THE GLUCOSE

Two days later, Rosalind and I were called up to the deputy head’s office, Mr. Pemberton, to discuss the matter.

I brought every document I had: medical confirmation from the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford, a copy of Miss Whitfield’s special written consent allowing me to carry glucose gel during PE, and Amelia’s written statement.

Mr. Pemberton read through each page, nodding, his expression serious.

“Your medical condition is entirely clear, Cordelia. There’s no question about your need to carry medication with you.”

I exhaled quietly with relief.

“However,” he continued, his tone shifting sharper, “slapping a classmate in the middle of the school grounds, in front of numerous other students, is something the school cannot overlook, whatever the reasoning behind it. Loxley Hall has very clear rules against school violence.”

Rosalind, sitting in the chair across from me, bowed her head, both hands gripping the hem of her skirt, the perfect posture of a victim holding back tears.

“I’m sorry things went this far,” she said, her voice small, almost a whisper.

“I truly didn’t know her illness was that serious, I only thought, simply, about fairness for all the other students…”

Not a single word about the fact that she was the one who started it, who snatched the medicine, who caused my sugar to crash to the point I nearly fell.

By the end of the meeting, the decision was made: both of us would face discipline — me for an act of violence, Rosalind for “poor judgment in handling the situation,” a far lighter consequence than mine, along with a requirement to write a statement to be read aloud to the class during form time.

I didn’t object — I knew arguing now would only muddy things further, and I already had a different plan.

Leaving the office, I overheard Rosalind talking to her group of close friends waiting in the corridor, her voice just loud enough for me to catch: “The Ashworths are probably used to being indulged, I bet someone’s pulled strings to get the school to note extra against me, money really does make everything easier, doesn’t it.”

Somehow, that comment reached the entire Sixth Form before the afternoon was over.