Ink and Ivy

by Sara Martin

  “Let me know what you find out.”

  “I will. In the meantime, I’ll get my husband to drop off Hole Hearted at your house, so you can return it.”

  “Thanks, Anna.”

  “Goodnight, Ivy.”

  As soon as the conversation ended, I opened Google and searched Alexander Morris. A few results appeared, and I opened them all on new tabs. Before long, I was down a rabbit hole, trying to dig up as much detail as I could find. All it did was lead me to a dead end. I learned a lot about his books—well-reviewed psychological thrillers, but the man himself was a complete mystery.

  When I realised the time, I was shocked. Almost midnight. I was none the wiser about the identity of Alexander Morris, and I had completely forgotten to pack for my trip to Wellington. I went to bed, resolving to pack in the morning.

  Although I wasn’t able to gain any more insight on Alexander Morris, I felt in my heart that Anna was right.

  11

  “Come on, Ivy. Let’s get going,” Dad called from the hallway.

  “Coming!” I called back. I grabbed my lightly packed duffel bag off the bed and met Dad outside by the car.

  He drove me to the airport. I didn’t fly often, so I was nervous just for this short domestic flight.

  “Passengers may begin boarding flight 2154 to Wellington,” a voice said over the speaker.

  Dad squeezed my hand. “Have a great time, darling. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  I hugged him. “See you tomorrow.”

  I joined the queue. When I reached the front, I presented my boarding pass. Then I was out on the tarmac and waving to Dad before boarding the little 737.

  I stuffed my duffel bag into the overhead locker. After take off, I shut my eyes, lay back and listened to my iPod. Before I knew it, the plane was being prepared for landing.

  A short taxi ride later, I arrived at the hotel. My room was small but modern and clean. I lay on the bed, luxuriating in the crisp white bedding. I texted Mum to say I had arrived safe and sound. After a few moments of relaxation, I decided to hit the town and orientate myself. After all, this city would be my home next year. It would be good to familiarise myself with it. I didn’t have a map, so I traced my steps with care.

  The city had a claustrophobic feel, with tall, tight buildings lining the hilly streets. Cafés were tucked into every corner, and music shops and bookstores were commonplace.

  When my legs became tired from walking, I stopped in at a café and ordered a latte and a caramel slice. I sat down in an armchair and looked out the window. I realised I could see myself living here, enjoying the culture and the atmosphere.

  Perhaps law school is my future after all?

  A young man sat across from me in the café, doodling in a sketchbook. My thoughts immediately turned to Julian. I instinctively checked my phone.

  One new message. My heart thudded.

  Good. Let me know how you get on tomorrow. Mum had responded to my text message from earlier.

  I deflated.

  After I finished my coffee, I made my way back to the hotel. Fortunately, I had been careful to keep track of where I went. The town was a bit like a maze.

  Back in the hotel, I lazed around, flicking through the TV channels. I ordered dinner through room service. That made me feel so fancy and grown up. I hoped my parents wouldn’t mind the bill.

  My phone vibrated on the bedside table.

  Hope you’re having a good time in Wellington. J.

  I held the phone to my chest, overjoyed Julian had texted me. When I had recovered from my moment of jubilation, I replied.

  I am. But it’s strange to think I will live here next year.

  Julian texted back. It suits you. Let me know how the open day goes.

  I smiled and typed my reply. I will.

  Goodnight.

  I sighed deeply, turning onto my stomach.

  I awoke disorientated, which usually happens when I don’t spend the night in my own bed. The alarm clock read 9:12.

  Shit.

  I must have forgot to set the alarm. I got dressed in a hurry and flung my bag over my shoulder. The walk to the university was a long and arduous journey by foot. When the campus finally came into view, I was exhausted. A sprawl of large, intimidating buildings surrounded me. I entered a courtyard and followed the sound of chatter. A group of nervous young people stood outside.

  I’m in the right place.

  After a few minutes of standing around, a stern-looking old man let us into a lecture theatre. I sat at the front and took out my notepad and pen.

  The old man stood at the lectern. “Quiet please,” he said, but the noise didn’t die down. He raised his voice. “Quiet.”

  That did the trick.

  He cleared his throat. “Welcome prospective law students.” He started a slide deck projected on the wall. “Hill University is the first and foremost place to study law in New Zealand. Our programme is unrivalled. We have access to the country’s largest library of legislation. Parliament and the supreme court are on our doorstep. Past students have gone on to become some of the world’s top lawyers.” He went through the slides, sharing some of the key benefits of studying law at the university.

  The excitement of the students around me was palpable, but my mind wandered while the old man droned on in monotone.

  After the presentation, we were put into small groups, each led by a student representative from the university. Each group set off in different directions for a tour of the campus and the Law School facilities. The campus was quiet, with only a few students about, as it was semester break. We came to the main law building, tall and foreboding.

  “This is one of the oldest buildings in the university,” the student rep explained. She opened the door and took us inside.

  The interior was overwhelmingly brown, and a musty smell pervaded the air. Wooden desks and blackboards in the classrooms made me feel like I had stepped back in time. Next, we were taken to the library. The huge, multi-floored room housed shelves packed with thick volumes of legislation. When I removed a dense hardcover, a cloud of dust filled the air and I sneezed. I flicked through the first few pages before my arms grew tired from its heft.

  When the tour came to an end, I went outside and gasped in the fresh air. I checked the time. One o’clock. Still plenty of time before I had to make it to the airport. I left the campus to explore the area a bit more. After an extensive walk around, I managed to wind up in a seedy part of town, full of sex shops and massage parlours. But cafés, bookshops and theatres also featured in the eclectic mix of businesses.

  Down a back road, a brick building caught my eye. Elias Institute the sign read above the entrance. The name rang a bell. I recalled seeing their stall at the careers fair. I wondered whether it might be possible to go in and take a look around.

  I crossed the road and stood at the entrance. The door was locked. An access card was required to get in.

  Well, that is that, then.

  I turned around and saw two people—a young man and a woman—heading towards the building. The man took out an access card, and they went in.

  Now’s my chance. I swooped in behind them. I’m in.

  The foyer was a large and airy atrium, with a beautiful mosaic floor polished to a gleam and a trickling fountain.

  Wow. I stood there stunned. What a beautiful school…

  After I had finished staring in awe, I ascended the staircase to the next level. The floor housed several small classrooms and cute little studios. I took my time wandering around, admiring each room. I couldn’t help but fantasise about studying here. Caught up in my thoughts, I managed to walk straight into someone.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going,” the man from earlier said, with the woman still by his side.

  “Uh…I’m sorry.”

  The pair scrutinised me through narrowed eyes.

  “What are you doing here? You’re not a student, are you?” the man asked.

  I trie
d to act casual. “I’m just a visitor. Are you students here?”

  “Yup,” the woman said. “We’re second-year students. I’m Amy, and this is Mark.”

  “I’m Ivy. So, what do you guys study?”

  “Mark studies photography, and I study creative writing.”

  My pulse sped up. Creative writing. “Cool! I’d love to study creative writing here…”

  “We can give you a tour if you like.”

  Mark checked his watch. “I don’t have long.”

  “It will be a whirlwind tour, then.”

  “That’s fine. Thanks!” I said, eager for the opportunity to explore the school.

  Mark and Amy showed me around the rest of the floor.

  “The classrooms here are so small,” I remarked.

  “Uh huh,” Amy said. “It’s better that way. Everyone can get attention from the tutor.”

  We turned a corridor, and Mark showed us into one of the art studios.

  “There are facilities here for everything,” Mark explained. “Painting, sculpting, photography, you name it.”

  I gaped at the spacious room, lined with workbenches and stools. Shelving overflowed with an endless variety of tools and materials.

  I lagged behind when Amy and Mark continued to the stairs.

  “Up here is the library and study area,” Amy said as we ascended.

  I quickened my pace, eager to see the room ahead. My heart fluttered at the sight of the beautifully furnished library with good condition books in perfect alignment on the shelves.

  When I found the effort to tear myself away, up we went to the next floor. We entered a narrow corridor with many doors lining the sides. “Offices?” I asked.

  Mark shook his head. “These are actually study rooms, or ‘pods’ as we call them.”

  “Every writing student gets their own pod assigned to them,” Amy said. “It’s the perfect, quiet space for writing.” She led us farther down the corridor and opened a door. “This is my pod.”

  I immediately saw why it was referred to as a pod. The room was tiny, fitting only a small desk and a chair. Nevertheless, it seemed cozy and peaceful. And, most importantly, completely private.

  “There’s also a kitchen on this level. Good if you’re planning on spending a long time here,” Amy said.

  We approached the stairs. “How many more levels?” I asked.

  “This is the last one,” Mark said.

  “Offices,” I declared again when we reached the landing.

  “Yeah, you can visit your tutor here during their office hours.”

  Another staircase, leading up. “I thought we were at the top?”

  Amy smiled. “Not quite.”

  On the next floor, she opened a door which led out onto the rooftop. The cool air rushed over me. The sunlight made me blink. When I had properly regained my vision, I took in the incredible view.

  “Wow, you can see the whole city from up here.”

  “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Amy stood beside me. “This is where the art students can paint or draw in the open air. Or you can just go to relax and get some fresh air.”

  I couldn’t help thinking this school was a complete and utter dream. Turning to Mark and Amy, I expressed my gratitude. “Thanks for the tour. This seems like a wonderful place to study.”

  “Are you thinking of applying?” Amy asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I said, knowing all the while the sheer unlikelihood that would ever happen. Sighing, I checked my watch. “Is that the time? I need to get going.”

  “It was nice to meet you. If you come here next year, come say hi,” Amy said.

  “I will. Thanks again.” I left the building in a hurry. I practically skipped down the road, my heart feeling like it was about to burst. Even though I knew I wouldn’t get to go there, I couldn’t help imagining what it would be like. I allowed a tiny sliver of hope to enter my thoughts.

  12

  I arrived home safe and sound on Sunday evening. Of course, Mum was dying to ask a million questions. I faked enthusiasm, while the Elias Institute occupied my mind. I didn’t dare say anything, though. I held it all in until I had the chance to talk to Lana.

  When I saw her the next morning, it all came tumbling out in a deluge. “It was like a dream, Lana. I never imagined a place like it.”

  “Sounds as if you’re having second thoughts about Hill.”

  “I can’t even think about Hill right now.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know, but I want to find out more about the Elias Institute.”

  “Why don’t you ask the careers adviser?”

  I nodded. “Good idea.”

  I headed to the careers office at lunch time. The tiny room occupied the top of B block. I realised I had never been in there before. I only knew where it was because my maths classroom was opposite to it. The door to the room stood ajar, so I walked in. A woman sat at the computer. She was old with greying hair tied back in a severe bun.

  She looked up at me when I entered, and I assumed she must be the careers adviser. I had never seen her before. Most students probably hadn’t, apart from those who had had their mandatory appointment with her in their final year. I hadn’t had mine yet. I didn’t even know her name.

  The woman looked confused. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. Is that okay? Do I need an appointment?”

  “No. That’s fine. What can I help you with?”

  “Do you have any information on the Elias Institute?”

  “I believe I do have that somewhere.” She got down on her knees and scanned the lower shelves. “Ah. Here we go.” She plucked a slim booklet from the bottom shelf. “This is the prospectus, and there’s an application form inside.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you interested in studying?”

  “Creative writing.”

  “Well, the Elias Institute certainly has a great offering in that regard. It is the only place in New Zealand to offer a Bachelor of Fine Arts with a creative writing major.”

  “Is that so? I just visited the campus last weekend. It was totally amazing.”

  “Elias is an elite school. I should warn you its courses are very difficult to get into. Not to mention, the fees are through the roof. It’s a private school, you see.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “It’s something to keep in mind.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Do you need anything else?”

  I shook my head. “This will do for now.” It’s not as if I actually planned on applying. Sheer curiosity had brought me here.

  When I arrived home from school, I was eager to read the Elias prospectus.

  “Good afternoon,” Mum said as I entered the house.

  “Home already?” I asked.

  “Yes. I had an appointment this afternoon, so I left work early.”

  We briefly conversed before I slipped off to my room and shut the door firmly behind me. I lay on my bed and read through the prospectus cover to cover. The creative writing course sounded absolutely amazing. The course was purely dedicated to writing with a little reading sprinkled in for good measure. Workshops taught every aspect of story—plot, characters, language, themes and more. The course reading lists were comprised of the classics, and the tutors were all published authors.

  Every student was encouraged to submit their manuscripts for publication at the end of the year. My palms grew sweaty as I turned each page. My heart raced. I knew this was it—the course my heart desired. Law school was nothing compared to this.

  I allowed my mind to wander to thoughts of student life at Elias. Then I snapped out of it. My parents would never let me do this. End of story. My heart slowly sank in my chest.

  “Ivy?” Mum began to open the door.

  I jumped up and stuffed the prospectus under my mattress before she could see anything.

  “Would you like something to eat? I bo
ught scones from the bakery.”

  “Uh…sure.” I didn’t want to raise further suspicion, so I went to have afternoon tea with her.

  “Are you all right? You’re acting jumpy,” Mum said.

  “I am?”

  “Is there something on your mind?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t dare tell her I was having second thoughts about studying law.

  13

  Julian texted me to arrange another modelling session. When I arrived, I was shocked by the state of disarray in his studio. The floor was covered in discarded pieces of paper, his tools were scattered, and his desk was piled up.

  “What happened?” I asked, looking around.

  Julian scratched his head. “Oh, sorry about that. I’ve let things get out of control. It’s all because of something my teacher said.”

  “Sounds serious. Want to talk about it?”

  Julian paced the room, arms crossed. “He gave me a pretty harsh critique. Said my work was too ‘perfect’ and it didn’t have any energy.”

  “Too perfect? How can something be too perfect?”

  “That’s what I thought too. But in the back of my mind, I knew he had a point.”

  I remembered Woody Anderson’s artwork at the exhibition, bold and bizarre. The complete opposite of Julian’s style. It wasn’t to my taste, but even I could tell it was on a different level to Julian’s work. That’s why he was a successful artist and Julian wasn’t. At least, not yet. “Maybe you just need more practice?” I offered.

  “I hope that’s all it is. Woody has set me an exercise to help me ‘loosen up.’ Ten five-minute sketches. That’s why I asked you here today.”

  “Okay. Where do you want me?”

  Julian rubbed his chin in thought. “Let’s start off with a standing pose. Lean with your back against the wall. Like this.” He positioned me, gently pushing my shoulders back to the wall.

  His touch made my skin prick, and our eyes briefly met. Heat rose to my cheeks. I flinched and broke eye contact. Julian stood back, gently biting his lip as he surveyed me. He repositioned my arm.