by J.J. Bonds
Chapter Thirteen
The smoke curls all around me wrapping my body tightly in its grip. The smell permeates my clothes, my hair, my skin. It invades my nostrils and constricts my lungs. I know it can’t hurt me, but I find my body convulsing anyway. I’m unable to control my reaction to the suffocating substance.
Oh, God. I have to get out of here. I can’t take the smell of burning flesh today. I know there’s nothing I can do to save them. There never is. Why would this time be different?
I stumble backward retreating from the building. “It’s just a dream,” I pant, bending over and pressing the palms of my hands to my thighs. “Just wake up!” I command myself desperately.
I jerk awake with a splash. The sudden movement sends soapy water sloshing over the side of the tub and onto the tiled floor below. I’m greeted by the sweet scent of cherry blossom bubble bath. The calming aroma is a welcome change from the assault of ash and soot in my dreams.
I must’ve fallen asleep in the bath. I vaguely remember running the hot water and slipping into the tub to wash away the events of the day. I guess I didn’t realize how tired I was. “Good thing vampires can’t drown.”
I lean forward and reach for the faucet intending to add a burst of hot water to refresh the lukewarm bath. As I turn the knob, blood shoots from the faucet pouring into the tub and tainting the water. I stare at it perplexed, my brain trying to comprehend the impossible.
Before I can shut it off, I’m swimming in a sea of red. The water is churning around me, tossing my body back and forth with the tide of blood. The coppery smell is overpowering. I reach desperately for the side of the tub hoping to pull myself to safety, but it’s too slippery, and I can’t hold on. I’m jerked back into the angry bath which is growing impossibly deep.
This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. It has to be another dream; a trick of the mind. I slip below the surface and kick hard, willing my head to stay above the water line. The bottom of the tub is gone. I’m being swallowed up by a sea of blood.
I refuse to accept defeat. I kick harder, reaching again for the side of the tub, for a second chance, for redemption. But all I see is Damian, the boy from town. His cherub-like face smiles down at me from above. He can’t help me. No one can.
I wake up screaming. In Sociology. Professor Lynch and my classmates are staring at me. Their faces show a range of emotions from surprise to amusement. A few of them are actually snickering. I don’t have to look to know that Jade, Lexie, and Blaine are among the entertained. Why did it have to be this class of all places?
“Sorry,” I say trying to act as though this behavior is perfectly normal.
“Are you alright, Miss Lescinka?” Lynch asks looking disturbed. I suspect that, in all his years of teaching, this is a first.
“Ever get the feeling that you’ll just scream if you have to sit here and listen to this dribble for another minute?” I know I’m going to be punished, but I’d rather have my classmates gossiping about my flippant attitude and humiliation of Lynch than wondering what caused the bloodcurdling scream in the first place.
Lynch crosses the room in a heartbeat and stops inches from my desk. He stares at me coldly, hands clenched at his sides. “Well then, don’t let us keep you another minute,” he returns rigidly, his words reverberating with anger. I’ve probably hurt his feelings. For this I’m sorry. I actually like Professor Lynch. He’s a good teacher. “Perhaps you should go see Headmaster Pratt? Now.”
I accept my punishment without protest and gather my books. As I pass by his desk, Nik whispers words of encouragement. “Good luck.”
I’ll need it, I think. I’ve never spoken to Headmaster Pratt personally, but I’ve seen him around campus and at assemblies where he’s addressed the student body. He’s a severe looking man with slick black hair and a bony face. I’ve never seen him smile. What made him choose education as his profession, I’ll never know. I suspect it has something to do with his enjoyment of power. He runs the school like a tyrant.
When I arrive at the office, they’re expecting me. Lynch must’ve sent them a message electronically. “You can go right in,” Pratt’s secretary tells me indifferently, sneaking a cautious glace at the closed office door behind her.
I knock to announce my arrival and enter. The office is nothing like Anya’s. It’s much colder and darker. There’s nothing in this pretentious workplace to suggest Pratt wants his visitors to feel warm or welcome in his presence. There are no signs of personalization to hint at Pratt’s interests outside of Crossroads nor are there any photos of family or friends. Assuming he has any.
“Come in, Katia. Sit.” He doesn’t mince words. “Frankly, I’m surprised we haven’t met sooner.”
I say nothing. He doesn’t expect me to. It seems he’s been preparing for this meeting since the day I arrived at Crossroads. He has his speech all worked out.
“I’ve seen your type before.” He doesn’t even look at me as he speaks. He’s too busy studying his perfectly manicured hands. “You think that just because your Uncle resides on the Consiliul de Batrani that you can behave in whatever manner suits you? I won’t tolerate it. Not in my school. As long as you’re here, you will follow my rules and show me respect.”
Respect him? What planet is he on? The incident in Lynch’s classroom had nothing to do with disrespecting him. What a delusional narcissist!
“I’ve been running this school for a long time,” he continues. “Crossroads Academy has a reputation for being elite, for being polished. We produce the best and the brightest students. Ours is a reputation that is based on years of discipline. I will not abide anyone or anything which stands to tarnish what I’ve worked so hard to build. Disrespect will not be tolerated. In fact, it will be punished swiftly.”
“I’ll apologize to Professor Lynch immediately and will not give him any further trouble.” That much is true. I am sorry for disrupting Lynch’s class, and I will do my best to earn back his respect. I will not, however, apologize to Pratt for his perceived disrespect. Eff that!
“You will also pick up a work detail,” Pratt says smiling calculatingly. “See my assistant on your way out, and she will give you the details.”
I’m dismissed with a wave of the hand. I stop at the secretary’s desk to receive my work detail.
“You’ll be working in the stables every weekend for the next month.” She looks sympathetic. She probably thinks this is the worst assignment Pratt can think up. “The stable hand, Keegan O’Malley, will expect you from seven to noon on both Saturday and Sunday,” she says handing me a slip of paper with the details of my punishment. “Your off campus privileges will also be revoked while you are on work detail and you won’t be able to go on the ski trip to Killington.”
I’m not particularly thrilled by this last bit of information. Being limited to the campus for a month sucks, but working with Keegan should be a breeze. I’m not afraid of hard work, and I know he’ll be fair.
