RUBY
The pink entry in my agenda mocks me. It turns out that it says, no less, that I have to ask Beaufort about Victorian attire. Unfortunately, I really don't want to do it at all.
This week, I've already had an overdose of James Beaufort, and am ready for the weekend. Ever since we settled on the theme for the Halloween party, he's been acting like a complete fool during our meetings. Either he makes one unpleasant comment after another, or he completely ignores us. I wouldn't have cared if we hadn't decided yesterday that the poster we want to design for the party should feature a couple in authentic Victorian clothing. And the easiest way to quickly—and especially for free—get this attire is through the Beaufort family's immense private collection.
After the meeting, Lin and I drew lots to decide which one of us would ask James for the favor; naturally, I lost. Since then, I've been thinking about the most clever way to approach him. Maybe I'll just send him an email. That way, I won't have to ask him in front of everyone and, most likely, endure some bragging.
I firmly close my task notebook and put it in my backpack.
'We can switch,' Lin suggests, slinging her purse over her shoulder; then she takes her tray, places it on top of mine, and carries both trays back.
I briefly consider whether the alternative—having to listen to Lexington give a one-hour lecture on fire protection regulations—would be better.
'Hold on,' Lin says as we leave the dining hall and head toward the learning center. 'I take it back. I don't want to switch.'
'What a shame. I would have done it immediately.'
The campus is bathed in autumnal light, reddish and golden, and the first leaves of the oaks are starting to transform their bright green into a soft yellow or dark red.
'Come on. It's not that terrible.'
'Tell that to the person who shouted "bingo" when the draw assigned her the fire protection conference,' I reply dryly.
She smiles because she knows I caught her.
'It's just that I find him so arrogant... I mean, until the end of the term, he's a full member of our team. So he could contribute occasionally, right? Especially since the proposal was his.'
'Yes. Unfortunately, it was a really good proposal.'
I place my student ID card in front of the learning center door until the doorknob's little light turns green.
The center is a small building used exclusively by students in the last two years of high school. Here, we can meet when we need to prepare a presentation or if we require a quiet place to study for final exams. Today, in one of the tutor rooms, the first meeting of a study group is being held to prepare for the upcoming application process for Oxford.
'Oh,' Lin whispers as we enter the classroom, just as I tense up.
Speaking of the devil...
There are twenty seats in the room, and the only people there are Keshav, Lydia, Alistair, Wren, Cyril, and... James. Along with two girls and a guy I only know by sight, there's a young woman whom I assume is our tutor since she's the only one in the room who greets us.
I head for one of the seats farthest from the Beaufort group. Lin follows me and sits beside me. Mechanically, I take out my agenda, markers, and a new notebook that I bought specifically for this study group. As I arrange everything in front of me—it must be parallel to the edges of the table—I make every effort to act as if the others don't exist. I want nothing to do with James and even less with his friends. Just the thought of competing in the application process against people like him, people who come from incredibly wealthy families that have studied at Oxford for generations, makes me feel sick.
I don't know Lin's stance on this- if it's different from mine. She used to be part of James's little group, but she also frequented their circles because she was friends with Elaine Ellington and a couple of girls from the year above ours. But then her father left her mother for another woman, who turned out to be a con artist. Within a year, he had lost his entire fortune because of her, which caused a huge scandal and was the reason why no one else wanted to associate with the Wangs. Not in business, not socially, and not at this school.
For Lin to continue studying at Maxton Hall, her mother had to sell their estate and move near Pemwick. Although, despite everything, they now live in a house four times larger than ours, it must have been a terrible change for Lin. She not only lost her family and the life she had known until then but also all her friends.
Most of the time, Lin acts as if none of that ever happened. As if it had never been any different. But sometimes, I catch a glimpse of nostalgia in her eyes, suggesting that she misses her old life. Especially when I see how wistfully she looks at the empty seat that Lin skipped next to Cyril. I've been wondering for a while if the two of them have something going on, but whenever the conversation veers in that direction—even slightly—Lin changes the subject. I don't blame her; after all, I never share anything about my private life either. Still, curiosity sometimes gets the better of me.
My gaze slides, almost of its own accord, toward James. While his friends chat and seem restless, he remains completely still in his chair. Wren talks to him, but I'm fairly certain he isn't listening. I wonder what he must be thinking to wear such a gloomy expression.
'How wonderful that you're all here,' the tutor begins, and I avert my eyes from James. 'My name is Philippa Winfield, but you can call me Pippa. I'm currently in the second semester of my Oxford degree, and I went through the entire application process as well. That's why I understand how you feel.'
Wren mumbles something that makes Cyril laugh. He covers it up with a cough. They're probably discussing how attractive Pippa is. With her bob haircut, dark wavy blonde hair, and porcelain skin, she almost looks like a doll. A very beautiful and expensive doll.
'In the coming weeks, I'll be helping you prepare for the Thinking Skills Assessment (TSA) and interviews. The TSA is a two-hour exam required for certain Oxford courses. The university uses it to confirm whether you have the necessary critical thinking abilities and spirit to study there.'
According to my agenda, the test will take place shortly after Halloween, and I'm already getting nervous thinking about the tasks ahead. Over the next thirty minutes, Pippa explains the exam's structure and how much time we'll have for each section—details I've known for quite some time. I don't want to hear anything regarding the exam process, what I want is to learn how to pass it. As if Pippa had read my mind, she claps her hands.
'The best approach is to take a look at a model question that they might ask you to develop. Discussing certain issues with other applicants was incredibly helpful for me because we all have different ways of reasoning, which can be quite enlightening. That's why I thought we should do the same here.' She opens her folder and pulls out a stack of papers, distributing them among us. 'On the second page, you'll find the first question. You,' she says, pointing to Wren, who had just whispered something, 'please read the question.'
'It will be my pleasure,' Wren replies with a cheeky smile before lifting the paper and reading aloud: 'The first question states: "Does the fact that you can define the causes of your actions mean that they are rational?"'
Lin raises her hand eagerly.
'No need to ask for the floor; the discussion is open,' Pippa says, gesturing to Lin.
'Most actions have an emotional origin,' my friend begins to explain. 'Although we're often told to reflect and make sensible decisions rather than follow our hearts, ultimately, all decisions are guided by feelings, which makes them irrational.'
'A very brief essay, then,' Alistair remarks.
His friends laugh, except for James. He blinks a few times, as if waking from a dream.
'It's a thesis that can now be expanded upon or challenged by any of you,' Pippa points out.
'In order to answer the question, we'd first need to define what "rational" means in context,' -Lydia suddenly interjects. She has a pen tucked behind her ear and holds the sheet with the question in her hands.
What major will she be applying for?
'Rationality means thinking or behaving with common sense,' Kesh murmurs.
'In this context, rationality means common sense,' I say. 'But common sense is subjective. How do we define common sense when each person has different rules, principles, and values?'
'Anyway, I'd say we all have more or less the same idea of fundamental values,' Wren interjects.
I shrug hesitantly.
'I think it depends on how you were raised and the people you're surrounded by.'
'From an early age, everyone learns not to kill another human being and so on. When one acts according to these principles, it's objectively considered rational,' he responds.
'But not all actions can be traced back to these principles,' Lin objects.
'When I do something that tears me apart but I know it follows a certain principle, is that a rational decision?' Lydia asks.
I look at her perplexed, but she focuses on the sheet with the questions.
'When it aligns with your basic understanding of common sense, yes,' I reply after a brief pause. 'That clearly shows how different people's principles can be. I would never willingly do something that destroys me.'
'So does my basic understanding of common sense count for less than yours?'
Lydia glares at me, her pale cheeks turning red.
'What I mean is that, in my opinion, an action cannot be rational if it hurts someone. Whether oneself or another. But that's just my perspective–what I advocate for.'
—And what you advocate for is loftier than what others advocate for, right?
I look at James, surprised. He spoke so softly that I could barely hear him. He no longer seems lost in thought. Now he's here, in this room, directing his cold gaze toward me.
I firmly grasp the marker.
—I don't relate the question to myself but, in general, to the fact that we all think and act differently.
—Let's consider the possibility that I secretly introduce strippers to a party to create an enjoyable atmosphere for the attendees —James says slowly—. Then it would clearly be a rational decision, following your interpretation of the question.
My marker is about to break any moment.
—It wasn't a rational decision; it was simply immoral and shitty.
—It's better not to use words like 'shit' in either the essay or the applicant interview —Pippa remarks.
—You're taking the debate to an aspect that isn't being discussed here —James responds curtly—. Let's say you have two job offers: one pays more, but the other, lower-paying position would make you happier. The rational decision would be to choose the higher-paying job.
—That's assuming a common sense based on a monetary principle, which wouldn't be surprising in your case.
My body brims with energy, and it's as if there's no one else in the room except James and me. Now he raises an eyebrow.
—First: you don't know me at all. Second, the rational act is to choose the better-paying position.
—Why, if I may ask?
He looks directly into my eyes.
—Because in this world, nobody cares about you if you don't have money.
With those words, I become aware of how worn out my shoe soles are and how full of holes my backpack is. A burning anger takes hold of me at breakneck speed.
—This reveals who raised you.
—What does that mean? —he asks in a dangerously calm voice.
I shrug my shoulders.
—If you've been taught from a young age that nobody will care about you unless you have money, it's clear that you're acting from a common sense where nothing else matters. Actually, quite impoverished.
A muscle starts trembling on his chin.
—It's better if you stop talking, Ruby.
—In Oxford, you can't forbid someone from speaking either. Maybe you should get used to being contradicted or familiarize yourself with the idea of rejection. After all, you're still rich, and the world does care about you.
James shudders as if he's been slapped. A sepulchral silence fills the room. All I hear are the rapid beats of my heart and a deafening buzz in my ears. In the following seconds, James stands up so abruptly that he pushes the chair, and it crashes to the floor with a loud noise. I hold my breath as he leaves the room, striding away and slamming the door shut.
Suddenly, I'm aware of my surroundings. James's friends blink in bewilderment, as if wondering what on earth just happened. By the look on her face, Lydia seems to be in a state of shock. A chill runs down my spine. The adrenaline rush slowly subsides, and I realize what I've said.
So much for going unnoticed. Well done, Ruby. Instead of having a professional discussion, I veered into the personal because James infuriated me. What he said was true. I don't really know him. I had no right to throw those things in his face just because he behaves like a brainless jerk. That doesn't make me any better than him, not even a bit.
"Can someone tell me what the hell just happened here?"