priam.”
Poor things. But a lot better than Persephone, all the same. Since she was looking at me as if she expected an answer, I said quickly, “And all your names begin with P . How, er … practical.”
“Yes, and they go with our surname. Porter-Peregrin.” Persephone Porter-Peregrin—good heavens above!—tossed her hair back again and pushed open a glass door that had posters and notes stuck all over it.
A glittering movie poster in particular caught my eye. The film was called Autumn Ball . Under the gilt letters of the title, a couple were dancing through a sea of colorful leaves, he in white tie and tails, she in a pink tulle evening dress. The showing was on October 5, and tickets could be bought at the secretary’s office. I loved movies, but I wasn’t going to waste my money on silly high school romances like that. You always knew how the film was going to end after five seconds.
There was no more peace and quiet on the other side of the glass door. We were suddenly surrounded by students all streaming through the halls at the same time. At Frognal Academy the lower, middle, and upper school were all under the same roof, and I automatically looked for Mia’s shock of blond hair. It was the first time in years that we’d been at the same school, and I’d made sure to impress upon Mia that she ought to mention, in passing, that her big sister could do kung fu—just in case any of the students tried anything funny.
But Mia was nowhere to be seen. I had some difficulty following Persephone through the crowd. The personal part of our conversation seemed to be over now; obviously she didn’t want any more than necessary to do with someone who shared her friend’s cat’s name, and whose parents weren’t diplomats and didn’t own any diamond mine either.
“Lower school canteen.” Now and then she pointed somewhere and cast words over her shoulder in a singsong tone, without bothering about whether I heard them or not. “Middle school and upper school cafeteria both on the first floor. Toilets there. Computer rooms are lilac. Natural science labs, green.”
Another glass door covered with posters. Once again, the words Autumn Ball stood out with tasteless prominence. This time I stopped to take a closer look. Yes, it looked like a film of the worst kind. The girl in the
“Olivia,” I said, feeling annoyed with myself because, under Persephone’s critical eyes, I kept wishing Lottie had bought my school uniform in the right size after all. And that I had my contact lenses in, instead of wearing the nerdy glasses that, along with my stern ponytail, were supposed to correct the impression given by the too-short skirt and the too-tight blazer. Which they did.
The headmistress had wanted Persephone to be my big sister because, as a glance at our schedules showed, we had almost all the same classes. Just moments ago, in the headmistress’s office, she had been giving me a friendly smile; in fact, her eyes had been positively shining when the headmistress told her that I’d lived, among other places, in South Africa and the Netherlands. But the light in them went right out again when she asked were my parents diplomats or did they own a diamond mine and I had to say no, neither of those was right. Since then she had switched off the smile and kept wrinkling up her nose instead. She was still wrinkling it up. She looked like one of those grumpy monkeys in Hyderabad who stole your breakfast if you didn’t watch out.
“Olivia?” she repeated. “I know at least ten Olivias. My friend’s cat is called Olivia.”
“Well, you’re the first Persephone I’ve ever met.” Because that’s a name you wouldn’t even call a cat.
Walking on, Persephone tossed her hair back. “In our family, we all have names out of Greek myths. My sister is called Pandora, and my brother is Priam.”
Poor things. But a lot better than Persephone, all the same. Since she was looking at me as if she expected an answer, I said quickly, “And all your names begin with P . How, er … practical.”
“Yes, and they go with our surname. Porter-Peregrin.” Persephone Porter-Peregrin—good heavens above!—tossed her hair back again and pushed open a glass door that had posters and notes stuck all over it.
A glittering movie poster in particular caught my eye. The film was called Autumn Ball . Under the gilt letters of the title, a couple were dancing through a sea of colorful leaves, he in white tie and tails, she in a pink tulle evening dress. The showing was on October 5, and tickets could be bought at the secretary’s office. I loved movies, but I wasn’t going to waste my money on silly high school romances like that. You always knew how the film was going to end after five seconds.
There was no more peace and quiet on the other side of the glass door. We were suddenly surrounded by students all streaming through the halls at the same time. At Frognal Academy the lower, middle, and upper school were all under the same roof, and I automatically looked for Mia’s shock of blond hair. It was the first time in years that we’d been at the same school, and I’d made sure to impress upon Mia that she ought to mention, in passing, that her big sister could do kung fu—just in case any of the students tried anything funny.
But Mia was nowhere to be seen. I had some difficulty following Persephone through the crowd. The personal part of our conversation seemed to be over now; obviously she didn’t want any more than necessary to do with someone who shared her friend’s cat’s name, and whose parents weren’t diplomats and didn’t own any diamond mine either.
“Lower school canteen.” Now and then she pointed somewhere and cast words over her shoulder in a singsong tone, without bothering about whether I heard them or not. “Middle school and upper school cafeteria both on the first floor. Toilets there. Computer rooms are lilac. Natural science labs, green.”
Another glass door covered with posters. Once again, the words Autumn Ball stood out with tasteless prominence. This time I stopped to take a closer look. Yes, it looked like a film of the worst kind. The girl in the