Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The January sky was the colour of wet slate.

Emily Charlton sat in the back seat of her father's Volvo and watched the Cotswold countryside slide past the window in shades of grey and green. Bare trees stood black against the winter sky, their branches stark and skeletal. Fields stretched away behind low stone walls, frosted white from the night's cold. Every now and then they passed through a village, all honey-coloured cottages and smoke curling from chimneys.

Ordinarily, Emily quite enjoyed the drive back to school.

After all, the Christmas holidays were pleasant enough, but there was always something rather exciting about the beginning of a new term. Friends would be returning. News would be exchanged. There would be matches, meetings and all sorts of things to organise.

And this was Emily's final spring term. As Head Girl, she intended it to be an excellent one. Her victory lap.

She shifted slightly in her seat, smoothing a hand over her skirt. Her uniform was immaculate, of course. Emily disliked untidiness in any form. Her grey pleated skirt perfect pressed, crisp white blouse brushed, and the navy jumper beneath the school blazer. Her coat folded neatly beside her. Even her black court heels gleamed despite the gloomy weather.

Across from her, resting carefully on top of her overnight bag, sat the brand-new portable CD player she'd received for Christmas. Emily was very pleased with it.

She'd spent most of yesterday deciding which CDs deserved precious space in her luggage. Madonna, David Bowie, and a few compilation albums.

The CD player should have been occupying her thoughts. Instead she found herself staring out of the window and thinking about an email. An email that had arrived three days ago. An email she had read seven times. An email she thoroughly disliked.

"Emily." Her mother's voice broke into her thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Have you packed your English notes?"

"Yes."

"And your essay folder?"

"Yes."

"Your planner?"

"Mother."

"I'm only asking."

Emily exchanged a glance with her father in the rear-view mirror. To his credit, he looked vaguely sympathetic.

"You'd think," Emily said, "that after seven years at boarding school I'd have mastered the art of packing."

"You forgot your scrapbook last term," said Mrs Charlton.

"Only once."

"And your hockey kit before that," said her father cheerfully.

Emily gave him a look. "Thank you for your support."

Mr Charlton laughed.

The conversation ought to have amused Emily. Usually it would have done. But her thoughts soon returned to the same message.

Dear Emily,

I hope you have had a pleasant Christmas break.

I am writing to inform you that we shall be welcoming an exchange student from the United States for the duration of the spring term. Andrea Sachs, an Upper Sixth student from Chicago, will be joining St Agnes’ on Monday.

Given your position as Head Girl and your exemplary standing in the school community, I would be most grateful if you would act as Andrea’s peer mentor for the term. This will involve showing her the ropes, helping her navigate the daily timetable, and ensuring she settles smoothly into life at the school.

To help facilitate this, Andrea will be sharing your dorm room for the duration of her stay. I am certain she will benefit greatly from your guidance.

Thank you in advance for your support with this.

Yours sincerely,

Mrs Francis

Head of Sixth Form

Emily could practically recite it from memory.

The problem wasn't Andrea Sachs herself. For all Emily knew, the girl might be perfectly pleasant. The problem was that Emily had plans. Carefully organised plans. This was her final year. Her final spring term.

She had prefect duties to oversee. University interviews to prepare for. Events to organise. Younger students to supervise. A dozen responsibilities she took seriously.

She had earned her single room. Head Girls traditionally received one of the private rooms on the Sixth Form corridor. It was one of the few privileges attached to the position. With her own room came privacy, space, and peace.

Now it appeared that an unknown American girl was moving in for the whole term. Three months!

Emily thought this was extremely unfair. What if the girl was noisy? Americans always seemed loud. What if she left her belongings all over the room? What if she borrowed things without asking? What if she listened to dreadful music? What if she wanted to talk all the time?

Emily looked out of the window with a frown. The possibilities were endless. And none of them were good.

"You've got that look again."

Emily blinked. "What look?"

Her father smiled. "The one that means you're plotting something."

"I am not plotting."

"You absolutely are."

Her mother turned around slightly in her seat. "Still thinking about the exchange student?"

Emily groaned. "I don't see why she has to stay in my room."

"Mrs Francis asked you because she trusts you," said Mrs Charlton.

"She could trust someone else."

"Emily!"

Mr Charlton chuckled. "I expect you'll get on perfectly well."

"I expect we won't."

"You haven't met her yet."

"Exactly."

Her parents exchanged amused glances. Emily folded her arms. Honestly, adults could be very unreasonable.

"She's only there for one term," her father said.

"Precisely."

"Then you'll survive."

Emily looked out the window. She would survive. Of course she would. She survived committee meetings. She survived Year Nines. She survived chapel rehearsals and school inspections and endless prefect reports. She could certainly survive one American exchange student.

Outside the window, a familiar stone wall appeared beside the road. Emily sat up straighter.

A moment later she caught sight of the iron gates. ST AGNES' COLLEGE.

The words curled elegantly across the arch overhead. Beyond them stretched the long drive, lined with ancient trees. The school itself stood at the top of the rise, all golden stone and ivy-covered walls and tall chimneys reaching towards the winter sky. Home.

Despite everything, Emily felt the familiar flutter of anticipation. A new term. Her final spring term. The best term, arguably. 

The car rolled through the gates. There was the chapel tower. There were the Sixth Form houses. There was the hockey field. The spring term was beginning at last.

Then her eyes fell on the Sixth Form residence. On her room. Or what had once been her room.

Now she was apparently sharing it with Andrea Sachs of Chicago. Emily narrowed her eyes. Whoever Andrea Sachs was, she had better not touch the CD player.

-

By the time the car reached the Sixth Form House, a fine drizzle was falling over the school grounds.

"Remember to call home," said Mrs Charlton at once, as Emily opened the car door.

"I know."

"Every week."

"Yes, Mother."

"And not one of those dreadful thirty-second conversations."

Emily rolled her eyes, though affectionately. "I'll call."

Her father climbed out to help with the luggage. "Got everything?"

"Yes."

"Everything?"

"Yes!"

"Good."

Emily accepted a quick kiss from her mother and a somewhat awkward hug from her father. At seventeen, she felt far too old for tearful goodbyes. Besides, Easter wasn't so very far away, the term would fly by.

"Have a good term, Em."

"I will."

"And try not to frighten all the younger girls."

Emily looked scandalised. "I never frighten anyone."

Her father laughed.

A few minutes later she was standing on the stone steps of the residence hall, watching the Volvo disappear down the drive. Then she squared her shoulders, picked up her suitcase and bags, and headed inside.

The familiar smell of polish and warm corridors greeted her at once. Girls were arriving everywhere. Doors banged. Voices echoed up and down the staircases. Somewhere, somebody was laughing. School had begun again.

Emily climbed the staircase to the Sixth Form corridor and unlocked her room.

The door swung open.

Perfect. Exactly as she'd left it before Christmas. Sunlight filtered weakly through the tall window overlooking the quadrangle. Her desk sat beneath it. The wardrobe stood against one wall. Two beds occupied opposite sides of the room.

Two beds. Emily frowned. She had become very attached to pretending the second one didn't exist.

Setting down her bags, she immediately began unpacking. Most girls simply shoved things into cupboards and sorted it out later, but Emily considered it barbaric.

Within twenty minutes half her belongings had already found their proper places. Her clothes were carefully hung in the wardrobe according to type and colour. Skirts together. Jumpers together. Blouses together. Everything neat and orderly.

She placed her new CD player on the shelf beside her bed and arranged her CDs beneath it. Madonna, David Bowie, the rest.

Her books stood in tidy rows. Her folders were stacked carefully on her desk. English Literature. Fashion and Textiles. Art. Her planner sat beside them. Several pens and sharpened pencils were placed in a ceramic cup.

Emily stepped back to inspect the arrangement. Everything was perfectly straight and perfectly precise.

Satisfied, she moved to the cork board beside her bed. The board had been mostly empty when she'd left for Christmas. Now she began pinning things up again.

Photographs of friends. Snapshots from school events. A picture from a prefect trip to London. Magazine cuttings. Fashion sketches. Editorial photographs torn carefully from old copies of Vogue and Harper's Bazaar.

Soon the board looked properly hers again.

Emily sat on the edge of her bed and surveyed the room. Everything was exactly where it should be.

Her gaze drifted across to the opposite side. The other bed remained untouched. The blanket was folded neatly. The pillow sat untouched against the headboard. The desk beside it was empty. The cork board blank. Waiting, for Andrea Sachs.

Emily sighed. Perhaps she would have decent taste. That would certainly make life easier. If Andrea had even the slightest interest in fashion, they might find something to discuss. Emily could tolerate a great many things. Terrible taste, however, would make the next three months considerably more difficult.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

The door opened to reveal Matron.

"Ah, Emily. Settling in nicely?"

"Of course."

Matron smiled. "I thought so."

She then looked around the room and seemed unsurprised to find everything in perfect order. "I've just had a message from Mrs Francis. Your exchange student will arrive around teatime."

Emily's shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly. "So soon?"

"She's had a long journey from America."

Poor girl, Emily thought automatically, feeling a brief pang of sympathy. Then she remembered that said exchange student would be sleeping three feet away from her for the next three months. The sympathy vanished.

"Mrs Francis would like you to meet her in the sitting room when she arrives."

"Very well."

"As Head Girl, you'll be helping her settle in."

"I expected as much."

Matron's eyes twinkled. "I dare say you did."

Emily suspected that wasn't entirely a compliment.

"Tea is at four."

"I'll be there."

"Good girl."

After Matron left, silence settled over the room once more.

Emily looked around. At her desk, her photographs, her posters, her carefully organised shelves. Everything exactly where it ought to be.

Then she looked at the empty bed again. Three months. She could survive three months. Surely, right?

With a resigned sigh, she crossed to her CD player and put on Madonna. If she was going to meet this Andrea Sachs at tea, she intended to enjoy the final few moments of peace while she still had them.

-

At five minutes to four, Emily left the residence hall and crossed the quadrangle towards the main building.

Girls were streaming towards the dining hall from every direction. Suitcases rattled over the paving stones. Friends who had not seen one another since Christmas were calling greetings across the courtyard.

Emily paid no attention. Mrs Francis had given her a duty to perform.

The sitting room beside reception was quiet when she arrived. A warm fire crackled in the grate. Several armchairs stood arranged around a low table. The tall windows overlooked the front drive.

Emily paused outside the door. Then she glanced through the small glass panel. Someone was already inside.

A girl stood by the window with her back to the door, appearing to be staring out across the grounds. The exchange student.

Emily took a breath and opened the door.

The girl turned immediately. "Oh!"

For a moment, Emily simply looked at her.

The girl had chocolate-brown hair that fell to her shoulders in soft waves and warm brown eyes. Fair skin flushed pink from the cold. She looked pleasant and friendly.

Quite pretty, actually, Emily secretly thought to herself. Not that that was particularly relevant.

"Andrea Sachs?" Emily asked.

The girl smiled immediately. "Yeah. And you must be Emily Charlton?”

Emily nodded.

Then her gaze drifted downward, and immediately found several problems. The uniform was all wrong. Terribly wrong. The blazer hung awkwardly around Andrea's shoulders. The sleeves were too long. The cuffs of her blouse weren't folded correctly. The tie wasn't sitting properly.

And the shoes…Emily stared in horror. Loafers. Plain ordinary black loafers. With this uniform.

Emily felt a sudden and painful longing for civilisation. Good Lord. Had nobody warned her? Had she not looked at a photograph? Had she dressed in the dark?

She felt the beginnings of a headache. This was the girl she was expected to share a room with for an entire term.

"Everyone calls me Andy, by the way," Andrea said cheerfully.

"Right."

"My flight got in this morning."

Emily nodded politely.

Andy continued before she could respond. "And then we drove here. It was amazing. Everything looks completely different."

"Does it?"

"Yes! The villages and all those little stone cottages, and the school is enormous."

Emily privately thought the school was a perfectly sensible size. Still, Americans were easily impressed, she assumed. 

"Have your trunks arrived?" she asked.

Andy blinked. "My trunks… Oh! My luggage?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Yes."

"Good."

Emily turned towards the door. "Come along."

For a second Andy looked startled, then she hurried after her.

As they climbed the stairs, she looked around with open curiosity. "These buildings are so old."

"They're Victorian."

"My school isn't even a hundred years old."

Emily considered this rather alarming.

By the time they reached the Sixth Form corridor, Andy was still staring about her. "It's very quiet up here."

"It's supposed to be."

"Oh."

Emily unlocked the room and pushed the door open. "There you are.”

Andy stepped inside and her eyes widened. "Wow."

Then she gave a low whistle. "What a room."

Emily's eyes travelled automatically over the furniture. Everything was exactly where it ought to be. At least on one side.

"That side is yours," she said.

Andy crossed the room. "All mine?"

Emily frowned. "Of course."

"It’s gonna be just the two of us?”

Emily looked at her, mildly confused. Then she remembered. Oh right, America. She had never set foot in the country, but she’d expected it to be a very odd place.

"How many girls do you usually have in a room?"

"I mean my school isn’t a boarding school, but from what I’ve heard, four?”

"Four?"

"Sometimes six."

Emily was horrified. "Good heavens."

Andy laughed. Emily did not. She was still trying to imagine six people sharing a room. The idea was appalling.

"Leave your things for now," she said firmly. "We'll sort them out later."

"All right."

Emily glanced at her watch. Four o'clock exactly. "We must go."

"Where?"

"Tea."

Andy looked puzzled. "What tea?"

Emily stared. "Tea."

"The drink?"

"No."

"The meal?"

"Yes."

Andy brightened. "The meal is called tea?"

"Obviously."

"But tea is also tea."

"Yes."

Andy looked delighted by this discovery. Emily thought it was perfectly straightforward.

"That's ridiculous," said Andy.

"It isn't."

"It really is."

"It makes complete sense."

Andy laughed again, as though this entire situation was amusing. 

Emily narrowed her eyes. She was beginning to suspect that Americans laughed far too much. This was going to be a very long term.

"Now come along," she said briskly. "We're already late."

Still smiling, Andy picked up her coat and followed her out into the corridor.

Emily locked the door behind them and headed towards the stairs.

Beside her, Andy was practically bouncing with curiosity. "So what happens at tea?"

Emily had a horrible feeling that she was going to spend the next three months explaining Britain.

-

The dining hall was already busy when they arrived.

Voices bounced off the high ceiling. Girls in uniform crowded around the long tables, chatting excitedly after weeks apart. The scent of tea and freshly baked scones drifted through the room.

As soon as Emily entered, several younger girls spotted her.

"Hello, Emily!"

"Happy New Year!"

"Good afternoon, Emily.”

Emily acknowledged them with small smiles and nods as she crossed the room. Being Head Girl had certain responsibilities. Being Head Girl also meant that one was rarely allowed to go anywhere unnoticed.

Beside her, Andy looked around curiously. "Everybody knows you."

Emily shrugged. "I'm Head Girl."

"Oh." The answer seemed to satisfy her.

They joined the queue beside the refreshments table. Large platters covered nearly every available surface. Bowls of fruit. Stacks of biscuits. Shortbread. Flapjacks. Cupcakes. Scones with little dishes of jam and cream. Several large silver teapots sat nearby.

Emily selected a banana, an apple and a scone. Perfectly adequate.

Then she glanced sideways, and nearly dropped the banana.

Goodness gracious. Andy appeared to be approaching the table as though she hadn't eaten in weeks. A cupcake. A flapjack. Another flapjack. Two biscuits. A scone. Then, after what Emily considered an alarming amount of thought, another cupcake.

Emily stared in silent astonishment. Andy looked pleased with herself. Had nobody fed this girl? Had America suffered some sort of national food shortage?

Andy seemed perfectly satisfied with her selections. Emily decided not to comment. Some questions were simply too alarming.

At last they made their way towards the Upper Sixth table.

Emily's friends were already there. Serena was talking animatedly about a skiing holiday. Louise sat beside her, rolling her eyes. Sarah and Zoe were passing around photographs from Christmas. Several others occupied nearby seats.

The moment they spotted Emily approaching, attention shifted immediately.

"There you are!”

"Finally."

"Emily!"

Then their eyes moved to Andy.

"Ooh."

"Who's this?"

"The American?"

"She's arrived!"

Emily sat down. "Andrea Sachs."

Andy slid into the empty seat beside her. "Andy," she added cheerfully. "Everybody calls me Andy."

"I love your accent," Serena announced immediately.

Andy laughed. "And I love yours."

This seemed an excellent beginning.

The girls immediately began talking over one another.

"Where are you from?"

"How long are you staying?"

"Do American schools really have lockers everywhere?"

"Is homecoming actually a thing?"

Emily reached for her tea. This could take some time.

Fortunately Andy seemed perfectly willing to answer every question. "Chicago," she replied. "Although technically I live in Cincinnati now."

"You're here all term?"

"Yep, until Easter."

"That's ages!"

"It doesn't sound that long to me."

The conversation bounced around the table.

Eventually Sarah asked, "What subjects are you taking here?"

"English Literature, History and Sociology."

Emily paused halfway through taking a sip of tea. English Literature. Of course. Naturally. Apparently sharing a room with Andrea Sachs was not considered sufficient suffering. Now they would be sharing lessons as well. Marvellous, simply marvellous.

Andy seemed oblivious to Emily's suffering. "So what about you all?"

The girls began listing subjects.

History. French. Biology. Mathematics. Art. Chemistry. Psychology. Et cetera. 

When it reached Emily's turn, Andy looked genuinely interested. "Fashion and Textiles?"

"Yes."

"That's so cool."

Emily blinked. Most people simply accepted it as one of her subjects. Very few called it cool.

"It isn't particularly unusual."

"It is where I'm from."

"Hm."

Andy smiled. Emily was not entirely sure how to respond to that.

The conversation wandered on. Soon everyone was discussing their Christmas holidays and New Year celebrations.

"What did you get for Christmas?" Zoe asked.

Emily brightened slightly. "A CD player."

"A new one?"

"Brand new."

"No way."

"Show us later."

"I intend to."

The discussion continued. Music. Family gatherings. Holiday disasters. University offers. Plans for the term ahead. 

Andy listened more than she talked. She seemed genuinely interested in everything. Every so often she laughed. Every so often she asked a question. And all the while she continued eating.

Emily happened to glance across at her plate. The first cupcake had vanished. So had the flapjacks. The biscuits had disappeared too.

Andy caught her looking. "What?"

"Nothing."

Andy narrowed her eyes suspiciously, before calmly taking an enormous bite of scone.

Emily turned away. Clearly Americans required far more food than ordinary people.

Across the table, Serena had reached the part of her skiing story involving a collision with a snow fence. Everyone was laughing. Even Andy.

For a moment, Emily found herself watching her. The girl had slipped into the conversation with surprising ease. She certainly wasn't shy. Nor was she trying too hard to impress anyone. She simply seemed happy to be there. It was unexpectedly difficult to dislike somebody like that.

Then Andy reached for another biscuit. Emily abandoned the thought immediately.

-

Tea gradually began to break up as the afternoon wore on.

Girls carried empty plates back towards the serving tables. Chairs scraped against the floor. Conversations drifted towards plans for the evening. Across the hall, several middle schoolers were already being rounded up by prefects.

Emily was halfway through her second cup of tea when a familiar voice spoke behind her.

"Emily."

She looked up at once.

Mrs Francis stood beside the table. The Head of Sixth Form wore her usual navy suit and practical shoes, her silver-rimmed glasses perched halfway down her nose.

"Could I borrow you for a moment?"

Emily immediately set down her cup. "Of course."

She followed Mrs Francis towards one of the tall windows overlooking the quadrangle. The noise of the dining hall faded slightly.

"How is Andrea settling in?" Mrs Francis asked.

Emily glanced back towards the table. Andy was currently deep in conversation with Serena and Sarah. Judging by the enthusiastic hand gestures, she was telling some sort of story. Serena was laughing. Sarah was laughing. Even Louise appeared amused.

"Quite well," Emily admitted.

"I thought she might." 

Mrs Francis sounded pleased. Emily wasn't entirely sure what that meant. She privately thought Andrea Sachs could probably make friends with a brick wall if given enough time.

"She's had a great many changes to deal with," said Mrs Francis. "New country. New school. New people."

"Yes."

Emily had the distinct feeling she knew what was coming next. Unfortunately, she was right.

"Which is why I'd appreciate it if you could remain close by for the first few weeks."

Emily blinked. "Close by?"

Mrs Francis nodded. "Help her find classrooms. Wait for her after lessons if necessary. Make sure she knows where she's going."

Emily's heart sank slightly. "Oh."

"She'll need someone she can rely upon."

"I see."

"And perhaps walk her between lessons for the first week or two."

The sinking feeling deepened. "Right." This exchange student seemed to require an astonishing amount of supervision.

"Help her understand prep schedules."

"Very well."

"School customs."

"Of course."

"Rules."

"Yes, Miss."

Mrs Francis smiled. "You are Head Girl after all."

There it was, the very phrase Emily had been expecting. The title responsible for approximately ninety percent of the additional work in her life.

"Of course," she said dutifully.

Satisfied, Mrs Francis nodded. Then her gaze drifted across the hall, Emily followed it. Andy had somehow become the centre of attention. Several girls were listening to her. One was laughing so hard she nearly dropped her teacup. Andy appeared to be entirely at ease.

Mrs Francis looked thoughtful.

Then, for just a moment, slightly concerned. "One other thing."

Emily resisted the urge to sigh. "Yes?"

"English Literature. She’ll be in the same class as you.”

Emily immediately understood. "Oh."

Ms Priestly. Ms Priestly was something of an institution at St Agnes'. A brilliant teacher, yes, but at the same time an intimidating teacher. A teacher who considered punctuality a moral virtue and incomplete homework a personal insult. The woman terrified half the Sixth Form and was responsible for a great many nervous breakdowns every examination season.

"Andrea's reports are excellent," Mrs Francis continued. "I'm not concerned about that."

"But she may not be familiar with our way of doing things."

"No," agreed Emily. She certainly wouldn't be. Emily almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"I'd appreciate it if you helped her settle into the class."

"I will."

"Good."

Mrs Francis nodded. "I knew I could rely on you."

Emily straightened slightly. Praise from Mrs Francis was not given lightly. "Thank you, Mrs Francis. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

“You too, Emily.”

With that, Mrs Francis moved away towards another group of students.

Emily remained by the window.

Across the hall, Andy was still talking. At that moment she seemed to be acting out some disaster involving an airport and several suitcases. Half the table was laughing. Andy herself appeared completely unconcerned by the attention. She simply looked happy.

Then Andy happened to glance across the hall. The moment she saw Emily, she raised a hand and waved cheerfully. Emily blinked. The girl waved again. As though they were old friends.

Emily gave the smallest possible nod. Andy seemed perfectly satisfied by this and immediately returned to her story. Extraordinary.

Slowly, Emily let out a breath. For the next three months she was expected to share a room with her. Walk her to lessons. Help with prep. Guide her around the school. Prevent Ms Priestly from reducing her to tears. And generally make certain she survived life at St Agnes'. It was a formidable list.

Outside, evening shadows were beginning to gather across the quadrangle. Inside, Andy's laugh carried across the hall.

Emily had a horrible feeling that the spring term was not going to go according to plan. And it hadn't even started yet.

-

As the spring term did not officially begin until the following morning, there was no prep that evening. This was considered a great blessing by most of the school.

After supper, the Sixth Form prefects attended a short meeting, during which they were reminded of their various duties for the coming term. Once this had ended, the girls were told to settle down early.

Chapel was at half past seven. Breakfast followed immediately afterwards. Registration came next. Lessons began straight away. St Agnes' wasted little time.

By half-past eight, the Sixth Form corridor was full of activity. Doors opened and shut. Girls called to one another from room to room. Some were still unpacking. Others were already discussing timetables, teachers and university applications.

Back in their room, Emily opened her wardrobe. Everything inside was perfectly arranged. She liked it that way.

She selected a fresh sleeping gown from a hanger. The white cotton garment fell almost to her ankles, with long sleeves and a modest collar. Perfectly sensible.

She laid it nearly across the end of her bed before gathering her soap bag and toothbrush. 

Across the room, Andy was kneeling beside her suitcase. "Do we need our shower things now?" she asked.

Emily looked surprised. "Unless you intend to arrive at chapel tomorrow in a state of complete disarray."

Andy laughed. Emily remained entirely serious

"Oh, right,” said Andy, before bending over her suitcase and began searching through it.

Emily turned back to her own preparations.

A moment later something caught her eye. She looked up and froze. Slowly, very slowly, she lowered her toothbrush.

Good heavens. Andy was holding a tiny bundle of fabric. At least, Emily assumed it was nightwear. It was certainly far too small to be anything else.

"What," she asked carefully, "is that?"

Andy looked down. "My pyjamas." The answer arrived with alarming confidence.

Emily blinked. The pyjamas consisted of a sleeveless top and a pair of shorts which appeared to have surrendered most of their material somewhere during the manufacturing process.

"They're pyjamas," Andy repeated.

Emily felt faint. "Those are not pyjamas."

"They are."

"They are beachwear."

"No, they're not."

"They barely reach your knees."

Andy blinked. "I don't think they're supposed to."

Emily could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Surely no respectable school in the world allowed girls to wander about dressed in such a fashion.

"That's inappropriate."

"What?"

"Imagine if Matron saw you."

Andy looked horrified. "Would she care?"

"Of course she'd care."

"Why?"

Emily opened her mouth. Then closed it again. The question was simply too astonishing. "Because she would."

"Oh."

Andy considered this. "So I can't wear them?"

"Absolutely not."

The American looked genuinely distressed. "But they’re all I brought."

Emily stared. "You brought no proper nightwear?"

"I didn't know there was proper nightwear."

For a moment Emily could only look at her. Then she let out a sigh. It was the sigh of a girl upon whom fate had placed an entirely unreasonable burden.

Crossing to her wardrobe, she pulled out a second sleeping gown. "Take this."

Andy accepted it obediently. Then she unfolded it and her eyes widened. "It's beautiful."

Emily looked unfazed. "It is not that beautiful."

"It kind of is."

"It is a sleeping gown.”

"It looks like something from an old movie."

"It is perfectly normal. Everyone wears one here.”

Andy held it up against herself. "I like it."

Emily had absolutely no reply to this. "Just wear it," she said firmly.

Andy grinned. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

A smile tugged at Andy's lips. Emily immediately looked away. That smile was unexpectedly infectious. Horrifying. Chills, literal chills.

Twenty minutes later they joined the queue outside the bathrooms. The corridor was crowded with girls carrying towels and soap bags. Someone was laughing. Someone else was arguing over whose turn it was to use a hairdryer. Further along the corridor, a prefect was attempting to persuade several Lower Fifth girls to stop running. It was all very familiar.

-

By the time Emily and Andy returned to their room, the corridor had grown much quieter. Lights-out was approaching.

Back in the room, Emily settled against her pillows with a fashion magazine. The familiar pages immediately soothed her. Photographs. Designs. Runway collections. Far more sensible than American exchange students who arrived unexpectedly and required constant supervision. 

Across the room, Andy was making her bed.

After a few moments she paused. "You really love fashion, don't you?"

Emily glanced up. "What makes you say that?"

Andy pointed towards the cork board. The photographs. The sketches. The magazine pages. The carefully arranged collection of editorials. Most girls might have considered the display excessive. Emily considered it tasteful.

"I suppose I do."

"You more than suppose."

Emily looked amused despite herself. "Perhaps."

Andy sat down on her bed. "What do you want to do?"

The answer came at once. “Work in fashion.”

"Of course, but what kind of fashion?"

Emily looked back at the magazine. "Publishing."

"Like magazines?"

"Exactly."

"That's cool."

Emily found herself smiling slightly. Just slightly. "Perhaps."

"Which one?"

Emily did not hesitate. “Vogue.”

Andy nodded immediately. "As if there was ever another answer."

"Quite."

For a moment they smiled at one another.

Then Andy asked, "What about after that?"

Emily blinked. "After that?"

"Yeah."

Emily considered this. Nobody ever asked her that. People generally seemed satisfied once she mentioned Vogue.

"I don't know."

Andy looked surprised. "I thought you had everything planned."

"So did I."

This appeared to amuse Andy enormously.

Then Emily remembered that she had not asked a single question about her roommate's plans. "What about you?"

Andy looked up from her bed. "What about me?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Oh."

For the first time all evening, Andy seemed almost shy. "I want to be a journalist."

Emily lowered her magazine slightly. "A journalist?"

"Yeah." Andy smiled. "Maybe in New York."

There was something unexpectedly earnest about the way she said it. Emily found herself picturing it quite clearly. The city. The newspapers.  The crowded offices.

Andy smiled. "I've always wanted to live there."

"Why?"

"I don't know." She laughed softly. "It just feels like where I'm supposed to end up."

Emily nodded. Oddly enough, she understood exactly what she meant.

"Fun."

Andy laughed. "You make everything sound sarcastic."

"It wasn't sarcastic."

"It definitely was."

Emily returned to her magazine before the conversation could continue.

Across the room, Andy finished arranging her bedding. A few moments later she switched off her lamp. Only Emily's remained lit.

She turned a page of her magazine. Then another. A minute passed. Perhaps two.

Then a sleepy voice came from the darkness. "Good night, Emily."

Emily looked up and paused, lowering her magazine slightly. For some reason she had not expected it. The room felt surprisingly peaceful.

She cleared her throat. "Night."

A contented little hum came from the other bed.

Within moments Andy appeared to be asleep.  The American was already curled beneath the blankets, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.

Emily shook her head. It was extraordinary. The girl had crossed an ocean, arrived at an unfamiliar school, met dozens of strangers, eaten enough food for three people and somehow fallen asleep without the slightest difficulty. Emily suspected she herself would still be awake an hour later.

She put away the magazine carefully before settling beneath the covers.

Tomorrow would bring chapel. Breakfast. Lessons. Ms Priestly. An entire term of responsibilities. And Andrea Sachs. For three months. Three entire months.

Emily switched off her lamp and pulled the cover higher under her chin. In the darkness, she closed her eyes. She only hoped she could endure it.