The Project
It felt like a childhood dream come true when I saw the project title on the board.
‘Deductive Storytelling: Writing with Logic and Suspense’ sprawled its way across the white canvas in Mr Jones’ hurried handwriting. It was like he’d travelled back in time to interview my twelve-year-old self about the exact topic she would most love to do for her first ever college project.
“Alright, people!” Mr Jones slammed his hand down on his desk to quiet the buzzing class, smiling cheerfully. I winced as the crash echoed through the room, and he held up an apologetic hand, laughing sheepishly. “Sorry, did I scare you there? Right. Good morning - just about, it’s eleven on the dot. Welcome back. I hope you all had a good summer. It’s good to see some familiar faces here from the open day. Wonderful to have you all here.”
He turned to the board, tapping it with his pen. “I’m not going to waste any more time. This is our main project for this half term.” He read out the title, and I felt a surge of excitement. This was going to be the best few months of my life.
“Now, for this project, I’m going to have you all work in groups.” My heart sank a little. Of course it had to be a group project. But there was still hope for me yet, if I could just get assigned the right partners. “I have already decided these groups, so no, you can’t just stick with your mates and have a laugh. I want you all to get to know each other and each other’s work, because most of creative inspiration comes from reading and listening to other people’s ideas.”
Mr Jones bent to pick up a paper from his desk, counting heads under his breath as he glanced around the classroom. “Ah, there’s a few missing. No big deal, they’ll catch up. Right. These are your groups. As I call them out, I’d like you to switch around to sit with whoever I’ve put you with, and introduce yourself.”
He quickly rattled off names in groups of three. I held my breath as he reached my name. “Laurel Madden, Oscar Hurst and Kieran Hurst.”
No. Please, no. Anyone but them.
The twins approached me, smiling knowingly as they swung their bags onto the desks either side of me. “Hey, Laurie.” Kieran slid into the chair beside me, snickering softly. “Long time, no see.” Oscar chuckled, nudging me.
I scowled. “Stop it. At least try to pretend like you’re actually here to learn.” I turned away, focusing on Mr Jones as he began to outline the details of the project, ignoring the stupid smirks on their faces.
“Aw, don’t be like that.” Kieran teased, not letting up. “Haven’t seen you since primary school. Aren’t you pleased to see us?”
I scowled harder. “As a matter of fact, I’m not. And what are you even doing on this course? I didn’t even think either of you could read.”
“Oof.” Oscar clutched his chest melodramatically. “That hurts. But to answer your question, we had nothing better to do, and Dad was determined we were going to get a college qualification, didn’t matter which one.” “And we figured this would be the easiest course. I mean, how hard can it be?” Kieran laughed again, nudging me. I shifted away in annoyance. “Stop shoving me. Just shut up, I’m trying to listen.”
Mr Jones suddenly called for silence, and they subsided, still grinning stupidly. I already knew there was no way they would be any kind of help to me in this project - not that it made a difference, as I was already planning to do as much of the work as I could by myself. But their presence had just turned what should have been the best weeks of my college life into the worst nightmare I’d ever had, real or not.
I scuffed my feet against the pavement as I walked down my empty street after college, pulling out my phone to vent my frustrations via voice message to my childhood best friend and honorary twin sister Harper Knight. The last month had been utterly miserable without her around, following our tearful separation after almost fifteen years of practically living in each other’s houses. She had promised to travel down from Yorkshire as soon as she could, but my pessimistic brain doubted if she would even be back before Christmas.
Letting myself into the empty terrace house, I hung my coat up on the peg, swinging my bag off my shoulder onto the sofa and heading straight up to my bedroom, pouring my bitterly disappointed heart out into the phone speaker as I monologued to an imaginary Harper. “And the worst of it is - they haven’t changed a bit since primary school. Still annoying and lazy and all the rest of it. Neither of them are on the course because they want to be. Apparently their dad said they have to get a college qualification, and they thought creative writing would be the easiest one. So, yeah, that’s very cheering and motivating.”
I threw myself down onto my bed like a fainting starlet, staring up at the peeling unicorn stickers on my ceiling, with bits of old Blu-tack from the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars I used to have, long fallen to their dark doom behind my creaky old bed. “I really do honestly wish you were here. Even more so now I’m stuck with the Hurst twins. Just...call me as soon as you get home. The neighbours probably think I’m going crazy, nattering away to myself in an empty house. Mum isn’t home yet.” I sighed quietly, rolling over. “Ok. I guess I should probably get something to eat. Call me as soon as you can. Bye.”
I ended the recording, sending it to Harper, then let my phone drop onto the purple duvet beside me, closing my eyes. I already knew the kind of things Harper would say, like ‘Well, at least you won’t have to worry about their ideas being different to yours,’ and ‘You can talk to me about it, I’ll help with ideas and stuff’. But her voice in my head was no match for hearing her real voice, comforting and familiar.
I missed her so much it hurt.
Mum got home around eight, and we shared a quiet supper together at the little wooden table in our tiny kitchen. The dark circles under her eyes seemed deeper than ever, and her face was drawn and pale, but she tried to laugh it off, changing the subject when I asked her if she was ok. “Did you talk to Harper today?” “I sent her a voice message.” “Good, good.” Mum held back a yawn, reaching for my hand across the table. “I know you miss her horribly. Jen was always saying to me at the time that she felt like a monster for separating you two. But it sounds like it’s all going smoothly, thankfully.” She squeezed my hand gently. “And they’ll be back to visit before long.”
“I know. I just...can’t help feeling like she’s too busy with the move and everything to talk anymore.” Mum gasped a little, grabbing my other hand and holding it tight. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s not true! Of course she isn’t too busy. You two have been like sisters ever since you met. She was crying bitterly all the way to Yorkshire on the train, Jen told me. If it wasn’t for her aunt needing so much care, and Harper getting the scholarship offer, they would never have left.” I nodded miserably, shrugging. “I know that. She just never seems to be available. I can’t help wondering what she’s doing.”
“Settling into her new surroundings, probably. It takes a lot of time to get adjusted. And she’s never left Falsden, remember. It’s a huge change after living your whole life in one place, to move so far away.” Mum patted my arm gently, letting go of my hand as she got to her feet, yawning again. “Harper will really need someone familiar to be there for her right now - and that’s you. So just keep being the good, supportive friend I know you are, and she’ll always come back.”
I smiled up at her weakly, nodding. Deep down I knew Mum was right, but there was a nagging part of me that kept saying, ‘She’s replaced you, you’re dead weight now, she’s never coming back.’ And I just couldn’t shake that fear.
“You ready to turn in, then?” Mum nodded towards the stairs. “Yep. I’m going to work on that project.” I quickly made my way to my bedroom, grabbing my bag from the sofa and running upstairs. “Don’t work yourself too hard. You don’t need to. This is your subject, it comes naturally to you.” she called after me, laughing a little. “I won’t.” I called back, smiling slightly.
I shut the door firmly behind me, opening my bag impatiently, and tipping my books and notes out onto my desk. Putting them in careful order, I looked over the project guidelines, reading every word with care, getting a full understanding of exactly what I was supposed to do. Once I’d read it twice over, I crossed over to my bookshelf, running a gentle finger along the spines of the books I loved so well, searching out my favourite.
It was worn and well-read, having belonged to both my grandfather and my father before it was passed onto me when Dad cleared out his stuff before he left. ‘The Return of Sherlock Holmes’ was embossed on the front in thin, golden letters, and below it, in slightly thicker font, ‘ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE’. I smiled as I traced the familiar words, remembering happier times when I was younger, long car journeys to see Mum’s parents, or long summer afternoons by the outdoor pool on holiday, turning the yellowed pages, lost in the foggy Victorian streets, hunting down criminals and picking up clues.
Crossing back over to my desk, I laid the book down carefully on top of my notebook, and turned to the contents page, glancing down it to choose the most suitable story for the project. I knew the twins had no other ideas to supply, and would go along - or refuse to go along, as it happened - with anything I chose. The title of each story brought up vivid memories and imaginings, as I remembered the masterfully crafted, delightfully twisting plots and memorable characters that featured.
‘The Adventure of the Second Stain’ caught my eye. It might not have been the most action-packed of the selection, but I had always loved how the solution hinged on such a small detail. Closing the book again, I typed up the necessary headings, and glanced over the outline of the project requirements Mr Jones had given us. Every aspect of it seemed perfectly curated to my own personal interests and fascinations.
Suddenly, I felt the heavy misery of being stuck with the Hurst twins dropping off my back like a burden lifted.
This was my project. They didn’t care about it. So I might as well do it by myself. I wanted to make a success of it more than anything, and I knew that I couldn’t let their laziness ruin it for me. No - this was going to be my first project, my term’s work, my final grade. And Oscar and Kieran Hurst could do nothing to hinder me.
