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Juniper was lost. Geographically, that was. Probably emotionally, too, but she wasn’t thinking about that at the moment on account of the fact that it was the first day of her new and improved life – or would be if she could just find the building where all her hopes and dreams lay.

She swiped her sweaty curtain fringe from her eyes, nerves jangling as she looked around the grand college campus situated in the heart of London. RACA, the Royal Academy of Ceramic Arts, was a small university in comparison to most, but no less intimidating, especially to a northern lass who had spent the last couple of years away from education. She currently stood in Potter’s Square, a paved open space surrounded by tall, modern blocks of classrooms on one side and a cluster of historic Georgian buildings on the other: a far cry from the industrial red bricks and Gothic architecture of Manchester. In front of her, the vast exhibition gallery gleamed like a temple, supported by elaborate pillars. Behind, the library was almost as grand, housing a turret clock that reminded her she was quite late.

Late, and officially out of her depth. Even the majestic bronze statue of Magdalene Wells – also known as one of the earliest pioneers of modern ceramic sculpting, so Juniper had researched – seemed to know it, narrowed eyes looking down haughtily at her.

‘I know, Mags. I’m buggered,’ she muttered, and took out her phone just to make sure the clock wasn’t lying to her.

Okay, she was doubly buggered. Her workshop introduction had started five minutes ago. She cursed herself for taking that extra ten (okay, twenty) minutes in the shower this morning and ran to the first person she could find, who happened to be a short man with a very red, very wiry beard. He didn’t seem all that happy when Juniper touched his arm, quick to put distance between them with a Magdalene-like cock of his head.

‘Hello. Sorry!’ Juniper blurted. ‘First of all, do I have ketchup on my chin?’ She’d eaten a bacon butty – sorry,sandwichnow she was down south – on the way in and couldn’t be certain.

He blinked, then said, ‘No.’

‘Are you just saying that to get rid of me?’

‘Yes.’ He made to continue on his way, leaving Juniper to dash after him. Despite being barely taller than her five-three height, his strides were surprisingly long and difficult to catch up to. She’d known Londoners wouldn’t be quite as patient as the friendly northerners she was used to, but bloody hell.

‘I just wanted to know where the Whiteread Building is?’ she asked between trying to catch her breath. Powerwalking was not her strong suit, especially not with anxiety tightening her lungs.

‘No idea,’ he said as he reached a heavy black door on the left side of campus, the name of which readWhiteread Building.

Without deigning to glance her way, the red-haired stranger pushed through, leaving the door to swing shut in Juniper’s mystified face. Not before she shouted, ‘Arsehole!’ loud enough to garner a few perplexed looks from passersby.

She flexed her fingers tighter around the straps of her black leather backpack, trying to ignore the heat crawling up her throat. She wouldnotcry. Not even if she wanted to turn back and go home, where everything was familiar and people were at least a little bit nicer to her.

But also where she’d always felt aimless and out of place.

C’mon, Juni. You’re here. You made it. Just go in.

She wiped her clammy palms on her jeans and followed the rude man inside before she had the chance to talk herself out of it. She’d be damned if some tweed-wearing ignoramus ruined this opportunity for her.

Juniper was hit by the smell of paint chemicals and earthy clay, a sign she was in the right building and enough to set her skin tingling with anticipation. Soon, she’d be able to call herself a real ceramicist, just like Mags.

All right, notquitelike Mags, but she’d try her best.

The lobby was modern and bright, with a noticeboard spanning one wall. A cluster of posters were tacked to the cork, advertising upcoming events both on and off campus. A few loudly dressed students loitered around glass coffee tables and yellow couches with their laptops, the patchwork cushions making the space feel less like a college and more like a common room.The walls were just as eye-catching, painted a powdery shade of sky-blue that Juniper had been longing for all summer. A sign laid out workshop rooms, studio spaces, and classroom numbers on a map. Using her phone to quadruple-check she hadn’t misread, she searched for WS2 and followed directions into a lift to get to the first floor.

Here we go, then,she thought as the lift clunked up one flight.

When the doors slid open, she headed down an echoey corridor filled with abstract paintings and pictures of sculptures, just like she’d imagined. She was surrounded by art, and she’d never felt more at home as she knocked on the door—

‘You?’ she blurted.

In her workshop room, the rude man stood in front of a PowerPoint presentation, shirt rolled up to the elbows and that same completely unimpressed expression on his face.

Lazily, he leaned against the corner of his desk. ‘Glad you couldketchupto the rest of us.’ And then, when Juniper only stared: ‘Come on, that’s quite funny for an arsehole like me.’

The smirk rising under his beard did nothing to quell Juniper’s dismay…orher steadily growing embarrassment.

Mutters rippled through the students, who were now all staring at Juniper, likely wondering why the hell she’d interrupted their class to shout at their tutor.

‘I, er…’ Should she apologise? She didn’t really want to, not to him. But if her timetable was correct, this was Christopher Curtis, one of RACA’s most experienced professors, and she didn’t fancy being on his bad side.

‘Dig your hole later.’ Christopher pointed to one of the only empty seats by the window. A collection of chairs had been arranged around the whiteboard, which was not what she’d hoped for. She was ready to get comfortable at one of the workstations laid out behind.

Dipping her head like a scolded puppy, Juniper went to her chair, trying to ignore the burn of a dozen pairs of eyes on her. She’d forgotten how demoralising education could be, or perhaps she’d expected better in an undergraduate course. She wasn’t a kid anymore, and she’d had enough talent to earn her place here with a full tuition bursary to cover the expenses. Fine, she wasn’t anything special, but didn’t she deserve at least a little bit of respect as an adult who had come here to learn?