“On the third class of Monday, my tutor gave to me,” Sophie sang, banging her bag down on the canteen table, “three research papers, two Shakespeare essays, and a programme on BBC3!”
Shane picked at his lunch, and she scowled at him.
“Alright, misery,” she said, and thumped herself down into the seat opposite. “I came up with some ideas.”
Shane kept staring at his lunch. He wasn’t hungry—he was still feeling sick from yesterday—and the minute Rebecca had arrived she’d started giving him that wide-eyed, anxious expression he hated.
“Here’s the basics,” Sophie continued obliviously, pushing her long dark hair back into an untidy ponytail and retrieving a notebook along with her lunch. “You need either to be earning money, or have some free room and board to finish school here, right? And
