Night School

by C. J. Daugherty

  She yawned into her course schedule.

  Shoving her feet into the slippers, she grabbed her toothbrush and headed towards the bathroom. She opened the door with slight trepidation, but the room was empty. As she cleaned her teeth she studied herself in the mirror. Did she look older now than she had a week ago? She felt older.

  Back in her room she closed the shutter over the window and climbed into bed. But when she switched off the desk lamp the room was plunged into total darkness. It was way too dark. She groped for the lamp on the desk, knocking over her alarm clock as she hurriedly switched the light back on.

  Jumping out of bed, she opened the shutter. The last light of the summer day bathed the room with a soft glow.

  That was better.

  Switching off the lamp, she lay watching the last glimmers of sunlight disappear and the stars appear. She’d counted one hundred and forty-seven breaths when she fell asleep.

  ‘Allie, run!’

  The scream came from ahead of her in the darkness. Allie didn’t know why anyone felt it necessary to say that – she was already running, and running as fast as she could. Her hair flew behind her, and although she couldn’t really see the trees clearly – she could just make out their shapes – she could feel the branches grabbing at her clothes; the twigs tearing her flesh. The forest floor was uneven and she knew that eventually she would lose her footing. You can’t run blindly in the dark through the woods. It’s impossible.

  Suddenly just behind her she heard footsteps and felt the air move as if someone were right …

  Hard fingers cut into the skin on her left shoulder and she cried out, swatting whoever it was with her hands, beating them away from her.

  Then she heard a contemptuous laugh right behind her and, screaming, she was pulled off of her feet by hands she couldn’t see.

  Allie sat bolt upright. For a short moment she had no idea where she was, and she scrambled into the far corner of the bed, her back to the wall and her arms wrapped around her knees protectively.

  Then she remembered. Cimmeria. School.

  That dream again. She’d been having it regularly for weeks. Each time she woke up sweating.

  The room was still dark – the clock showed that it was just after twelve-thirty. She felt wide awake and anxious, and yet somehow still groggy, as if nothing were real.

  She climbed out of bed, and leaned across the desk to look outside. The moon cast the world in an unearthly blue light. She clambered up onto the desktop and opened the window, feeling the cool breeze as she rested her chin on her arms and gazed out into the darkness. She listened to the night birds and breathed the fresh air in deeply. She loved that smell – pine needles and loamy soil – it was comforting.

  Suddenly she heard footsteps … above her? Was that possible?

  She strained to see what was above her window and could have sworn she saw the faintest shadow moving on the roof.

  She sat still for a moment, listening, and thought she could hear, very faintly, a susurration of voices.

  She closed the window, tested the latch to make sure it was secure then climbed back into bed. She was unconscious within minutes.

  FOUR

  Allie opened her eyes to find the room filled with light. In the hazy space between sleep and wakefulness she thought that, with its pure white walls and pristine white duvet, it looked like heaven.

  She glanced at the alarm clock on the desk – six-thirty.

  Had she ever been up this early in her life? Maybe for that trip to France with her family a few years ago, but never of her own volition. Never just for school.

  She could hear voices in the hallway as she stretched and yawned. The room was cool with the fresh morning air.

  She sat up straight and stared at the wide open window. Hadn’t she closed it last night? She could remember doing it but now it stood as far open as it had been when she’d sat in front of it during the night.

  Maybe I just dreamed that I closed it.

  She climbed out of bed muttering under her breath, ‘Get on with it, Allie.’ Pulling on her dressing gown and sliding on her slippers, she wrapped her shampoo and toothbrush in a towel and hurried down the hall, anxious about the shared bathroom scenario ahead.

  In contrast to its echoing emptiness last night, the big room was now steamy and busy, but there was one free shower. Relieved it wasn’t one of those everybody-naked-in-a-brutal-concrete-cube shared showers, Allie pulled the curtain closed behind her and stepped in to find a private changing area in front of a spacious white shower cubicle. Both were spotless.

  This wasn’t so bad, actually. There was plenty of space, a hook on which she could hang her robe and even a polished wooden bench where she could leave her slippers high and dry. In the hot spray she felt better almost immediately. Later, with her wet hair wrapped in a towel, she found a free sink to brush her teeth and didn’t really mind how busy it was. Swathed in a thick white robe like everybody else, nobody could tell she was the new girl.

  Back in her room she quickly pulled on her uniform, combed her damp hair and applied a light sweep of mascara. Her hand hovered over the eyeliner … then she left it in the bag. This place seemed to have a different style than her school in London.

  She gathered her papers and pens for the day and put them into the dark blue tote bag she’d found in the wardrobe. Swinging it over her shoulder, she headed downstairs at seven o’clock on the dot, well ahead of the seven-thirty breakfast deadline.

  When she walked in the dining room door she paused for a moment – it had again transformed itself. Huge windows along one wall let in sunlight, diffused through white blinds. Gone were the twinkling candles and sparkling glasses. Most of the tables were empty and topped only with plain white tablecloths. Food was piled on buffet tables: ten kinds of cereal, a steaming cauldron of porridge and stacks of bread ready for toasting. Heated silver serving platters held eggs, bacon and sausages.

  Smelling the food, she discovered she was starving again. Piling her plate with toast, cheese and scrambled eggs, she poured herself a glass of apple juice before claiming a seat at an empty table. She didn’t recognise anybody in the room, which was, in its own way, nice. She smeared butter and blackcurrant jam on her toast and took a huge bite.

  ‘Is this seat taken?’

  Trying not to chew with her mouth open, Allie turned to see Sylvain standing beside her. She shook her head mutely, and struggled to swallow gracefully but failed, wincing as the food went down. For the first time she thought a smile reached his extraordinary eyes.

  ‘No … I mean, you can sit here. Please. Do …’

  Sitting down beside her without a hint of awkwardness, he took a bite of bacon. ‘How did you find your first night? I looked for you in the common room but I couldn’t find you.’

  Her heart jumped and she looked determinedly at her cheese so that he wouldn’t see how pleased she was. ‘I had a lot to read last night. I thought I’d better learn as much as I could before today to, you know, get ready. Big day and all that.’

  He nodded and took a reasonably sized bite of toast. ‘I remember that from my first day. They seem to want you to learn everything about Cimmeria all at once. I think the information they give you is more than …’ Adorably he seemed to struggle to think of the English words he was looking for ‘… the school in size, if that makes sense?’

  Charmed, she couldn’t help but smile. ‘I know exactly what you mean. It’s disproportionate.’

  ‘Yes. Disproportionate.’ He smiled back at her and Allie’s heart jumped again.

  Stop that, she told herself firmly. He’s just being polite.

  They ate in companionable silence for a while.

  ‘So,’ she said after a while, ‘does everybody hang out in the common room a lot? It looks OK.’

  Great small talk, Allie. Really smooth.

  He didn’t seem to notice as he sipped from a cup of milky coffee. ‘The common room and the library are where people are most evenin
gs. In the summer when it’s warm many of us choose to be outside, though. I was outside last night, playing night croquet. That is why I was looking for you. I thought you might want to join us.’

  Allie’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.

  ‘You were playing croquet at night? In the dark?’

  ‘It’s more fun that way. You know, I’ve found that many games are more exotic if played at night.’ His eyes held hers for just a second too long.

  And just like that Allie lost her appetite. She tore her eyes away from his, and her gaze skittered around the room.

  Chair, table, girl-with-ponytail, window, chair again …

  She felt the warmth rise in her cheeks. When she glanced back at him a slight smile played at the edge of his lips as he crumbled a corner of toast between long fingers, watching her face.

  He’s flirting with me. Definitely.

  ‘Rounders, for example,’ he continued thoughtfully. ‘And football without lights, although that can be a bit … rough.’

  He balanced a piece of bacon on his fingertips while he considered the possibilities. ‘Tennis with fluorescent rackets on a moonless night is incredible. I think you’d love it. I promise to find you the next time we play – wherever you are.’

  She watched as if hypnotised while he took a bite.

  ‘Allie. How nice to see you again.’ Katie pulled out a chair across the table, and sat down. Her plate was intricately decorated with slices of fruit. ‘And Sylvain. What a surprise.’

  Her long, curly red hair contrasted brilliantly with her milky, translucent skin. In the soft light, she seemed illuminated. She was surrounded by a small group of perfectly styled girls who watched Allie with amusement.

  Sylvain looked at her icily. ‘I was just leaving, actually.’

  He turned back to Allie and held her gaze. ‘We have English together, I believe. It’s Robert Browning this week, in case you want to read before class. See you then.’

  He walked away before she could ask him how he knew what classes she was taking, but he turned in the doorway for a second and when their eyes met Allie felt as if somebody had draped a warm blanket across her shoulders. When he was gone she smiled at her apple juice.

  ‘Sylvain’s lovely isn’t he?’ Katie’s crisp west London accent cut into her reverie. Allie looked up to find her watching her knowingly. ‘Those dreamy eyes and that melty accent. His girlfriend’s lovely, too, isn’t she?’ She turned to the brunette beside her who nodded and giggled.

  ‘She lives in Paris now I hear.’ Katie delicately consumed a segment of grapefruit as Allie felt her emotional balloon burst.

  Ah. Girlfriend. Right. So much for that, then.

  She was not surprised to find the inevitable crushing blow of early romantic disappointment following hard on the heels of hope. Frankly, that was how things usually went for her. When she’d first met Mark there’d been something there. For two weeks it had been obvious to everybody that they’d get together. Until one night he’d shown up with a perky, diminutive blonde named Charlotte who had a penchant for miniskirts and hot pink nail polish.

  After that he was just her mate.

  ‘How nice for him,’ Allie said resignedly. ‘Well … I have to go too.’

  She stood up and walked away quickly, stopping herself at the last minute from looking for a place to take her plate and glass. Hearing giggles behind her, she straightened her spine and did not look back.

  Outside the dining hall Allie joined other students walking down the wide hallway with oak wainscoting towards the classrooms in the east wing. The walls were lined with oil paintings – most were huge portraits of nineteenth century men and women in formal attire staring down at her haughtily. A few portrayed Cimmeria Hall from different perspectives, most from the hill outside with thick forest in the foreground. In one, the building was much smaller than it was now – before the expansion Isabelle had talked about.

  Her first class was biology, in room 112, so she climbed the staircase to the first floor and found the room near the top of the stairs.

  The handful of students who’d arrived early were sitting in pairs at tables arranged in long rows, as a tall, distracted-looking man with wire-framed glasses and unruly brown hair flipped through papers at the front of the room.

  Allie walked over to him. ‘Hi. I’m Alyson Sheridan. I’m new.’

  He peered at her over the top of his glasses and shuffled his papers again at length, finally emerging with one, which he waved triumphantly.

  ‘Of course you are. A transfer student, how lovely. But I have you down as ‘Allie’. Which do you prefer?’

  ‘Allie,’ she said, surprised. Schools always had her down as Alyson. But everybody at Cimmeria knew her as Allie before she met them.

  ‘Then Allie it is.’ He was shuffling papers again distractedly. ‘I’m Jeremiah Cole. The students usually call me Jerry. Please take the second seat on the right there, next to Jo.’

  She glanced in the direction he pointed to see the blonde girl from dinner last night waving vigorously.

  ‘I’m so glad it’s you. I do hope you’re good at biology,’ she said as soon as Allie walked up. ‘I think all the sciences are diabolical – dead baby animals and parasites – what are they trying to tell us? Crikey we got into trouble last night, didn’t we? Does that always happen to you?’

  She had a contagious smile – white, even teeth, deep endearing dimples and little crinkles around her tiny nose – and a lead crystal accent. Allie smiled back at her before her brain realised she wanted to do it.

  ‘It does always happen to me. If you hang around with me, it will definitely happen again,’ Allie said, with a wicked smile.

  Jo beamed at her. ‘Brilliant! This is going to be amazing.’

  As Allie pulled out her notebook, Jo whispered, ‘Isn’t Jerry snoggable for an old guy? I had a crush on him my whole first year here.’

  Allie studied the teacher. He looked like somebody’s dad. A nice dad. But a dad nonetheless.

  ‘I like that you can call teachers by their first names here,’ she said noncommittally. ‘My last school was so strict we practically had to call them “Officer”.’

  Laughing, Jo looked like she wasn’t sure whether or not to believe her.

  ‘You’re going to have to tell me more about your life,’ she said. ‘It sounds much better than mine.’

  Don’t count on it, Allie thought. But she just smiled.

  Jo showed her where the class had reached in the book. ‘It’s disgusting,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Today, I think we’re dissecting.’

  As if on cue, Jerry called for quiet.

  ‘Today we’ll be looking at the general internal construction of amphibians, thanks to the sacrifice of this little fellow.’

  Reaching under his desk he pulled out a dissection tray containing a dead frog, spreadeagled and pinioned, its pale belly curving at them vulnerably.

  ‘Oh bollocks.’ Jo grimaced.

  ‘Who can tell me why we’re dissecting a frog rather than some other poor creature?’ Jerry asked, looking at the class over the top of his glasses. ‘Why do we torment these innocent pond-dwellers? How about you, Allie? Do you know?’

  Allie felt the colour drain from her cheeks.

  ‘I … I guess …’

  ‘Because a frog’s anatomy is much like man’s.’ The voice, deep and pleasing, came from behind her.

  ‘Mr West,’ Jerry said, glancing without warmth towards the speaker, ‘is correct as usual, although he could wait his turn. The anatomy of the frog is somewhat similar to human anatomy …’

  Allie turned around in her seat to see who had saved her, and instantly recognised the boy from the common room yesterday. He was staring at her with those big, dark eyes, but his expression startled her – he looked almost resentful.

  With a puzzled frown, Allie turned to face the front.

  Science was not her best subject, and so she tried not to think about ‘Mr West’, and focused in
stead on Jerry’s lesson about frogs.

  She didn’t look back again.

  ‘You took loads of notes,’ Jo said as they were walking out, ‘I’m so psyched that you’re really into science. I need a friend who’s a science geek.’

  ‘I’m not that into it,’ Allie said honestly. ‘I just think I’m going to have to work to catch up. This class is way ahead of my last school.’

  ‘This is a really hard school,’ Jo said. ‘But it’s fun too. Although it does have too many freaky rules.’

  ‘Totally,’ Allie said.

  Pretending to straighten her bag strap, she asked casually, ‘Hey, who was that guy who saved me from the frog question? Jerry called him “Mr West”.’

  With a knowing look, Jo lowered her voice confidentially. ‘Carter West,’ she whispered. ‘He is totally hot. But he’s a mess. So you probably shouldn’t.’

  Allie was so intrigued she didn’t bother to deny interest. ‘How is he a mess?’

  ‘He’s constantly in detention. Thinks he knows everything and everybody else is shallow. He’s infuriating. Half the teachers hate him, and the others treat him like, I don’t know, he’s their kid or something. And he’s a notorious womaniser. He gets what he wants and then he’s not interested any more. You’d be better off working that Sylvain thing you’ve got going.’

  Allie blushed. ‘I don’t have anything going with Sylvain.’

  ‘Well, I think he’s got something going with you.’ Jo elbowed her.

  ‘Actually, I heard he has a girlfriend in Paris.’

  ‘First I’ve heard of it.’ Jo seemed genuinely surprised. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘The red-headed girl. What’s her name … Katie?’

  ‘Oh, Katie.’ Jo’s voice dripped with contempt. ‘Christ, she’s such a bitch. Don’t listen to a word she says. She’s always had a thing for Sylvain and he’s never been interested in her at all. She must really hate the way he’s just fallen for you.’

  Allie kept her expression blank but inside she was churning. So Katie had lied. Well that was it then.