Change Of Season

by Dillon, A. C.

  It was the only the next morning, while sifting through her book bag in search of her homework for Math, that her smile faded.

  Call me. Please.

  The tiny square of pale blue paper haunted her anew. Signed by someone named Fiona, it contained a phone number, and had been shoved into her locker. Autumn knew of no one by the name of Fiona, and with the flurry of dance-related primping Heather had forced upon her, she’d never called the night before.

  “Probably some jealous girl who likes Chris,” Autumn grumbled, setting it upon her desk and diving back into her bag.

  Yet it continued to beckon her, its colour in sharp relief to the black lacquered finish of her computer desk. The cursive scrawl, dainty and neat. Fiona. Who the hell was she?

  Biting her lip, she abandoned her algebra and picked up her cell phone. Only one way to find out. Dialing the number hesitantly, she continued to search her mind for any Fionas she might know from school. Cheerleader, maybe? Perhaps the note had been meant for Heather? She did spend a lot of time at Autumn’s locker. Is she in Art? Her brow furrowed as the line rang… and rang…. and was finally answered.

  “Hello?” A weary voice. Older. Parent.

  “Um hi, is Fiona available?”

  A pause, and a heavy sigh met her question. Something felt wrong. The silence was deafening, until pierced by a soft, shaky reply.

  “Fiona’s not… She’s in the hospital. Who is this?”

  Autumn gasped. “I’m so sorry! My name is Autumn. She left me a message to call her and I forgot until now. Um… I hope she gets better soon.”

  “Me too.”

  The voice didn’t sound hopeful. A chill ran down Autumn’s spine, and she hugged her knees to her chest.

  “Um, thanks.”

  She jammed the End Call button, tossing the phone onto the bed beside her. There was something incredibly strange about this. Some girl she didn’t know wanted her to call, but she was really sick and in the hospital?

  “Sick joke… Ugh!”

  Monday, she’d find out who Fiona was. Maybe the message was for the locker next door or something like that…

  But if she is in the hospital, who left the note?

  “Whatever,” Autumn admonished herself. It wasn’t her business. She’d ask Heather on Monday about it. In the meantime, algebra awaited.

  Beep!

  A text message. Checking the screen, Autumn smiled as she read the contents.

  Dinner? You’ve got to eat sometime.

  Chris. Her heart thumped as she texted her agreement. He wants me… And he had her. She was addicted to him now. Why deny herself any longer?

  Some things were simply meant to be.

  123

  Change Of Season

  EIGHT

  Oakville; October 1st, 2011

  “Okay, Autumn, here’s your terminal,” the lanky student said, gesturing to a computer nested in a cubicle. “Simple enough: you’ll be prompted through a series of questions about media advertisements, after which you’ll be asked a few reflective questions. When you’re done, give a holler and I’ll come sign you off.”

  “Easy enough,” she replied, settling into the black leather chair.

  With a few taps of keys, the screen launched into a greeting message, and she was left alone to click her way through the experiment. It was her first Psychology study for extra credit, and although she’d been apprehensive on the way over from the dorm, everything was straightforward. As best she could tell, the study had something to do with body image, but it was only a guess. Twenty minutes later, she found herself calling out to David, the post-grad student in charge of the study. Easy grades, Autumn thought, pulling her damp hair loose from an elastic and tousling it gently. I could do a ton of these, no problem.

  “All done?” David asked, peering around the far corner.

  “I’m efficient,” Autumn answered, stretching her arms overhead with a yawn. Well, maybe I’d rather not do tons of these at nine in the morning on a Sunday.

  David leaned over beside her and hit a few commands, then exited the experiment program. “Thanks so much for coming in. I’m a little behind on my preliminary data and needed to grab five more people by Monday.”

  “Happy to help. So, how does the credit thing work?”

  “Follow me back to the main office. I’ll write you a slip that you hand in to Kearney, and he credits your grade.” David headed back towards the lab entrance briskly, leaving a sleepy Autumn to scurry behind him, her Converse sneakers slapping against the linoleum. Twice, David looked back at her, eyeing her strangely. It puzzled Autumn, as David was a total stranger to her. Unless he’s someone in Drama I just don’t remember? Autumn shook her head, her hands fumbling with her purse straps. I’m imagining things.

  But she wasn’t. While filling out her extra credit form, she caught David staring again, his eyes darting downward once noticed. Unable to bite her tongue due to a lack of sleep, she challenged him on his preoccupation.

  Sheepishly, he replied, “I’m sorry, it’s nothing bad. You just remind me of someone that used to go to Casteel. It’s uncanny: you could be her sister, maybe her twin.”

  “I’m an only child, last I checked,” Autumn stated. “Who was this other girl?”

  David grew anxious, his hand shaking slightly as he passed her the slip for Kearney. “I forget, just remember the face. Thanks again for coming in so early, Autumn. If you’ll excuse me, I have to set up for my next student.”

  Without awaiting her reply, David jogged down the hall into the lab, leaving Autumn irritated and bewildered. He totally lied just now. She could feel it in her bones. So why wouldn’t he tell her who she resembled? Was she the campus crazy or something?

  Glancing down at her cell phone, she gasped and rose abruptly to her feet. Veronica’s audition was in fifteen minutes: if she ran across the grass instead of taking the winding road from Post-Grad studies, she could slip into the back of the auditorium in time and silently cheer her on. Slinging her purse across her shoulder, she broke into a run, sneakers sinking into the rain-soaked grass with a slurping sound. Water seeped into her shoes and she immediately regretted not donning her Doc Martens instead.

  She muttered as her left sock grew wet. Nothing she could do about it – there wasn’t enough time to take the main streets to the Media Studies building. Veronica better appreciate the sacrifice of pruned toes that I’m making here, she thought miserably as she dodged a murky puddle in a sinkhole. It was a ridiculous thought: Veronica was always appreciative of her friends, especially Autumn. She was anything but a diva, although she was no pushover, either. She’d held her ground on her booked rehearsal time the night before, exhausting every last second as she ran her songs again and again, despite the whining of a guy Veronica described as a "slacker skeeze".

  The faint strumming of a guitar being tuned greeted her as she approached the theatre, and Autumn sighed in relief. She hasn’t started yet. Tiptoeing inside, she took her seat ten rows behind the woman she assumed to be the infamous Alexandra Hurst, legend of the London stage and sworn enemy of Headmistress Logan. Who else, Autumn reasoned, would wear her hair in a tangled mess of black curls atop her crown, several pens protruding from the mess, and a dress reminiscent of a costume from Repo! The Genetic Opera? On stage stood Veronica, organizing sheet music with the audition instrumentalists. Her one shouldered halter top, carefully torn and layered over a vibrant green tank top, screamed bohemian – Ilse, not Wendla. The uneven hemline of her wispy black skirt enhanced the look. She’d decided to go barefoot at Autumn’s suggestion, her hair in a wild blend of braids and loose curls framing her face.

  It was perfect, or so Autumn thought. Hopefully Hurst agrees…

  “Okay, I’m ready!” Veronica called out, striding to centre stage.

  “Excellent, Veronica! What song will you be performing from the musical?” Hurst’s accent was thick – hers was a more Cockney sort of British, yet still refined. Angela Lansbury with sass,
Autumn concluded.

  “For my audition for Ilse,” Veronica began, stressing her preferred character, “I’ll be doing ‘The Dark I Know Well’.”

  A nod, and the musicians began, the stage lights dimming to spotlight Veronica before the microphone stand. Her voice shifted to a bluesy sorrow as she sang, a dropped octave from her standard soprano. It was haunting, how easily she slid into the role. It gave Autumn chills, then tears, as her friend sang of sexual abuse at the hands of a parent, and the suffocating secret held within. This is her role. Surely the teacher sees it! By the final lines, Veronica’s vocals had grown so loud, so strong, that they would have easily filled the theatre without the microphone, and Autumn was relieved that the entire room burst into applause, as she couldn’t help but give her friend a standing ovation.

  Veronica, startled by the support, flushed and bowed her head, adjusting the microphone for her monologue. For her scripted piece, she’d chosen Ilse’s monologue of her time with a violent artist, and staring down the barrel of a gun. It, too, was spot on, a performance worthy of the Broadway tour they’d both seen repeatedly.

  Hurst’s voice was warm as she spoke again. “What will your freestyle performance be?”

  Confident now, Veronica proudly announced, “I’ll be doing a selection by Lauren Pritchard. It’s called ‘Not The Drinking’. Jamie, Ken?”

  The musicians nodded, and the melody began, soft guitars and piano opening. With a shy smile, Veronica began to sing. As the drums kicked in, she ripped the mic from the stand, tossing it aside as she shook her hips to the beat and coyly condemned a failed relationship for its loveless nature. It was a sharp contrast to her first song, but in that regard, it was the best choice. Ilse’s character was one of contradiction, of playfulness and deep sadness and pain. Veronica was showing her teacher both sides, in spades.

  Hopefully, it was enough to sway her from casting her as the lead. Judging from Alexandra Hurst’s enthusiastic applause, the message seemed to be received clearly. With a breathless leap to the ground, Veronica strolled up the aisle, making a beeline for Autumn.

  “Well?” she whispered as another student took the stage.

  “You belong on stage with the Broadway cast. You were Ilse, in every single way.”

  Arms wrapped tightly around her as Veronica rushed forward, her body shuddering with adrenaline. “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Autumn protested.

  “You thought of Lauren’s music and I really think that sold it,” Veronica whispered. “Hurst was mouthing the words. She knew damn well who sang the song. You’re a genius!”

  “Whatever!”

  They stayed an hour longer, supporting other students including Meg, who was noticeably pleased with her audition for the lead. Veronica made a point of cheering loudly for her at the end of her freestyle number, Adele’s "Someone Like You", earning an intrigued glance from her teacher. When Veronica’s stomach audibly rumbled, they departed for the Dining hall, snagging an early lunch and settling into their favourite corner table.

  “When does casting go up?” Autumn asked, drizzling dressing on her salad.

  “Tomorrow, I think,” Veronica replied anxiously. “I really hope this works. I mean, any role in Spring Awakening is wonderful, but Ilse means a lot to me.”

  “I think you made it crystal clear, but you know Hurst better than I do.” She glanced outside, frowning at the overcast sky above. “Hey V, I need to ask you something.”

  “Anything,” Veronica replied, digging into her sushi platter.

  Autumn swallowed hard, thinking of David’s odd expression at the lab. “I did one of those experiment things today, the extra credit? Anyway, the guy at the lab tells me I look like this girl who went here before.”

  “Oh?” Veronica’s face blanched.

  Autumn continued, steeled by her friend’s reaction. “Yeah, but when I asked who, he couldn’t remember her name. But he did remember. He was lying to me. You’ve been here for years, V. You know who he was talking about, right?”

  Veronica sighed deeply, pushing her food away. “It might be better if we drop this.”

  “I can’t drop it. This guy’s not the first to stare at me funny. It’s freaking me out, and I would hope, as my friend, that you could be straight with me.” Her hand reached across the table, grasping Veronica’s tightly. “Please?”

  “Shit.” The curse was scarcely audible as Veronica leaned forward reluctantly, glancing around the room. “If I tell you, will you absolve me of any drama that results?”

  Autumn nodded vigorously. “Yeah, of course.”

  “No, I’m serious as hell. You’re better off not knowing, but if you really want to know, I can tell you. I don’t lie to my friends, but I’m going on the record as saying I didn’t want to explain all this. Okay?” Veronica trembled, the table shuddering beneath their elbows.

  A sickness settled in Autumn’s stomach as she nodded her assent. Curiousity. Cats. But I need to know.

  “Her name was Nikki Lang. She only went here for a year, back in 2008 – transferred in halfway through grade nine. She was nice – a little quiet and shy, but fun when she opened up. She was really into dark literature, like gothic shit. She was in the Film program.” Veronica swallowed hard, then continued. “She… Okay, remember the barrette?”

  Autumn’s head spun as the dots fell in line. “No…”

  “Yeah. Didn’t help Meg out when you found… I didn’t want to tell you, because it’s really, really freaky how alike you two are. I mean, if she didn’t commit suicide on campus -”

  “Wait a second. She killed herself?”

  Veronica nodded sadly. “Caught everyone off guard. No one expected it, you know? She was a little sad at times, but not… So um… If people stare, it’s probably because they’re seeing a ghost.”

  Autumn pressed her forehead against the cool table, shutting her eyes tight. A suicide… I look like a suicidal girl. So much for being under the radar at Casteel! Her fingers drummed wildly against the oak surface, a rapid-fire staccato. A dead girl. I’m a living dead girl.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Veronica asked gently. “I mean, I kinda thought you knew, considering how late you registered and the single room and all. Maybe I shoulda-”

  Autumn’s head bolted upwards. “Oh, hell. Veronica, please don’t tell me that I’m in her room.”

  Veronica bit her lip. “Rooms usually fill fast… But you’ve never been to boarding school so you wouldn’t realize...”

  “She died there, didn’t she?”

  No reply was all the answer she needed. Her palm pressed across her eyes and they twitched and pulsed beneath. Was it possible to develop an instant aneurysm? A stress-induced stroke at seventeen? A hard lump lodged in Autumn’s throat, and she immediately wondered how Nikki died. Pills? Noose? Wrists in the bathroom?

  “Autumn?”

  Veronica was at her side, but miles away. I’m in a dead girl’s room. A dead girl’s bed. Did she die in my bed? Her body shook violently and her hand fell, revealing a distraught Veronica, eyes shimmering with tears.

  “I never should have told you,” she whispered. “Do you want to see the nurse? Call home? I can call for you.”

  Autumn shook her head slowly. “No… No, I can’t go home.”

  “Of course you can. It’s Saturday, remember?” Veronica pressed her fingers to Autumn’s forehead. “You’re clammy. I’m getting the nurse-”

  “No!” It came out louder than she’d intended, but it was effective: Veronica halted, her eyes widening. “V, can we just… go? Somewhere?”

  “Dora’s gone home for the weekend. Come to my room.” It was more an order than a suggestion.

  With a shaky nod, Autumn found herself pulled gently to her feet, her belongings slung over Veronica’s bare shoulder as she guided her out of the dining hall and across the mucky quad. The cool air jarred her back into her goose-pimpled flesh, her thoughts more coherent. Nikk
i killed herself in my room. She looked like my relative. Thus, I am the creepiest newbie at Casteel. Lovely. She half considered asking how she died, but the blanched complexion of her friend deterred her. She won’t tell me anything more now, she decided. If she wanted more details, she’d have to sleuth it out.

  Do I really need more details? Autumn shuddered slightly, brushing a damp strand of hair from her eyes. Pandora, meet your box…

  ***

  Veronica spent the afternoon on a mission of cheer and consolation, going so far as to retrieve Autumn’s homework from her room on her own, bringing it back to her own. In the corner, her laptop blared Josie and the Pussycats on Netflix, their homework abandoned for discussion of lighter topics after a sighed confession from Veronica.

  “I am so Josie,” the buxom blonde complained. “Hopeless. Insecure.”

  Autumn cocked her head in disbelief. “V, you’re the most confident girl I know! You’d never be this ridiculous around Alan M. – and speaking of, I’d totally forgotten how tasty Gabriel Mann is. Goddamn!”

  Veronica pulled her loose waves into a low ponytail, shaking her head at the screen, where Josie and Alan M. were having yet another moment of tongue-tied relationship failure. “No, really; when it comes to a guy I actually like, I’m an idiot. I say lame crap, stammer… I’m a Miley Cyrus song, girl. You know the one.”

  “The bad rip-off of ‘Sunglasses at Night’? I just… I can’t see it.” Reaching into a bag of Twizzlers nearby, Autumn waved a strawberry strand in the air. “Why do you think you freeze?”

  Veronica shrugged. “I think… I was kind of awkward as a kid. Braces, frizzy hair I never brushed, tomboy… I guess guys never looked at me twice, except to tease me. And I was so shy at school! Home was a whole different story, but school was scary! I actually joined Drama on a dare, and then I figured out I was great at being other people. I could blame it on a script if I said something ridiculous.”