The Enemy

Chapter 7

Emma—September 2006

Emma Stapleton buttoned her new white blouse with clammy hands and clumsy fingers. Every moment she worried she might have to dash to the loo and lose her lunch.
"Alright there, love?" Her mum peeked in with raised eyebrows.
Emma nodded. "I'm nearly ready!" She readjusted brown, unruly hair that she'd gelled into submission. It fell in waves down her back. "Just let me grab my things."
Her mum laughed. "Emma, you packed it all yesterday and double checked it three times at least." She moved into the room and stood behind her daughter. Emma admired her mother's deep brown hair, warm brown eyes, and dimples. She hoped one day to grow into those features like her mum which still, at fifteen, seemed to overwhelm her own face.
Her mum rested her chin on her shoulder and engulfed her in a hug. "I'm so proud of you, darling." She kissed her cheek "You're going to be fine. There's no one better at school. You earned your place."
"I know." Emma shrugged out of her mother's hold, pulled on a navy blazer, and began to loop her House's grey, white, and blue tie around her neck. "I just wish it weren't so...different." She grimaced. "I want them to like me. I don't want to be"—Emma turned away from her own stare—"I don't want to stand out."
Later, she stepped out of her family's old, overstuffed Toyota as if in a dream. Lawns of emerald green, gothic architecture overgrown with ivy, and crowds of smartly dressed students abounded as far as the eye could see. She inhaled the crisp scent of fall and picked up as many of her boarding list requirements as humanly possible. Behind her, her parents struggled with the rest as she searched out the light blue insignia of the Verites House. She finally found her group gathered in the center of the main lawn and strolled up sweaty and sure that all efforts on her hair were now for naught.

A tall girl with blonde hair and arresting green eyes gave her a smile. "Hiya"—she waved a hand and grabbed Emma's heaviest bag before she could refuse—"Welcome to Verites."
It was Lily Huxton. Her mouth fell open of its own accord. It was Lily Huxton! As in Lily Huxton, the eldest and only daughter of the esteemed Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. Emma blushed and busied herself trying to act like a normal human; Lily had known the British royal family since she was a baby, and Emma was the daughter of middle class teachers who had once spotted Jamie Oliver in a Selfridges.
She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the late afternoon sun and attempted a smile. "Hi, Lily Huxton." Lily's eyes widened and perspiration pooled against Emma's lower back.
Lily was now most likely concluding that she was rude and completely mental. "I mean"—Emma exhaled and gave her a sheepish look—"It's just that I know you, and it would be stupid to pretend that I don't."
Lily raised her free hand in a motion of understanding. "You must be new."
Emma shrugged. "Am I that obvious?"
She smiled wider. "You are that obvious, and we are so happy to have you here." She extended her hand. "It's very nice to officially meet you . . ."
"Emma Stapleton"—she shook back—"the new girl." Great. She'd done really well at not sticking out.
"Lils." A lanky, enormous boy sidled up to Lily. "There are some extremely boffable birds here this year."
Lily cleared her throat, and the new boy's gaze turned to Emma.
"Oh shite," the new boy said, ears turning red. "I didn't realize that"—he shook his head and rubbed a hand against his grey trousers—"there were ladies about." He shook her hand emphatically, and she felt the loss of its warmth as soon as he broke contact. "I shall remember to say extremely shaggable young ladies while in your delicate presence."
"Right," Emma said, utterly struck by him. His eyes were an uncanny shade of deep blue, and she needed to crane her neck just to stare into them. "Shaggable young ladies." Could she please just die on the spot?
The boy locked eyes with Lily and guffawed. "Lily!" His eyes widened with glee. "We've got a new student!"
Lily shook her head. "Emma, this is John Huxton, my incomparable and inappropriate brother."
"Nice to meet you," she said, hands growing clammy. John Huxton. Of course. Another student with as famous a lineage as Lily.

She cleared her throat. "I am pretty sure that new students are just as beholden to school tenets as you legacies. Boys and girls aren't supposed to fraternize with each other after curfew."
John Huxton's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Legacies, eh?"
"Anyway—" Emma waved her hand. "I thought you silver spoon types were more likely to abide all orders from Headmaster and their royal highnesses." She curtsied.Lily laughed.
"Bloody hell," John said. "Alright, I see you, Emma Stapleton. Lily, Verites has got itself a live one!"

Lily smiled. "Indeed it has."

It wasn't until Emma set her suitcase down on the pavement and listened to the Housemaster's speech that she noticed unpleasant looks cast in her direction from another group of students. She sighed. Was she really so transparent? Were her parents' jeans and highstreet jumpers so conspicuous?

The boy with the deep blue eyes, John Huxton, shifted to her left. He caught her looking and raised an eyebrow. "Don't mind them," he muttered. "They're from Saunderite House. The Saunderites are known for being elitist scum; they think a person isn't worth the scruff off their shoes if they don't come from 'heritage.'" John shook his head.
Lily scooted over to give her agreement. "It's bollocks."
Emma nodded. The peerage had been an integral part of private schools for centuries. Recently, things had become political underneath the conservative politics of Lord George Howards. His son Beck attended the school. Howards was very outspoken against "common riff raff" having access to these institutions. Emma was certain he'd have her kicked out on the spot. Most of George Howards' sympathizers' children were part of the Saunderite house.
"I'd heard rumors about it being more classist," Emma whispered, "but I couldn't imagine they were actually true."
"Yeah," Lily said darkly. "Stay clear of that lot, Emma. They're not worth your time. I hate what George Howards has started within the community. It makes us look even worse."
A Saunderite boy with the trademark orange and navy tie, aristocratic nose, and furrowed brow seemed to glare at her before turning to his fellow Housemates and laughing. Even from a distance, she could tell his shoes were worth more than her entire wardrobe. "Duly noted," she said and swallowed down her nerves. She could do this. She'd already met the Huxtons, and they were both very nice. Coming to Charterhouse was going to be a good decision.

"Hey!" she exclaimed with a smile as Housemaster Morris ended her first speech. "Does this school have a clay pigeon team?"