She stared at it, baffled. What was it doing there?
She’d never been to a real dance – it was not the kind of thing her former schools offered. The idea of wearing an expensive frock and going to a proper ball sent a thrill of nervousness through her. What would she do? She didn’t know how to dance.
Stroking the soft fabric, she tried to imagine herself nibbling canapés and making small talk. She gave a bitter laugh.
Not my world.
Allie returned the clothes to the wardrobe, shut the wooden door and sat at the small wooden desk in front of the window. From the chair, her view was of blue sky and the green tops of trees. The afternoon was cooling, and the air smelled of pine and summertime. She opened the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of paper. Isabelle hadn’t been joking about ‘too much’ information.
Inside was a map of the building, sketching out where the dormitories were in respect to classrooms, dining halls, and teachers’ quarters. The second sheet held her class schedule: English, history, biology, algebra, French – all the usual suspects.
Next in the stack was a black binder on which was written:
The Rules
Inside was sheet after sheet written by hand in a lovely old-fashioned script. Before she could read it though, someone knocked on her door.
The door swung open and a pretty girl in a Cimmeria uniform – white short-sleeved crested shirt, pleated dark blue knee-length skirt – walked in. She had a serious face, Allie thought. Her straight, white-blonde hair brushed the tops of her shoulders, and she wore pink Birkenstock sandals. Allie noticed that the girl’s pedicure matched her shoes perfectly and she instantly felt awkward and tomboyish.
When was the last time I painted my nails?
She got the feeling the girl was trying not to stare.
‘Allie?’ She had a husky voice that didn’t seem to match her appearance.
Allie nodded and stood up from the desk.
‘I’m Jules, the prefect for your class. Isabelle asked me to come and meet you.’
‘Um, thanks.’ Allie tugged anxiously at the hem of her top, wondering if she should have changed.
There was a pause. Jules raised an eyebrow enquiringly and tried again. ‘She thought you might have questions that I could help you with?’
Allie struggled to think of interesting questions. And failed. ‘So, are we supposed to wear a uniform every day? All the time?’
Jules nodded. ‘Whenever we’re anywhere on the grounds, we wear the uniform. There’s a whole section on it in the papers Isabelle left for you.’
‘I was just sort of reading them.’ Allie wished she would quit stumbling over her words. Jules seemed so confident. ‘But there’s a lot to read.’
‘It’s a lot to take in on your first day,’ Jules conceded. ‘I think my first day would have been awful but my brother was here already, so he helped. Lots of kids have relatives who went here – do you?’
Allie shook her head. ‘I’d never heard of the place until a few days ago.’
Jules seemed surprised by that, but said only, ‘Well then I better show you around the dorm, although there’s not much to it, to be honest.’
Allie took a step towards the door but Jules looked at her outfit meaningfully.
‘Why don’t you change into your uniform first?’
Flushing, Allie crossed her arms across her chest but Jules didn’t seem to notice.
‘I’ll wait outside,’ Jules said. Without waiting for a response she walked out the door.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Allie yanked open the wardrobe door and pulled out a white shirt and neat blue skirt like the ones Jules wore and threw the outfit on the bed.
Had Jules been making fun of her clothes? She couldn’t be certain, but she was so … perfect.
Of course she was making fun of me, Allie thought bitterly. That’s what girls like her do.
Girls with perfect pedicures … She unlaced her boots violently and kicked them under the bed.
Girls with perfect hair …
She launched herself at the wardrobe to find acceptable shoes, but unearthed only practical rubber-soled black Oxfords and prim, schoolgirl white socks. She made a face as she put them on.
Stupid perfect girls.
Checking herself in the mirror on the back of the door she felt self-conscious about her heavy makeup – Jules wore only lip gloss. But there was nothing to be done right now.
Smoothing her hair with her hands, she walked out. Jules was leaning against the wall.
‘Now you look like one of us,’ she said approvingly as they walked down the narrow hall.
Allie didn’t know what to think about that.
‘This area used to be the servants’ quarters,’ Jules explained, oblivious to Allie’s simmering resentment. ‘The building was expanded over the years, though, so it’s much larger than it used to be. The bathroom’s here …’ she gestured at the only door they’d passed that wasn’t numbered. ‘Everyone shares it so go early or late or expect to wait.’
They turned back towards the stairs. The building felt busier now, with uniformed students talking and laughing everywhere.
‘I take it Isabelle showed you the dining room?’ Jules said. ‘Did she take you to the common room?’
Allie shook her head.
‘It’s the most important room in the school,’ Jules said, leading them down the staircase. ‘Most of us are here after class whenever we’re not doing our prep.’
‘Prep?’ Allie asked.
Jules looked at her as if she couldn’t believe she had to ask.
‘Homework,’ she explained, opening a door at the foot of the stairs.
They stepped into a comfortable space with leather sofas, Oriental rugs scattered on the floor, a piano in one corner, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stacked with books and games. Several tables had chessboards painted on top. The room was empty save for one deep chair at the far side of the room where a boy sat watching them over the top of an ancient-looking book. He had straight black hair, a firm mouth and huge, dark eyes surrounded by thick lashes; his feet were propped casually on a chessboard. Their eyes met and Allie had the strangest feeling that he knew who she was. He didn’t smile at her, or say a word, but he kept looking. After a moment that seemed longer than a moment, she tore her eyes away and looked back at Jules, who was watching her expectantly.
Say something.
‘There’s, uh … no television? Or … stereo …’ She thought she heard a stifled chuckle from across the room but she refused to look back over at the boy.
Again she saw bafflement on Jules’ face, as if she’d asked her what the bright golden globe in the sky was.
‘No, definitely not.’ Jules’ voice was stern. ‘No TV, no iPod, no laptops, no mobiles … No twenty-first century, really. Surely your parents mentioned this to you?’
As Jules listed off the things the students couldn’t have, Allie’s heart sank with each forbidden device. In answer to Jules’ question, she shook her head mutely.
Jules seemed astonished but gathered herself enough to explain.
‘We’re expected to learn how to amuse ourselves in more traditional ways. Like conversation and reading. Trust me, they’ll keep you so busy with schoolwork you won’t have time for TV anyway.’ Jules turned to walk out of the room, ‘It’s all in the packet …’
That stupid packet. It will take me all bloody night to read it and learn more about how rubbish this place is.
Without looking back at the boy in the chair, she followed the prefect down the hall. Jules lightly touched a door as they passed it. ‘This is the library – you’ll get to know it very well.’
They crossed the main hall and she pushed open a heavy door, letting them into the east wing of the building.
‘This is where the classrooms are. It’s easiest to find your way around by number when you first start here. On your schedule, each of your classes has a room number. We all know them by teacher, but
that won’t be much help to you at first, since they don’t put their names on the door. Rooms one to twenty are on the ground floor, one hundred to one-twenty are on the first floor, and anything higher than that is off limits to you.’
Allie shot her a surprised look but before she could ask why, Jules said, ‘So, you’ve got about twenty minutes before dinner, and I’d suggest you read through the packet while you’ve got the time. That stuff is really important. Otherwise I think you’ll be a bit lost tomorrow. Your teachers will give you your books in each class, by the way, so you only need to bring paper and pens; there should be plenty in your desk.’
They were climbing the stairs by that point, heading back towards the dormitory. ‘I’m in room 335 if you need me, but anybody will help you if you get lost, OK?’
She waved and turned away down the hall, as Allie returned to her room.
Setting the weird-looking Rules aside for later, she flipped through the stack of papers on the desk and tried to focus on class guides (‘Students must be in their seats before the instructor begins each class …’) but her thoughts returned to the boy in the leather chair. She searched her memory for any past encounters but could find none filed there. He definitely seemed to recognise her, or, if nothing else, to know who she was. She twirled her pencil between her fingers, remembering the way his dark eyes had studied her.
As she turned over another page she glanced down at her watch.
Bollocks.
It was one minute until seven o’clock. Where had twenty minutes gone? Dinner was starting.
She dashed out the door and barely avoided colliding with a girl with short blonde hair who was hurtling down the hall.
‘Watch it!’ the girl yelled without breaking her stride. Allie stepped in right behind her.
‘Sorry! I didn’t see you.’
The girl didn’t look back, and they both ran downstairs and skidded to a stop at the dining room entrance at the same time. Without exchanging a word they walked into the room with the same air of contrived insouciance, as if they’d been chatting casually on the way down. The blonde girl glanced at her and winked before sitting at what appeared to be her regular table, judging by the way everybody greeted her.
The room looked very different now than it had appeared to her when she’d breezed through with Isabelle. Lighted candles sparkled on tables draped in white tablecloths. Plates in the school colours and crystal glasses glittered in front of each seat. Spotting an empty chair, Allie slid into it. As if somebody had hit the mute button, conversation at the table died instantly. Seven pairs of eyes gazed at her curiously.
‘Is it OK if I, uh … sit here?’ She glanced around nervously.
Before anyone could answer, the door to the kitchen opened and waiting staff appeared dressed in black and carrying platters of food. Somebody placed a clear glass jug of water at Allie’s elbow. Until that moment she hadn’t realised how thirsty she was, and she longed to fill her glass but she waited to see what everybody else was doing. Nobody moved.
‘Please do.’
She followed the voice, with its French accent, to her left side where a boy with tawny skin, thick dark hair and exquisite blue eyes was watching her.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Sit here. Please do.’
She smiled at him gratefully. ‘Thank you.’
He smiled back and she thought she might actually melt into a puddle on the floor. He was gorgeous.
‘You’re welcome. Would you be so kind as to pass the water to me?’
She handed him the jug and, to her relief, he filled her glass before his own. She drank half of the glass very quickly, and then served herself from the platter of beef and potatoes he passed to her. Silence fell again, and she glanced over at him.
She cleared her throat. ‘I’m Allie,’ she said.
Something told her he knew that already. ‘I’m Sylvain. Welcome to Cimmeria.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, momentarily glad to be there.
The food was delicious. She hadn’t had anything to eat since that awful, stilted breakfast, and now she ate ravenously. As she speared the last piece of potato into her mouth, though, she glanced up to find everyone watching her. The piece of potato seemed enormous and she chewed with difficulty then reached for her glass of water, which she noticed too late was empty.
Smoothly, Sylvain picked up the glass and filled it for her. His expression was sympathetic, and his light eyes glittered in the candlelight. But as Allie tried to think of something interesting to say, her thoughts were interrupted.
‘You’re from London.’ The abrupt voice came from a red-haired girl across the table.
‘Yes. How did you …?’
‘They told us a new student was coming. You’re Allie Sheridan.’ The redhead stated this matter-of-factly, as if she were reporting the day’s news.
Allie’s reply was guarded.
‘So they tell me. Who are you?’
‘Katie.’ Nobody else volunteered their names.
Allie squirmed a bit in their combined gaze, and felt the need to fill the awkward gaps in the conversation. But small talk had never been her strong suit.
‘This school is … huge,’ she fumbled. ‘The building is kind of scary.’
‘Is it?’ Katie asked, sounding a bit taken aback. ‘I think it’s beautiful. Everyone in my family went to school here. Did your parents go here?’
Allie shook her head. Katie arched one perfect eyebrow as the girls on either side of her whispered to each other.
‘How strange.’
‘Why is that strange?’ Allie asked.
‘Most of the kids here are legacy – I am, Sylvain is, and Jo is too.’
Allie was confused. ‘Who’s Jo?’
Katie looked bemused. ‘The girl you came in with.’
‘Miss Sheridan.’ The booming voice from just behind her seat cut Katie off, and Allie turned sideways to see its owner, a balding man who looked to be her father’s age. He was very tall – well over six feet – and although he wore a tired-looking suit, he stood with almost military carriage. Allie sat up straighter. The room fell silent.
‘Has anyone explained to you the rules on meals at Cimmeria?’ The look he gave her felt like contempt.
‘Yes.’ Allie’s voice quivered slightly, and she hated that.
‘All students must be in this room before the start of every meal. You cut it a little too close today. As did you, Miss Arringford.’ He spun on his heel and pointed at Jo, who regarded him fearlessly. He looked back at Allie. ‘Don’t let it happen again. New or not, the next time you’re late you’ll face detention.’
He strode away, his heels making a clicking sound in the hushed room. Allie stared at her empty plate, feeling the room’s eyes on her. Her cheeks flushed with anger. She was two seconds late. He had no right to humiliate her in front of the entire school for that.
She couldn’t believe it. She’d only just arrived, and already she was in trouble.
Looking over at the nearby table she saw Jo watching her. Briefly their eyes met and Jo gave a cheeky smile and another wink before she returned to talking and laughing as if nothing had happened. Allie watched as a boy rubbed Jo’s arm and she rested her head on his shoulder for a moment smiling at something he’d said.
Allie felt both better and worse.
The others at her table were talking busily to one another, pointedly ignoring her. All except Sylvain, who looked concerned.
‘Who was that?’ she asked, folding and unfolding her linen napkin, pretending that what had happened wasn’t that important.
‘Mr Zelazny,’ he said. ‘History teacher. A bit officious as you’ve now seen. He sees himself as the school’s enforcer. I’d like to say that you shouldn’t worry, but in reality you don’t want to get on his bad side. He can make your life … unhappy. If I were you, I’d be early for meals for the next few days. He will be watching you.’
‘Great,’ Allie said resignedly.
Just my bloody luck.
All around them students began rising from their tables and walking out. Allie saw that they left their plates and glasses on the table.
‘Don’t we help clear the tables?’ she asked, surprised.
The girls around Katie giggled.
Katie looked puzzled. ‘Of course not. The staff do that.’
Allie turned to Sylvain, but his seat was empty. He was gone. She could hear more giggling and whispering around the table, and she’d had just about enough of that today, so without another word she joined those walking to the door.
She felt tired and defeated. What she wouldn’t give to go back to her room and listen to her MP3 player while texting Mark and Harry about the weird people she’d met today. But that world seemed very far away from Cimmeria’s stuffy, antiquated universe where technology didn’t exist, and people were too pampered to pick up their own dinner plates and carry them to the kitchen.
Out in the hallway she saw the students were walking in several directions. Some were going outside, while others headed into the common room or library. They all seemed to be travelling in groups of friends, talking and laughing.
Alone, Allie climbed the stairs towards the girls’ rooms.
Twenty-four steps to the first floor, and twenty more to the second, then seventeen steps down the hall to her room.
Once inside she saw that somebody had been in while she was at dinner. The window was closed, although the shutter was still open. The bed was now covered in crisp white sheets and a fluffy white duvet; a dark blue blanket folded neatly across the footboard. The clothes she’d thrown on the floor had disappeared, replaced by a pair of soft white slippers. Two white towels were folded up on the chair with a bar of soap on top. The papers on the desk had been straightened into a neat pile.
Somebody around here’s a neat freak.
Kicking off her shoes, Allie picked up the papers and threw herself onto the bed. She’d only made it halfway through, though, when the evening light began disappearing from the sky.
Night School Page 3
