by Lisa Roecker
Me: Long time, no see. (Dr. P. looked up at me over his old-man glasses and smiled his careful smile.)
Prozac: Kate, you know how much I look forward to our chats. How’s everything going?
Me: Fine. (If only shrinks would let you off the hook after the word “fine.” If only everyone would.)
Prozac: How’s school? I haven’t seen you since (he looked down at his notes) last month.
Me: Good. (If having only one friend who also happened to be your nerdy neighbor was good.)
Prozac: So what brings you here? (He took off his glasses and placed them on the desk.)
Me: My dad. He says I need a safe place to talk. (I yawned even though I didn’t have to.)
Prozac: Do you miss Grace?
Me: (Long pause. My throat went completely dry. I couldn’t for the life of me form the words to answer. I hoped Dr. P. couldn’t read minds. There was no way I could tell him the truth about Grace and still make it out of here without ten different antidepressant prescriptions.)
Prozac: What are you thinking, Kate?
Me: Well, now that you brought her up, I’m thinking about Grace. (Dr. P. put his glasses back on and checked his notes again.)
Prozac: Have you been thinking about her a lot lately? Are you having any of those same feelings you had after the funeral?
Me: No, no. I’m fine. (What feelings? The anger that came after trying to tell everyone there was more to Grace’s death and having no one believe me? The betrayal I felt after my parents checked me into the hospital for depression instead of listening to me? Or maybe he was referring to the good old-fashioned guilt I felt about ditching my best friend at the moment she needed me most.)
Prozac: How are you sleeping?
Me: Fine. (If you don’t count staying up all night refreshing email.)
Prozac: Have you been using any of the “exercises” we practiced? (Dr. P. formed quotations with his fingers.)
Me: Sometimes. (Mental note: never make quotation signs with fingers. Ever.)
Prozac: How’s tennis?
Me: (Very long pause. This was a loaded question and I liked to see how long I could make him wait for my answer. My record was three and a half minutes.) I’m sure my dad told you, but I have to take a break.
Prozac: A break? (Dr. P. pushed his desk chair out a little and uncrossed and recrossed his legs. Hard to trust a male leg-crosser.)
Me: (I narrowed my eyes. I found it highly annoying when people beat around the bush.) I’m pretty sure you know about me wigging out during my match and being forced into the Concilium. This is a safe place, Dr. P. You can just come right out and say what you want to say.
Prozac: (Laughed. Well, as close to a laugh as he got. It actually sounded more like a cough.) Yes, Kate, your dad mentioned the match. Want to explain?
Me: (Began an impromptu staring contest. I liked to see who would blink first. I usually won. I think Dr. P. liked it too.) I just…got distracted.
Prozac: (Blinked and glanced at the clock.) I want you to work on something for me between now and next week. Any time you’re feeling overwhelmed, like you want to run away, tell people you need a break. No one can read your mind, Kate. But people will understand if you need a time-out.
Me: You mean like when a kid gets pissed and rips a toy away from someone and his mom sends him to his room? (Back to square one—weekly visits. Next came the tiny green-and-white pills.)
Prozac: Only the adult version. Like a breather. We all need breathers. And Kate? (He stood up and took his glasses off.) Give Concilium a chance. You might be surprised what you’ll find there. You can make next week’s appointment on your way out.
I got up from the chair without answering, hoping I could play the “I didn’t hear you” card. But Dr. P. followed me out and told the receptionist to book my appointment.
“See you next week” never sounded so depressing.
Chapter 18
That evening as I pretended to do homework, I accomplished nothing more than spreading every clue I’d gathered to date around me on my bed. The mysterious crest, Grace’s invitation, her email, Cameron’s letter, the Latin charm. Everything.
I even had our slam book, just in case Grace’s answers held some clue that I was missing. I ran my fingers over the puff paint, rhinestones, and glitter, and closed my eyes and made a wish like I was a little girl again. I wished for the ability to understand the meaning behind at least one of the clues. I wished that I’d make good on my promise to Grace.
But nothing.
I flopped back onto the pillows on my bed, thinking back to Candela and the stone I’d uncovered beneath the grass. There had to be more to the clock tower than the legend of a girl’s suicide. I looked around my bedroom knowing I’d never find the answer here. Grabbing my book bag and dumping out the contents, I carefully placed every clue inside and rushed out my door.
“Dad!” I yelled as I descended the stairs two at a time. “I have to go to the library for a project!”
“Hold on, Kate. I can’t hear a word you’re saying,” he called from the kitchen. I rounded the corner and waited for him to turn off the faucet. “Okay, what now?”
I adjusted the book bag on my shoulder. “I have to run back up to school to get a book from the library. It won’t take me that long.”
“Kate, your mom’s on her way home, and I’ve just ordered dinner. I can’t take you now.”
“It’s okay. I’ll ride my bike.”
The look of shock that came over my dad’s face was priceless. “I thought you had a rule against that.”
“It’s important. I’ll be back in time for dinner.” Before he could say anything else, I ran out the door and into the garage, breaking my no-bike-riding-in-public rule for the second time in a matter of days.
Good thing my social life was already in shambles. These kinds of leaps are much easier to take when you don’t have far to fall. Besides, taking off on my bike really was kind of fun. Maybe it was time I embraced my inner nerd.
• • •
I waved my student ID in front of the sensor and pulled the library door open when I heard it unlock. Only a few of the buildings on campus were open 24/7, and the library was one of them. Like it said on the plaque outside the door that marked it as Station 9, Scientia est potentia. “Knowledge is power,” and power never sleeps.
“And you were just going to rush on by,” I heard a raspy voice call out. I didn’t have to turn around to know that Dorothy would be smiling. I could hear it in her voice. Ms. D. manned the librarian’s desk after hours and made sure no funny business took place on school grounds.
“Hey, Ms. D., of course I was gonna say hello. I’m just kind of in a hurry,” I called back. She went by Ms. D. or Officer D. depending on who you were talking to. A large woman in her late sixties in charge of security on campus, she wore her wiry gray hair closely cropped to her head and could easily defeat most of the boys on campus in an arm-wrestling match.
One of PB’s many random traditions was for every fourth-year boy to challenge Dorothy before he graduated and left the Academy behind for one of the Ivies. I think only a handful of boys had actually beaten her after all these years, but she would never confirm or deny her stats.
“Well, I can’t stand in the way of your studies, now, can I?” Ms. D. raised her hands in surrender, and her entire wrinkly face smiled.
“You know I’d hold you responsible,” I laughed and pushed open the glass doors to Pemberly Brown’s library.
I headed straight for one of the computers to check out the catalog. I typed in the words “Pemberly Brown history” and crossed my fingers that someone had written a book about PB and that the book could be found on the first level of the library.
“What’s a girl like you doing in the library after hours?” a smooth voice whispered behind me.
I whipped around to find Porter Reynolds smiling lazily at me with his guitar slung over his shoulders. Porter could typically be found mooning around ca
mpus with his beat-up guitar, playing three tired chords over and over again while singing along in a monotone yet somehow poetic voice.
A handful of girls trailed after him who either suffered from First Year-itis or were raging gold-diggers who loved the sound of their last names hyphenated with “Reynolds.”
“Just doing some research for a school project. What brings you out and about? Serenading study groups?”
“Aw, come on, Kate. Just because you’re immune to my charms doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to offer.” He fake pouted and looked even douchier than usual. “I’m just waiting on my ride and thought I’d grab some reading material.” He held up copies of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and Howl and Other Poems by Allen Ginsberg. God, he was such a cliché.
“Do you even know what beat poetry is?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“Beat poetry? Never heard of it. But girls totally dig guys who carry books around.” He inched his way closer to me and flung his arm around my shoulders. “So what do you think, Kate? Is it working? You wanna head down to the stacks?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s totally working. Let’s get going.” Porter’s eyes lit up. “Do you think Ms. D. would be interested in a threesome?” His face fell, making him look like a kid who had just found out he wasn’t getting a pony for Christmas.
Porter swore at me under his breath before he slunk off, presumably to harass some other unsuspecting girl. I turned back to my search. The computer made the crackling sound that let me know it was thinking and…bingo.
The results pulled up a book called Pemberly Brown: 150 Years of Excellence by Calvin Markwell. But my heart sank a little when “stacks” was listed as the location. The idea of going down to the stacks alone almost made me regret turning down Porter’s invitation. There were always rumors of strange noises and ghostly figures roaming down there. I used to laugh the stories off, but now I wasn’t so sure.
After jotting down the book details, I did a quick scan of the library to see if I was alone. When my eyes fell on Dorothy, I considered telling her I was headed for the stacks and to come looking for me if I didn’t reappear within fifteen minutes. But what was I, five? Besides, there was an emergency button I could push to call Ms. D. if anything did happen. I put on my big-girl pants, slung my book bag over my shoulder, and headed for the stairs.
As I descended and the shelves came into view, I leaned over the railing and stood on tiptoe to see if anyone else was browsing for books along with me. The coast appeared to be clear. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
I found the right row and ran my fingers along the leather-bound books until I landed on “Markwell.” Voila. Pemberly Brown: 150 Years of Excellence. I pulled the large maroon book from the shelf, held it to my chest, and headed toward a study carrel.
I opened directly to the index, and there it was on the opposite page: the crest. Well, almost. This version had the words “Pemberly School for Girls” written around the shield and date of establishment. I wrinkled my forehead in confusion.
So the mysterious crest was really the old Pemberly crest? But why would someone have had a necklace engraved with Audi, Vide, Tace, Pemberly’s old motto, at the chapel the night Grace died? And why was there an S on Cameron’s drawing? This just didn’t make any sense.
Next to the Pemberly crest was the Brown crest with the lion and key, and beneath both was a picture of the current Pemberly Brown crest. The paragraph below explained that Pemberly had altered its crest when the school merged with Brown. Pemberly brought the door; Brown brought the key. Together, the schools established a new motto that would better represent unity.
The marker I’d seen outside the clock tower must have marked Station 2 before the merger. But what did that have to do with Grace?
I glanced at my phone. Time was slipping away. Running my fingers over the headings, I found the page number where information about the Twelve Stations began and flipped to the chapter I needed. I got distracted when I came across the picture of a beautiful woman a few pages before the station information. The caption beneath the photo listed her as head architect of the 1950 merger, Josephine Fitzgerald Reynolds.
As I continued reading, the section explained that she redesigned the entire campus, transforming what used to be the upper school into the lower and middle schools, and designed a new upper school from the ground up. Go, Josephine.
My stomach grumbled, reminding me that dinner was probably getting cold, but I still had work to do. I flipped the pages the rest of the way and saw the familiar picture of the clock tower. It was built in 1893 when Pemberly Brown was just plain old Pemberly. Watches were a luxury, and the tower was built to establish standard time on campus.
I skimmed through information about the huge pendulum that made it run and stopped to read the section about the girl who had supposedly hanged herself on the eleventh floor. The historian said the information could not be substantiated and that it was considered legend. He went on to describe Candela, Nativitas, and some of the other rituals associated with Pemberly Brown.
I turned the page a little annoyed at the so-called historian. I guess I wanted to believe that some of the Academy’s legends were actually true. As I continued reading, I noticed that at the top of the following page, the text did not line up. When I lifted the page, I realized that a perfect square had been cut away, removing an entire section of text. I sat back in my chair and chewed on a jagged fingernail.
What had been removed? Lifting a chunk of pages from the chapter, I let them fan away and noticed additional holes in the pages. For a second, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Pemberly Brown had secrets that someone didn’t want students to discover.
“How’s it going down here?” Dorothy’s voice shattered the quiet, and I almost fell out of my chair.
“Oh, fine, I guess. Just can’t seem to find what I’m looking for today.” I slammed the damaged book shut, annoyed that I’d have to make a trip to the public library or order a copy online and wait for it to be delivered. I didn’t have time for this.
“Maybe you’re just not looking in the right place,” Dorothy said as she walked down the stairs.
“Well, I’m starving, so the rest of my research will just have to wait.” I packed up my bag and was startled to feel Dorothy’s hand on my back.
“Just be careful. Strange things have happened around here, and some things are better left alone,” she said, nodding at the book on my desk.
“Yeah, I guess,” I replied. Dorothy had probably seen a lot of interesting things go down over her thirty years at Pemberly Brown.
She patted my shoulder twice and headed back in the direction of the stairs.
After the last of her footsteps disappeared, I returned to the book, opening it back up to the page that showed the merger of the school crests.
“What does it all mean, Grace?” I whispered, rubbing at my burning eyes. All at once I felt exhausted. I lifted her pearls from around my neck and wrapped the necklace around my wrist, playing with the beads. I was officially out of answers. Not that I’d had any in the first place.
I pulled the book to my chest and entered the stacks to return it. I made my way back to the row where Calvin Markwell’s book belonged and started to slide it back onto the shelf, but a piece of notebook paper was tucked into the open space.
Tick tock, stay away from the clock. We’re watching.
I heard a book slam a row over. I wasn’t alone.
“Ms. D.?” My voice shook as I called out her name and shoved the heavy book back in its place. Through the gaps in the books, I caught a glimpse of someone running down the row next to me.
“Porter? This isn’t funny. You’re going to be in huge trouble…” My voice trailed off as I heard another book come crashing down behind me.
I took off toward the exit, cursing the emergency button for not being exactly where I needed it. The opening at the end of the row came closer and closer, so
I slowed down and listened.
I couldn’t see anyone through the books and could only hear the sound of my own ragged breathing. I peered around the corner, but no one was there. I had to make a break for the stairs. I shot forward and hurled my body upward, taking the steps three at a time.
When I landed in the library foyer, Porter was busy romancing a couple of first-years who giggled inanely at something he’d said. Their conversation ground to a halt as they took in my frazzled state, mouths gaping. I ignored their strange looks and headed straight for Dorothy’s desk, the note wrinkled in my sweaty palm.
“Ms. D.,” I huffed, “did you see anyone go down to the stacks after you left?”
“Kate, what happened?” Ms. D. asked as she stood up, a concerned look on her face. If Ms. D. were allowed to carry a gun, I’m pretty sure her hand would have moved to the holster at that moment.
But instead of slapping the note on her desk and requesting a handwriting analysis, I crumpled the paper into a ball and shoved my hand into my pocket.
“Oh…um…I just got a little scared. I heard noises and…I just wanted to see if…someone else was down there.”
Ms. D. narrowed her eyes, probably considering whether or not she should call the police.
“I want you to file an incident report.” She handed me a form. “Submit it to Headmaster Sinclair personally when you go to school tomorrow.” She shook her head back and forth slowly. “I’ve told him countless times those stacks are trouble. I can’t be in two places at once,” she mumbled. “Maybe he’ll listen to a complaint directly from a student.”
I didn’t have time to argue, because the clock behind her desk read twelve after seven. My parents were going to kill me.
“I’m actually late, but I’ll fill this out and turn it in tomorrow.” I swung my book bag around and pushed the paper inside.
As I pedaled in the direction of home, my legs burned with exertion and my mind spun with questions. Maybe Ms. D. was right and some secrets were meant to stay buried. But then Grace’s face flashed through my mind.
