Warm arms gripped her tightly as Miraj nodded against her shoulder. “I know. But hey, whenever you’re stuck, ask yourself the mighty question: what would Miraj do? Then do it.”
They pulled apart, Autumn forcing a smile to reassure her closest ally. I have to be tough. She can’t always protect me. She shouldn’t have to. With a wink, Miraj mimed a pair of scissors with her right hand, clunky silver rings reflecting the scant moonlight.
“Let the shrink help,” she whispered, then spun on her heel and darted off into the night.
Heavy feet echoed a heavy heart as Autumn slipped back into Ashbury through the propped open stairwell, her fingers stiff with the night’s chill as she slowly closed the steel door. Cutting ties was the point of sending herself away, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that why she’d punished herself, sacrificing her beloved feline friend, her access to the beach and her adoring yet somewhat oblivious parents?
Emma was a tool. A sharp knife. It was time to put her to use – but cautiously.
Her sneakers squeaked just outside her dorm room, Autumn’s heart leaping into her throat as she fumbled with her key. She rammed it into the lock, turning quickly and propelling herself into her chosen prison with a panted breath. Safe. If anyone came by, she’d claim sleepwalking. Nurse Ratched thought she was disturbed; why not play into her vicious biases?
Flopping lazily onto her bed, Autumn kicked off her sneakers, unconcerned with the muddy droplets cascading from their soles. The tunnels were a complete success: she could sneak up to the editing floor whenever she wanted now, burrow away and write when the clock’s face glowered mercilessly. Dodging a single, lazy security patrol would be easy enough. She’d managed so much more under Miraj’s guidance. And she had her friend again, to steer her when her racing thoughts carried her off course.
Her eyes fluttered close, a sense of peace settling over her for the first time since she’d arrived. She could survive Casteel Prep easily. She just needed to cut the cords.
Snip snip. The room itself seemed to sigh in agreement.
89
Change Of Season
SIX
Oakville; September 23rd, 2011
“So what’s the homework this time, Freud?” Autumn asked lightly, gathering her bag from Emma’s couch.
“Take a week off,” Emma replied, leaning back. “We’ve had a good couple of weeks. Consider it a reward for letting me shrink your head.”
“How very kind of you,” Autumn commented, giggling. “Next Friday, then?”
“With bells on! And I do mean actual bells. Cowbell, ideally,” Emma quipped. “Have a wonderful birthday, Autumn. I’m sorry Elise wouldn’t let you go home, but at least your parents are coming out for dinner.”
Autumn shrugged. “You tried. And thank you.”
The gesture alone of requesting Autumn’s campus restrictions be lifted for her birthday was enough to assure her that Dr. Stieg was a friend at Casteel, and not slave to the machinery of Headmistress Logan and her pristine academic institution. It had made confiding her fears over uprooting her life much easier in therapy which had, in turn, made their sessions far more pleasant. It wasn’t the deep, secretive undercurrents of her problematic behaviour that were surely the ultimate prize, but Emma never rushed her, for which she was grateful. Her parents were coming later in the evening to take her for sushi, which was the best compromise her therapist had managed. In Autumn’s mind, it was better than nothing. Veronica was even coming along, opting to stay on campus for the night in honour of the occasion.
Miraj had been right about both of them – as usual. Tossing her bag over her left shoulder, Autumn was oblivious to the shadow following her until it gripped her arm roughly, spinning her around as a scream lodged in her throat.
“Happy birthday!” Veronica shouted, throwing her arms around Autumn’s trembling frame.
“Jesus fucking Christ, V! You trying to kill me?” Autumn gasped.
“And let you die a minor? No way, girlfriend.” Veronica stepped backwards, grinning widely. “I saw you and thought I’d deliver one of your presents now before I swing off to Vocals. Where are you going?”
“Pit stop at Kearney’s office to drop off that booklet for the Psych thing, then Creative Writing,” Autumn replied. “And you didn’t get me a present, did you? You shouldn’t have.”
For extra credit in Social Studies, Professor Kearney had asked them to volunteer to participate in the studies of his Post-Graduate Psychology students. Given her dismal grades the previous term at Jarvis Collegiate, Autumn thought it was an easy way to pad her GPA.
“Kearney’s on the way to the music room; I’ll come with. And shut up, it’s a gift without a price tag,” Veronica admonished.
With a beaming smile, she cleared her throat, winked – and began to sing at the top of her lungs.
Autumn flushed crimson as students spun to watch Veronica, a natural performer who skipped along the pathway in dramatic fashion, never missing a note as she did her best Stevie Nicks impression. “Edge Of Seventeen”… for her seventeenth birthday. It was a sweet gesture, and Veronica was gifted with musical talent, making her impromptu concert even more special. Hiding her face behind her palm, Autumn scurried towards the faculty offices across the street, Veronica in tow. Just ahead, a scruffy guy in a leather jacket with an acoustic guitar on his lap smiled wryly, then began strumming along, roughly matching the chords, much to Veronica’s amusement.
Autumn laughed as Veronica stressed the line about poets, a reference to her Writing major. A group of seniors hooted across the way, and Veronica blew them a kiss, returning to spinning in circles around her friend. Scampering up the stairs, she threw open the doors, startling an exiting teacher with her serenade.
“What in the world!”
“It’s my birthday. She’s in Drama,” Autumn explained sheepishly as Veronica persisted.
The teacher shrugged and smiled. “It’s Friday. Happy birthday, dear.”
As they reached Academics II, Veronica’s voice crescendoed, the hallways echoing with the song’s title and a titter of gossiping girls. With a flourish, Veronica ended her song with a curtsey.
“You said you wanted to see me perform.”
“I meant on stage, spaz!” Autumn laughed. “But you were wonderful. Thank you… Although I’m not on the edge of anything. I’m seventeen today, you ass.”
Veronica glanced at her watch, shaking her head. “You were born at 1:37 pm. It’s 1:28. Edge of seventeen.”
“Your memory is frightening,” Autumn mused in disbelief.
Veronica shrugged. “How else would I survive on stage? I gotta jet, but do you want to meet me in Media Studies after class? I need to work on my audition for the Fall production, and it’s a musical, or so the grapevine says. You’re my fellow Broadway slut.”
“It’s a date,” she conceded happily.
“Ooh, next comes birthday sex! Now you’re getting your Lost and Delirious on!” Veronica teased. “See you in a few!”
Autumn shook her head, chuckling to herself. If she was restricting herself to one friend at Casteel, Veronica was the perfect choice. She just hoped her parents approved of the free-spirited blonde – and that she didn’t perform an encore at dinner.
***
Veronica was literally bouncing off the walls of the theatre when Autumn arrived after class: her body checked off the exposed brick behind her as she rambled breathlessly to one of the many Drama majors whose names Autumn couldn’t keep straight, waving around a booklet of pages. Tucking her bag near Veronica’s trademark tote, she approached cautiously, wanting to keep her eyes free of paper cuts.
“I can’t believe she got this past Logan! bare was hard enough to slide by. Then again, why am I shocked? Of course she got it through! She’s a fucking London stage legend, and- OH MY GOD, AUTUMN! AUTUMN!” Veronica shrieked, pushing past her classmate and stomping her feet excitedly. “WE’RE DOING SPRING AWAKENING!”
Autumn’s jaw dropped. “What?
No freaking way. Logan approved Spring Awakening?” Suddenly, Veronica’s whirlwind madness made perfect sense.
“Hurst pushed it through. It’s the student version, so it’s a bit toned down, but she’s saying we should just go ahead and do it by the book.” Veronica squealed and tugged Autumn over to the adjoining row of seats. “You have to help me with my audition. I have to get this right.”
Autumn’s brow furrowed. “Veronica, you get every single lead. You have an amazing voice. Of course you’ll get Wendla.” Wendla was the lead role, and considering Veronica could trade vocal jabs with Lea Michele – the original portrayer – it was a given.
“NO! That’s the fucking problem,” Veronica groaned. In a hushed tone, she said, “I don’t want to be Wendla.”
Autumn stared at her. “Um, why the hell not?”
“Look, I know Hurst loves me. But she always wants me to be the lead. You know bare? I auditioned for Nadia, not Ivy. I wanted to play the mouthy sister, not the idiot bimbo. But Hurst slid me right into Ivy because of my voice.” Veronica sighed deeply. “It sounds like I’m ungrateful, but I’m not. I just want to play roles that will challenge me, and in this case, I want to play my favourite role.”
Autumn thought for a moment, her eyes widening. “Of course… Ilse. But because Hurst likes your voice, she’s gonna stick you in the Wendla role.”
Veronica nodded furiously, twirling her hair anxiously. “Someone else should get a turn. We have a lot of talented people in the program, and it’s Meg’s last year… Plus, Ilse has the better songs. ‘Blue Wind’, anyone?”
“So true… And playing Wendla would be like playing Ivy again. So what can I do?”
Veronica’s legs swung up onto the seats in front of them, slender and tan. Autumn envied that natural glow of hers. It wasn’t a salon or spray-on, but the sheer evidence of Veronica’s summer job at an arts camp. She propped her own feet against the seat back before her, curling her knees into her chest. Thinking position.
“I’m going to appeal to her on the whole same role twice thing, but the audition has to embody Ilse. We do a reading from the show, a song from the show, and another song of our choosing. You’re a music guru, right? I need a contemporary song that screams Ilse, or at the very least doesn’t scream Wendla.”
“Well, that kills anything from Glee,” Autumn joked. “Avoid anything Lea’s touched, without a doubt… Wait! I think I have a solution. Veronica, who was the first Ilse?”
“Lauren Pritchard, of course, and you know I know that – Oh!” Veronica’s eyes widened in understanding.
“Isn’t it obvious now?”
“Autumn, if you were into women, and I were not blissfully in lust with several men, I would propose marriage right now.” Veronica’s hand dug into her bag, pulling her iPhone free. “Now, which song? I have to hear them all before I decide…”
Autumn toyed with a loose strand of hair as she dug for her own iPod, scrolling to Lauren Pritchard’s debut album, Wasted In Jackson. If Veronica was dead set on being Ilse, what better way to hook her instructor than with an original song by the cast member who performed her? Lauren’s songs were bluesy and rich, with pop hooks – a perfect complement to the songs of the production.
“So many songs are great on this album… What about ‘Stuck’?” Veronica asked.
“Hmm… It’s a happy love song about a dysfunctional relationship.”
“Too Wendla. Scratch it.”
“I want to suggest a song, but see, it depends which song from the show you’re going to do. It’s too like one of them, which could either hammer the point home-”
“With Hurst, it would be uncreative,” Veronica cut her off. “And I’m doing ‘The Dark I Know Well’, because I also love Martha’s character and it’s one of the best songs.”
Autumn nodded enthusiastically. “I love that one, too. Which means you can scratch ‘When The Night Kills The Day’, because it’s the same ‘afraid of what comes in the dark’ vibe. ‘Painkillers’ is different, but it also has that vibe of survival mode. ‘Not The Drinking’?”
“Oooh… And it has that high-note bridge that she belts! I think it’s the safest bet.”
“It’s also got that playful vibe, like the monologue before Blue Wind,” Autumn added, tucking her iPod away in her bag. “I think you have a winner.”
Veronica nodded furiously, staring down at the screen in her palm and biting her lip. “I need this role. I really need to be Ilse.”
“Then you will be,” Autumn promised.
“I’ll have to find sheet music, or an instrumental. And I’ll have to book some time for practice here… And an outfit…”
Veronica’s words were tumbling absently from her lips, her eyes glazed over. She was lost in her fear: it crept along her face, spider-leg lines of worry furrowing her brow. Autumn’s hand reached for her friend’s, squeezing it gently. Veronica startled slightly, then smiled nervously in her direction.
“I’m fine.” Veronica was trying to convince herself of this, her words flat. The jiggle of her left foot, the Morse code tapping of her index finger upon the arm rest – it all told a rather different story.
“It’s okay not to be fine,” Autumn mused. For short periods, anyway, she added silently. I’ve taken it several months too far.
“I know,” Veronica whispered. “It’s just… I’m remembering how upset I was last year, when I saw the casting sheet, and-”
“Miss Brody. A surprise, to find you here.”
Autumn winced, glancing behind her, her fears confirmed: Headmistress Logan stood next to the row behind them, her Prada heel tapping lightly against the floor. Nurse is on her rounds, she quipped to herself. Is it time for my meds?
“Hello, Headmistress Logan!” Veronica greeted her cheerily. “And how are you on this lovely afternoon?”
“I’m very well, Miss St. Clair,” the stuffy administrator replied. Her designer suit was a rich chocolate hue, accented with a copper bracelet upon her slender left wrist. “I didn’t know Miss Brody was in Drama. I was under the impression she was in the Creative Writing division.”
The message was clear: You’re not supposed to be here. Autumn stifled the urge to lash out with a few creative words punctuated by obscenities, her heart racing in fear. She won’t let me have dinner out. Just because she can stop me. The silence filled her throat, cotton balls and sandpaper.
“Autumn is a writer,” Veronica asserted, rising to her feet and turning to face the perfectly coiffed predator. “But she’s also gifted with an extensive knowledge in popular music, so I explicitly asked her to assist me with my audition for the Fall production. I’m sure you’re aware of it,” she added, her voice sticky-sweet.
Logan wavered slightly, a flicker of unease in her icy blue eyes. “I am, yes. It won awards, this show? I’m sure you’ll all be rather busy with your rehearsals for the next while.”
Veronica nodded firmly. “Of course. The production is of tremendous value to the Drama program’s success, and an excellent launch for our future studies at the post-secondary level. I can’t recall: how much revenue did bare generate last year?”
Autumn’s eyes widened, her torso slumping lower in the chair as she studied her friend. Was she… She had to be mad, to call out the Headmistress of Casteel. But there was no mistaking it: as wonderful an actress as Veronica surely was, her tone was a little too saccharine to be genuine.
This was war, being waged in her defense.
“I think it was close to eighteen hundred dollars, if I recall the figure correctly. It was in the student quarterly newsletter last year,” Logan replied brusquely.
“That’s right!” Veronica gasped dramatically. “And it was such a boon, too, what with the set and costume costs being only a hundred and fifty, since we were able to use our school uniforms. We even added an extra show, due to demand.”
“We did,” Logan reluctantly concurred.
They had an audience now: several Drama students were huddled
nearby, whispering as they watched the verbal repartee. Autumn pressed her eyes shut. It’s okay, Veronica; don’t get yourself in trouble for me. Her arms wrapped around her trembling frame, as if to hold in the tears threatening to free-fall from her eyes.
“Well, it was lovely seeing you, Headmistress, but Autumn and I need to locate sheet music for my audition pieces. I hope you’ll stop by and watch the auditions; I value your support, as I’m sure my mother values it.” Veronica tossed her tote over her shoulder casually, extending a hand to Autumn. “Let’s go! I don’t want to keep your folks waiting.”
“I will see about coming by, Miss St. Clair. Try not to keep Miss Brody from her own studies for too long. Good day.”
Check and mate. With a soft squeak, she pivoted upon her heel, storming out of the auditorium in an obvious huff. Shakily rising to her feet, Autumn stared at Veronica in confusion, with a large helping of awestruck.
“You didn’t have to-”
“That cow knows it’s your birthday, and there is nothing that forbids you hanging here with us. I will not sit by and watch her harass you.” Veronica was seething, her hands curling into fists at her side. “And considering the money my mom pays, and considering the alumni donations our productions draw out, she can go sit on a croquet stick and spin.” Turning behind her, she called out, “I’m gonna bail. Can someone slot me in for tomorrow afternoon at some time?”
“I’ll get you down,” a slight raven-haired girl replied, heading for a posted calendar on a nearby wall. “And that was brilliant, V.”
“It was what the bitch deserved. I hope Hurst does do this by the book, and makes sure Logan gets a face full of bare ass during the ‘I Believe’ sequence. Come on, Autumn. Let’s go find a party favour.”
She pulled Autumn along, her blonde waves flying wildly across her face as they crossed the road to the quad. With a glance each way, she nodded to herself and headed straight for the Athletics complex, dress shoes sinking slightly into the damp grass.
Change Of Season Page 9
