‘Well,’ she says, ‘I’ve got the perfect skirt and blouse to go with that.’
Nelinha’s great for sharing clothes and make-up. We’re more or less the same size, and we have the same skin tone – she’s Brasileira parda; my ancestry is Bundeli Indian – so she can usually fix me up nicely for a school dance or a Saturday furlough in town. But today is not that kind of day.
‘Nelinha, we’re going to be living on a boat for the weekend,’ I remind her.
‘I know, I know,’ says the girl who’s made herself up just for the bus ride to the boat. ‘But when we get back. Maybe for the end-of-year party!’
Ester stuffs one last bag of dog biscuits into her duffel bag.
‘OKAY,’ she announces. She turns in a circle, examining the room to see if she’s forgotten anything. She’s wearing her blue HOUSE ORCA T-shirt and flower-patterned shorts over a one-piece swimsuit. Her face is flushed. Her frizzy blond hair has been blown in three different directions. I’ve seen pictures of her as a baby: pinchable plump cheeks, wide blue eyes, a startled expression, like What am I doing in this universe? She hasn’t really changed much.
‘I’M READY!’ she decides.
‘Volume, babe,’ Nelinha says.
‘Sorry,’ Ester says. ‘Let’s go! We’ll miss the bus!’
Ester hates being late. It’s one of the anxieties Top is supposed to help her manage. How Top could make anybody feel less anxious, I’ve never understood, but he’s the cutest emotional-support animal you’ll ever meet. Part Jack Russell, part Yorkie, part tornado.
He sniffs my hand as he follows Ester out. Maybe I didn’t clean all the squid juice from under my fingernails.
I grab the go bag I packed last night. I’m not taking much: change of clothes. Wetsuit. Dive knife. Dive watch. None of us knows what the weekend trials will be like. They’ll be mostly underwater （duh）， but the upperclassmen won’t tell us anything specific. Even Dev. They take their vows of secrecy very seriously. It’s annoying.
I rush to catch up with my friends.
To get to the quad, we have to go downstairs and pass through the eighth-grade wing. For a long time, I thought this was an annoying interior-design flaw. Then I realized the dorms must have been arranged like this on purpose. It means the chum have to get out of our way several times a day, looking at us freshmen with expressions of fear and awe. For our part, every time we pass through, we can think As lowly as we are, at least we’re not these poor schmucks. They all seem so small, young and frightened. I wonder if we looked like that last year. Maybe we still look like that to the upperclassmen. I imagine Dev laughing.
Outside, the beautiful day is heating up. As we hurry across campus, I think about all the classes I’ll be missing because of our trip.
The gymnasium: six climbing walls; two rope courses; hot and cold yoga rooms; courts for basketball, racquetball, volleyball and bungee ball （my favourite）。 But Fridays are for martial arts. I’d be spending my morning getting thrown into a wall during malaa yuddha matches. I can’t say I’ll miss that.
The aquarium: the largest private research facility in the world, I’m told, with a better variety of marine life than Monterey Bay, Chimelong or Atlanta. We operate rescue-and-rehabilitation units for leatherback turtles, otters and sea lions （all of whom are my precious babies）， but today would be my day to scrub the eel tanks, so see ya!
The natatorium: three swimming pools, including the Blue Hole, big and deep enough to run submarine simulations. The only larger swimming pool in the world is at NASA. As much as I love my indoor dive classes, I’ll take the open ocean any day.
Finally we pass Verne Hall, the ‘gold-level’ research wing. What goes on in there, I have no idea. We won’t be allowed entry until we’re juniors. Verne’s gilded metal facade stands out among the campus’s white buildings like a gold-crowned tooth. Its dark glass doors always seem to taunt me. If you were cool enough, like your brother, you might be able to come inside. HA-HA-HA-HA.
You’d think out of forty upperclassmen, somebody would be willing to drop a little juicy gossip about gold-level classes, but nope. Like I said, their commitment to secrecy is absolute and annoying. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay so tight-lipped if I get to be an upperclassman, but that’s a problem for another year.
In the main quad, seniors are lazing on the grass. They’re all done now except for finals and graduation, the lucky bums. Then they’re off to top universities and promising careers. I don’t see Dev, but his girlfriend, Amelia Leahy, my house captain, gives me a wave from across the lawn. She signs, Good luck.