The Swallows

by Lisa Lutz

  Her eyes were cold. She looked at me as if I were a monster.

  I felt guilty for something I hadn’t done.

  Gemma Russo

  Witt didn’t show up for class. Rupert rolled in a TV and DVD player and screened Dr. Strangelove, which is apparently his favorite film.

  I asked Rupert what happened to Witt.

  “A family emergency or maybe the flu,” he said.

  I sent Witt a couple of texts and I never heard back. I didn’t think much of it. There were only two days left. People often skipped out early.

  Jonah was still pretty beat up, but he said he was fine. We met secretly in Witt’s old cottage. It smelled like mold, but it was private. I kissed Jonah’s bruises and we had sex. Like, regular sex. It was really nice, even though he winced a lot from his injuries. He was sweet about it all, maybe too sweet. I told him that. He said that it was hard to know how to be a guy. He said that he was always confused.

  I felt the same way.

  Jonah’s parents arrived a day early to pick him up from school. He wanted to introduce me to them, but I was afraid he’d break up with me if they didn’t approve. They can’t disapprove of someone they’ve never met. Jonah asked me when my parents were going to collect me. I told him that I was taking the train to New Jersey on Saturday morning.

  “I thought you lived in Connecticut,” he said.

  “My parents live in Connecticut. My grandmother lives in Hoboken,” I said, thinking fast.

  “Write that down so you don’t forget next time,” Jonah said.

  “I’ll do that.”

  We kissed goodbye like regular boyfriend and girlfriend, although we didn’t let anyone see us, because Jonah was already labeled a traitor and I didn’t want him to get any more bruises.

  I didn’t keep up the pretense that I had a home anywhere else. I watched friends and allies pack and said my goodbyes.

  Tegan and I hugged for the first time. She tried to put a positive spin on my two weeks under Greg’s roof.

  “Think of all the weight you’ll lose eating his food. I’m just going to get fat at home. Wanna trade places?”

  Linny’s mother drove from Portland, Maine, to pick her up. In the past I would walk Linny to the front gate, but there was no way I was going to be present when her mother saw her hair. She’d chopped it off with a pair of scissors. She wanted the full buzz effect, but I talked her out of it. The Joan of Arc look kind of suited her. But I knew her mother wouldn’t see it that way.

  Mel and Emelia both invited me to spend the holidays with their families. I declined. Greg and I have a system. It works. Besides, Kate reminded me of our interrupted mission.

  “While we’re gone, maybe you’ll find the time to see what’s in Adam’s locked cabinet,” she said.

  There would be plenty of time for that.

  * * *

  —

  There are a couple of weeks in winter and summer when the school is entirely vacated. I’m not allowed to stay in the dorms those weeks, so I move into Greg’s guest room. I don’t call him Dean Stinson when I’m staying in his home.

  We eat all of our meals together and watch a lot of BBC mysteries. Greg sure loves that Hercule Poirot. During the day, we go for ridiculously long walks where Greg tries to teach me about every goddamn weed on the Stonebridge grounds. You’d think with all of those weeds there might actually be some weed.

  We’ve been doing this for almost two and a half years. Greg had to apply years ago to be my foster parent so I wouldn’t have to move in with a stranger twice a year during Stonebridge breaks.

  I was eating cereal in the kitchen of Byron Manor, which is not as fancy as it sounds. Greg sat down at the table. He looked like he had something on his mind.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “I’ll never get used to that hair,” Greg said. “I can’t believe you girls thought you had to shave your heads to get rid of lice.”

  “I know. Stupid, huh?” I said, shaking my head.

  It was easier telling him the lice story. Sometimes I just want to protect him from the truth. I know how he wants the world to be, and if I can move his perception just an inch closer to that, why not?

  “I want to talk to you…Huh. Well, I’ll just say it. You’ll be eighteen in four months,” Greg said.

  “I know,” I said.

  “We’re running out of time,” Greg said.

  “I’m not following,” I said.

  “If I were to adopt you, I would need to do it before you turned eighteen.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me that he was even thinking of that.

  “Adopt me?”

  “It’s just an idea. And it doesn’t have to change anything. My home is your home, no matter what. I know you plan to go to college. But over holidays and summer you can stay here, like we do now. I just thought it might be nice to make it official. It would make some things easier. I could put you on my health plan and deduct some of your expenses.”

  I started crying, and I couldn’t stop for like twenty minutes. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Greg just sat there handing me one tissue after the next.

  When I finally stopped crying, Greg said, “You wouldn’t have to call me Dad or anything.”

  Then I couldn’t stop laughing. We filled out the paperwork together. I didn’t think it would change things, but it did.

  * * *

  —

  During one of Greg’s afternoon naps, I headed over to Dick House. I used Greg’s master key and broke into Adam’s room. Then I picked the lock on his file cabinet. It’s not a talent of mine or anything. I watched a video online. The guy in the video cracked the lock in thirty seconds; it took me forty minutes. I collected the files and a small box of USB drives, and confiscated three bottles of his stolen champagne. Back in my office, I stored the champagne and reviewed the stolen material.

  I always had a gut feeling that Adam was running the show. It wasn’t until I saw his files that I understood the breadth of his operation. Adam had dossiers of disgrace on just about anyone who was anyone at Stonebridge. Gathering dirt on people was basically Adam’s life’s work.

  I wasn’t surprised at all when I saw the compromising photos of Ms. Shepherd. When Adam first brought me into the fold, he thought I’d caught them together. That’s why he invited me out for coffee and was acting all nice. When I said that I didn’t see anything, Adam thought I was pledging my allegiance. It was almost a year later when I caught them screwing in the library. That time Adam didn’t see me. I didn’t tell anyone for all kinds of reasons. I already saw what happened to snitches at Stonebridge. And I didn’t perceive Adam as a victim. The blackmail photos of Ms. Shepherd confirmed that theory. Adults can debate that one. It wasn’t my problem.

  As I continued reviewing Adam’s files, I found a folder on Ms. Witt. There were cryptic handwritten notations that suggested he was looking for a sex tape. Since there was a flash drive inside Witt’s file, I assumed he found it. I didn’t want to look at it, but I had to. I had to know.

  I’d never been so happy to see such a dull movie. It was just a video of Witt sitting around grading papers.

  Still, I had a feeling that something wasn’t right. Adam doesn’t give up. And Witt never responded to my text.

  While Greg took his nap the following afternoon, I found his phone on the kitchen table. I sent Witt a text. I even remembered to spell out all of the words and use complete sentences.

  Greg Stinson: Dear Alex, Please remind me where you are staying over break. Warmest regards, Gregory.

  I waited impatiently, hoping that Ms. Witt would reply before Greg woke up. She did.

  Alex: I’m with Keith. I thought he told you.

  “Greg” asked for the address. Alex replied a few minutes later with 2865 Mountain Road.

  I
deleted the text thread and ventured out.

  I never figured out how Keith knew so many rich people with second homes in Lowland. But, damn, he had one hell of a racket going on. The house on Mountain Road was one of those new, modern houses that’s all window. I could see Witt and Coach Keith sitting around day-drinking or something. Neither of them noticed me until I was standing in front of the glass door.

  Witt looked panicked. Keith said something I couldn’t hear and Witt disappeared behind an actual wall.

  “Gemma,” Coach said when he opened the door. “You can’t be here. Go home.”

  “Let me talk to Ms. Witt,” I said.

  Keith stepped outside and closed the door.

  “Gemma, you have to leave. Alex can’t have any contact with students.”

  “What happened. What did Adam do?” I knew Adam was behind it. I didn’t know how.

  “Ask Greg,” Keith said. “You need to leave.”

  I ran back to campus. Greg was waiting for me in the kitchen. Coach had texted him as soon as I left.

  Greg told me to stay out of it. That wasn’t going to happen. It took about an hour to get Greg to spill the dirt. The first part of the story, Greg gave up pretty easily. Adam had made an allegation against Witt for inappropriate conduct. How Adam got that allegation to stick was what took some time. Greg kept trying to say it in a way that didn’t sound gross.

  I told Greg what I knew about Adam and Ms. Shepherd. He was angry at me—like, really angry—for not telling him sooner.

  I figured that would be the end of the investigation. Ms. Witt could come back to Stonebridge after the break. Greg said it wasn’t that simple. The accusation had been made. The investigation would have to continue.

  Greg sent me to my room. He told me I was grounded.

  I sent Witt a text.

  Gemma: You told me to fight. Why didn’t you fight?

  Ms. Witt

  After Evelyn packed my bag, I walked to Motel and checked in. I pulled the blinds, crawled into bed, and fell asleep. When I woke up, sometime in the afternoon, Keith was at the door, knocking. I don’t know who told him. He drove me to his current residence—a three-story monolith on the east side of town. It was run-down but well appointed, with a swimming pool, Jacuzzi, and fully stocked bar. Behind the pool was a dense patch of woods.

  I went outside and chopped down a tree, a white spruce. Swinging an ax, slowly chipping away at the trunk, the exhaustion of throwing your whole body into something, it made sense. How was that the first time I’d ever felled a tree?

  We talked about the school as if it were an infection. Keith wondered whether the cycle of abuse began with Claude’s teacher. If so, would it end with her? He was trying to figure out how to save this place he loved. I would have to take out another tree if we were going to keep talking about it. He never brought it up again. But I could tell it was always on his mind.

  My mother drove up in the morning. Keith left us alone to talk.

  “Why are you staying here?” she said.

  “I have to clear my name.”

  “Greg says the board won’t meet until after the new year. You could come home for a couple of weeks,” she said.

  “I’m going to stay,” I said.

  “You like him,” she said.

  “I do. But it won’t last.”

  “Why is that?” she said.

  “Because Stonebridge is his home. It’ll never be mine.”

  “So don’t fall in love.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said.

  My mother is of the opinion that one can control such emotions. She asked me if I would be all right without her, because she had to go back. My father had blown through his second deadline and, for the first time in years, Dad asked my mother directly for her help, since Sloan was now gone and I was unavailable. Because my mother still receives royalties for the Len Wilde canon, she was happy to assist. If I hadn’t been so occupied with my own concerns, I would have derailed their inevitably fraught collaboration. My parents still had many years of being old and at odds. I needed to pace myself.

  After my mother left, Gemma dropped by. I don’t know how she found me. I hid in one of the bedrooms. I was trying to do everything right, so I could clear my name. That was naïve. My name would never be cleared.

  I knew I wouldn’t teach again. It was the only thing I was sure of.

  Norman Crowley

  I hated Christmas break. Ron, my mom’s new guy, was around constantly. He kept pestering me to go outside and throw a football with him. I finally did, to make my mother happy. Ron was showing off, tossing bullets at me. One hit me in the rib that was probably cracked.

  “Got to toughen you up,” he said, when I doubled over in pain.

  The only bright spots were the iPhone my dad got me and the daily texts from Mel.

  It was Mel who told me what happened to Ms. Witt, what Ms. Shepherd had done to her. I know Ms. Shepherd was supposed to be the responsible adult, but I hung all the blame on Adam. I didn’t forgive Ms. Shepherd, exactly, but I couldn’t bring myself to hate her. I wished that I could have talked to her and gotten her side. I still feel like there’s some part of the story that I don’t understand.

  Mel said Gemma had a plan, that we’d get revenge on Adam in the new year. As much as I wanted Adam to pay for all the shit he’d done, I didn’t want things to get any worse.

  Mom and I were alone on New Year’s Eve. We watched that lame special with Ryan Seacrest and waited two hours for a disco ball to drop a hundred feet. I don’t get it. What does that have to do with anything? If the ball dropped and then exploded with money, like a cash piñata, it would make sense for thousands of people to endure hours upon hours of crowds and cold and not peeing.

  Mom let me have a flute of champagne, which she thought was an enormous privilege. I didn’t mention all the quality bourbon I’d had at Stonebridge. At least my mom seemed happy. She mussed my hair a lot and kissed me on the cheek. And sometimes I’d catch her looking at me like I was a puzzle.

  “What, Mom?” I’d say.

  “Nothing,” she’d say. “You look different, older. I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe you’re just growing up.”

  I couldn’t sleep that last night I was home. I kept thinking about Dulcinea. It was an odd name for an odd tradition, especially one whose founder didn’t read books, like Jonah said. Mel had told me about Adam and Ms. Shepherd. I had heard things over the years. I figured they were lies. The editors told so many, why would I believe one that I didn’t want to be true? I couldn’t bear to think of Ms. Shepherd and Adam together. Mel said she hated Shepherd. I hated what she had done. But—and I know I’m not supposed to feel this way—I still loved her.

  I was supposed to head back to Stonebridge on Sunday morning. The night before, I was barfing. I could have stayed home indefinitely. My mother had never wanted me in a boarding school to begin with. I thought about never going back. But I didn’t want to be a coward. I didn’t want Mel to think I was a coward. Besides, I thought they needed me. For the first time, I felt like I was a part of something.

  Gemma Russo

  Winter break at Stonebridge has always been remarkably dull. Maybe Greg thought that was punishment enough. He did insist on one hike a day and I had to eat venison twice. But that probably would have been the case no matter what I had done. Eventually, I realized that I could come and go as I pleased. It’s not like there was any more trouble I could get into.

  We had a white Christmas. Greg was elated. He just stood on the porch, gazing out into the glittering layer of white powder. Without hundreds of boots pummeling the fresh snow, Stonebridge looked so pristine, like something you’d see in a children’s book.

  I made a snowman behind Byron Manor. I dressed him in one of Greg’s tweed jackets and the deerstalker cap he always wears on hikes. Since I
didn’t have a proper present for Greg, the kind you wrap in paper, I thought it would be nice to stick a bottle of champagne into the snowman’s base. It was one of the bottles I’d stolen back from Adam.

  “Merry Christmas,” I said, when I took Greg out back.

  “Now, that’s delightful,” Greg said.

  He promptly removed the coat and hat and shook off the snow. Then Greg noticed the champagne.

  “Where did this come from?” Greg said.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t steal it from a store or anything. I stole it from the thief who stole it from the school.”

  “I see,” Greg said. “And may I ask the identity of the first thief?”

  If I mentioned Adam’s name it would take some of the shine off the day.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  I could tell that Greg was debating whether he wanted to get into it or not. But we had a nice tree and a table full of hot food—I’d convinced him to roast a regular chicken—and he’d already signed the adoption papers.

  “Thank you, Gemma. That is a handsome snowman.”

  I asked Greg if I could have a glass of champagne as my Christmas present. He gave me three pairs of wool socks, a fifty-dollar bill, and snowshoes. The next day, I trekked through the fresh powder, spelling out my name in giant loops.

  Coach Keith dropped by sometime. The days between Christmas and New Year’s blurred together. There was a brief thaw and the snow lost its sheen. I remember Keith stomping his muddy boots at the door. While Greg was getting him coffee, I told Keith that I had physical evidence that might prove Adam’s relationship with Shepherd. If my word wasn’t enough.

  “He’ll be taken care of. Don’t worry,” I said.

  “Gemma, you sound like a mobster. Please don’t take care of anyone.”

  I told Keith to relax. He did not relax. He made me promise not to do anything.