Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute
Talia Hibbert
For Sam,
my very own high school sweetheart
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This story involves parental abandonment and a portrayal of living with obsessive compulsive disorder. I hope I have handled my characters’ experiences with the care they, and you, the reader, deserve.
This story also involves highly fictionalized portrayals of existing forests. I am very sorry for all the geographical inaccuracies. In my defense, I did it for the feels.
GLOSSARY
Bradley and Celine’s story is set in England and Scotland because I, the author, am British and don’t get out much. While working on this story with my American editor, we stumbled across a few colloquialisms and cultural references that don’t directly translate. So we’ve put together this handy-dandy glossary for anyone who needs it. Enjoy!
A*: The highest achievable grade in the UK. （The letter system was recently replaced by a number system, which is a travesty for overachievers everywhere, but at least in this book A*s will live on forever.）
academy: An educational provision that is run like a nonprofit company.
AS results: AS Levels are a qualification Bradley and Celine studied last year. This year, they will study for A Levels. （There are numerous different qualifications students can aim for after they turn sixteen, depending on their career plans.）
barrister: A lawyer who marches into court and says things like, “Objection!” and “I rest my case, Your Honor.” （Not really, but it would be fun if they did.） Not to be confused with a solicitor, i.e., a lawyer who writes documents that say things like “pursuant to subsection A.”
Bonfire Night: Also called Guy Fawkes Night; a celebration of the time a guy named, well, Guy, tried to blow up parliament. We set off fireworks and burn stuff to remind us all that we’re…not supposed to blow things up or burn stuff.
Boots: A Nottinghamshire-based international pharmacy and beauty retailer. Go there for your prescription, your makeup, hair products, photos, baby stuff, lunchtime snacks, Christmas gifts—everything but the kitchen sink, really.
buskers: Absurdly confident individuals who make music on the street for cash.
“Drop me in it”： A colloquialism that describes getting someone else in trouble. “For God’s sake, Mason, you’ve really dropped me in it.”
face like thunder: A frown. A scowl. A glare. A generally Celine-like countenance. A warning of arguments to come.
football: The beautiful game, obviously. Helmets are not involved.
head of year: A teacher who’s been given official responsibility for a particular year group. If you fail, they get in trouble. （The resulting anxiety is what inspires so many of them to make dramatic speeches about your penniless future.）
Maccies: A delicious and nutritious meal from the noble eatery officially known as McDonald’s.
maintenance loan/grant: Money the government lends or gives to university students so they won’t starve to death. This is （1） separate from tuition loans/grants, and （2） not to be confused with child maintenance, which is money your secondary caregiver gives to your primary caregiver after a divorce or separation.
Midlanders: Those who live in the middle of England, as opposed to Northerners （perfectly acceptable） and Southerners （…southern）。
needs must: A phrase that allows you to get away with essentially anything （“Oh, well! Needs must.”） but also allows people to make you do essentially anything （“Get on with it. Needs must.”）。
Oxbridge: The words Oxford and Cambridge smushed together; convenient for those who have applied to both highly prestigious universities. Equally convenient for those who are slagging off said universities and don’t want to waste their breath on extra syllables.
pillock: A donkey. A plank. A regrettably dim lightbulb. A dull tool in a box of sharp ones. I can’t tell if this is helping, but I am enjoying myself.
plaster: A little sticky bandage designed to protect paper cuts or skinned knees or gaping emotional wounds.
plummy: Say the word “plum.” Now pretend there’s a plum in your mouth and say it again. That’s how posh people sound.
shit-hot: Excellent. Fabulous. Hot as shit. This is, perhaps, a slightly outdated term, but Celine is middle-aged at heart.
sixth form: An educational provision for students aged sixteen to eighteen （or nineteen, or twenty, depending on how well you cope with exams） that exists as part of a secondary school—i.e., you have to share with younger kids. Brad and Celine attend Rosewood Academy sixth form.
slagging off: To slag someone （or something） off is to speak badly about them, typically behind their back but potentially to their face. （This usually causes trouble, so please do proceed with caution.）
CHAPTER ONE
CELINE
It’s the first day of school and I’m already being forced to socialize.
“I’m dead serious,” Nicky Cassidy says, his eyes wide and his acid-wash shirt stained with what looks like tomato sauce. “Juice WRLD is alive, Celine. The planet needs to know.”
My TikTok account has 19,806 followers—@HowCeline SeesIt, feel free to take me to 20K—so God knows how I’m supposed to inform the entire planet of anything. Besides, I make videos about UFOs and vaccines （conclusion: I believe in both） and that guy who hijacked a plane and literally vanished with the ransom money. I don’t make videos about people’s tragic deaths because it’s rude and tacky.
Also, I don’t take requests. For God’s sake, I am a conspiracy theorist. There must be some glamor in that, or else what’s the point?
“Sorry, Nicky,” I reply. “Still no.”
He is appalled by my lack of sensitivity to his cause. “You’re joking.”
“Almost never.”
“Fine. If you don’t want to tell the truth, I’ll do it. Your TikTok’s shit anyway.” He storms off, leaving me to cross campus on my own.
So much for Mum’s hope that I’ll make more friends this year.
Oh well. I inhale the warm September air and stride through the school’s higgledy-piggledy pathways alone. Rosewood Academy is a rambling maze, but this is my final year, so I know it like I know Beyoncé’s discography. It takes five minutes to reach the Beech Hut—aka our sixth-form common area/cafeteria, a tiny, musty building that begs to be knocked down. I snag my usual table by the noticeboard and get on with the very important business of ignoring everyone around me.
I’m on my phone stitching together some footage of cows that I filmed this weekend for a video about the possibility of cannibalistic bovine overlords running the beef industry when my best friend slides into the chair beside me and waves a glossy leaflet in my face.
“Have you seen this?” Michaela demands, her pink curls vibrating with excitement.
“I haven’t,” I say, “and if you put my eye out with it, I never will.”
“Don’t be miserable. Look.” She slams down the flyer and crows, “Katharine Breakspeare!” Then she clicks her tongue piercing against her teeth, which is Minnie’s personal version of a mic drop.
It works. I fall all over that shiny piece of paper like it’s a plate of nachos.
There she is: Katharine Breakspeare, her wide mouth severe （no ladylike smiles for Katharine, thank you very much） and her hair perfectly blown out. They did a whole article in Vogue about that blowout, which is ridiculous considering Katharine’s famous for her trailblazing career in human rights law. Commentators call this woman the James Bond of the courtroom because she’s so damn cool; she’s won at least three internationally significant, high-profile cases in the last five years; she bought her mother an entire compound back in Jamaica to retire to. And Vogue is talking about her hair. I mean, yes, the hair is gorgeous, but come on, people.