Sometimes By Moonlight

by Heather Davis

  Marie-Rose rolled her eyes. “I am going back to the room. You wait here and get caught. Why did I even try to save you?”

  “I’ll just wait another minute. You go. I promise I’ll be right behind you.”

  Shaking her head, Marie-Rose sped off toward the back entrance of the building.

  “Where are you?” I said to the night, to Austin—wherever he was. I didn’t know how much time I had left and if he was out there, he needed to hurry up and show himself. Glancing toward the school, I watched Marie-Rose slip inside the back entrance. My gaze rose to the dorm windows. A light went on in a corner room, then off. Then the next room’s light went on. Crap. Lemmon really was making the rounds.

  I sprinted over to the chain link fence. “Psst—are you out there?” I whispered into the darkness. “Austin?”

  I waited for minute, but there was no response. I didn’t understand how he could come all this way, leave his sketchbook for me to find, and then not bother to show himself. It was so frustrating.

  Snow began to fall then, big wet flakes that mixed with my tears. I was forced to abandon my mission and run back to the dorm, no closer to understanding what was happening with Austin and feeling like a fool.

  Chapter Three

  The back stairs were dark, but I bounded up them without hesitation. I’m normally pretty clumsy, but I felt graceful and quick and reached the dorm faster than I thought possible. When Lemmon charged into the room across the hall from us, I slipped in through our door and threw off my coat and boots. Marie-Rose looked like she was about to hyperventilate, but there was no time to explain. I threw my outerwear under the bed and dove beneath the covers.

  My head had barely hit the pillow when Lemmon yanked open our door and turned on the light. I peeked at her from between half-closed lids. I was grateful that at least the old bag had thrown a proper bathrobe over her slinky number from earlier. She grunted, either out of relief or disappointment at seeing us in our beds. Then, she turned and flounced out of our room, closing the door with a staccato slam.

  I let out the big breath I’d been holding. “Omigod, that was close.”

  “Mais, non. I am not talking to you,” Marie-Rose said.

  “What do you mean?”

  She sat up and pointed a slender finger in my direction. “Shelby Locke, why would you go out after dark?”

  “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have done it, okay? That’s why I didn’t wake you up.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Now it was my turn to feel embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m not used to anyone worrying about me.”

  “Well, I do worry about you.” She gave me a stern look. “You cry over this boy. You think he’s coming to find you at the school.”

  “You saw the note,” I said. “That had to mean something.”

  Marie-Rose nodded. “Of course, but you don’t even know it was from him or what it means.”

  “But, the sketchbook… that had to be his.”

  “Let’s go to bed. Maybe this is enough about Austin for tonight.”

  “Enough Austin? Do I really talk about him that much?”

  Marie-Rose’s mouth fell open. “Shelby, you talk about him all the time. From the moment you arrived here it’s been nothing but Austin.”

  “Oh.” I got out of bed and went over to the closet to swap my snow pants and heavy sweatshirt for pajamas. As I dressed, I thought about Marie-Rose’s observation. She was right. I’d been wrapped up in missing him. And maybe talking about him incessantly was another way I was holding on to us, to what we’d had. Now, I didn’t even know what that was.

  I slipped back into my bed. “I’m sorry. I guess you’re right. You know, about me talking about Austin a lot.”

  Marie-Rose pulled her ponytail band out and ran a brush through her hair. “Let’s go to sleep. I hear they are letting us video call home tomorrow night. If I have bags under my eyes, Maman is not going to be pleased.”

  “Ok.”

  She set the brush down on the nightstand and pulled her covers up. “So, was it worth it?” she asked, a quiet curiosity lacing her voice. “To sneak out?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  Marie-Rose rolled over on her side, looking at me in the dark. “I wonder if it ever is, to risk something for a boy.”

  I knew the answer to that one—or at least I thought I had last summer—that yes, it was worth it, especially in Austin’s case. I lay on my back, looking out toward the moon moving slowly across the window. Austin had come for me, sort of. He was out there somewhere, though I had more questions than answers.

  And the biggest question of all was if I would ever see Austin again. That’s the one that kept me awake, staring at the waxing moon.

  ***

  It was almost my turn. I stood waiting outside the library door the next afternoon, waiting for Marie-Rose to finish her video call home. A high-pitched sound echoed out into the hallway as my friend laughed nervously. I could only imagine the coal-raking she was getting from her maman.

  I passed the time staring at the paintings from the Duke’s collection that lined the hallway’s walls. I assumed they were all relatives of the Duke. Bored looking girls in poufy dresses. Small boys in flouncy shirts. Stern-eyed old people gazing with reproach at all who passed down the corridor, as if we were the ones in funny clothes. Not my kind of art. I liked the modern paintings at the Museum of Contemporary Art in downtown L.A. This stuff was strictly Scooby-Doo haunted library.

  Another crescendo of fake laughter drifted out from the library. During these video chats, we were only allowed five minutes of talk time, which the school deemed long enough for us to convince our parents that we were being properly fed, clothed and bathed. I glanced down at my watch, noting that Marie-Rose only had another minute of torture left.

  My gaze tracked to the paintings again and settled on one portrait in particular—a knight with a two-headed spear tipped with gleaming blades. Covering his chain mail was a flowing blue and white tunic emblazoned with the design of a steed, legs raised in battle. Though the knight had a helmet concealing his expression, he was definitely a scary, intense dude. On a hill in the distance behind him, more riders approached, wearing the same colors. Steely black clouds swirled overhead, giving the whole painting an ominous feel.

  “Yikes,” I said.

  “It is your turn.” Marie-Rose tapped me on the shoulder. Her eyes were red and raw.

  “Geez. Are you okay?”

  “Oui,” she said, hurrying off before I could comfort her.

  “Locke? Move along.” Mrs. Lemmon beckoned me from the library doorway. “We already have your parents on the line.”

  “My dad and stepmom, you mean,” I muttered.

  I took a seat at the table in front of the monitor and Honeybun and Dad came up on the screen. I could tell from Dad’s flannel pajamas and stick-uppy hair it was morning there. Honeybun was wearing a thick bathrobe with a lacy collar, but she was in full make-up, of course. They were talking to each other, their expressions very serious.

  “Hey,” I said, giving a little wave. “It’s me.”

  They looked up, a little startled. “Well, hello!” Honeybun started off, shooting me a dazzling smile via Internet. “How is everything, Shelby dear?”

  “Fine,” I said, fully aware that complaining about anything at Steinfelder was totally pointless, and it wasn’t like I was going to tell them about Austin, of course. “It’s, you know, snowing again. It does that a lot here.”

  Dad adjusted his little round glasses, staring into the webcam. “Hi,” he said, awkwardly waving. “It’s been, ah, quiet, without you.”

  I just nodded.

  “Are you making friends?” Honeybun’s voice shifted into its higher register. “Lots of nice girls there, right?”

  “Sure.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “We, ah, have some news,” he said, staring uncomfortably into the webcam again. “It affects
the holidays.”

  Oh, god. Christmas break. My mind whirled. They didn’t want to meet up in Antigua after all. We were just going to spend a lame holiday at home. Nice.

  “What your father is trying to say is that—” Honeybun suddenly clamped a hand over her own mouth. “Oh, excuse me,” she mumbled, rushing out of the frame.

  Dad glanced after Honeybun, then back at the camera. “Ah… Shelby, we were thinking that maybe it would be easier to have you stay at the school over the holidays this year.”

  “What? Trapped here in this hell hole?” Blood rushed to my head. “You don’t want to get together? You don’t want to see me for Christmas? You’re just going to abandon me! Dad, this place—-”

  “Okay, now. Calm down.”

  “Dad! I can’t believe that Honeybun has finally succeeded in brainwashing you! I can’t believe she’s—”

  “Pregnant.”

  “What?” The world fell away around me. I stumbled for something to say.

  “We’re, ah, going to be welcoming a baby.” There was no mistaking the pride on Dad’s face. “You’re going to be a big sister.”

  Big sister. My mind whirled around that factoid. Big sister to the spawn of Honeybun.

  “So our Caribbean trip is out of the question, unfortunately. It’s a high-risk pregnancy. Priscilla’s probably going to be on bed rest for most of it.”

  “I could still come home,” I said. “Maybe I could help.”

  “I think,” Dad replied, “that to keep the stress down for everyone, it’s best to have you stay put.”

  “But we won’t be together,” I said, surprised by the sadness I was feeling. “It won’t be like a real Christmas.”

  “A real Christmas?” Dad shook his head. “Last Christmas you left our family dinner to attend a house party and the police brought you home. And do I have to remind you of your gift to Priscilla?”

  I shook my head. I knew the Plastic Surgery Horrors Photo Book had scared the crap out of Honeybun and nearly ruined her love of medical self-improvement.

  “It’s just this one time,” Dad said, his eyes pleading. “Surely, there will be other students who’ll stay over the holidays with you.”

  Wait. Light bulb. I remembered that I actually had a reason to like being at school again. Austin had found me. Maybe, with less staff and fewer students, I’d actually get to spend time with him if he visited again. This baby thing might actually be a blessing in disguise.

  Honeybun came back into the frame, a fresh coat of red, shiny lipstick on her lips. “So your dad told you our good news?” she said, her smile too sweet, too… something.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Honeybun’s chemically injected forehead was trying to let her frown. “You don’t seem very pleased,” she said, as if she wanted some kind of medal for procreating.

  “It’s great,” I replied flatly.

  She didn’t notice my tone. “I knew you’d be excited,” she said, her face softening. “Sorry about the travel plans. I assured your dad you’d understand.”

  I didn’t care anymore about the going home stuff, but the revelation that the spawn of Honeybun would soon be taking over my spot in our house suddenly irked me. I’d be gone—just one more year of high school after this—and then this kid would be the lone child in our house, in my dad’s life. That, more than the loss of Christmas, hit me hard. It almost eclipsed the hope that I’d finally see Austin.

  “Well, thank you for understanding,” Dad said. “We’ll FedEx your Christmas presents.”

  Priscilla finger-waved. “Ta-ta for now.”

  I stepped away from the computer and out the door. Bolting down the hallway, I ignored the judgmental stares of the Duke’s relatives and the sparkling blade of the evil knight. Ominous he’d been, indeed.

  When I got to my room, Marie-Rose was curled up in a ball under her covers.

  “Hey,” I said, patting the lump.

  When she poked her head out, there were brown crumbs around her lips.

  “What—are you snacking on something under there?”

  Marie-Rose nodded, her cheeks pinking. “The conversation with Maman didn’t go well.”

  “The school’s chewy bread can’t be helping much.”

  She sat up in bed and held out her hand. “It’s a gingersnap,” she said.

  My stomach growled at the sweet smell. How long had it been since I’d caught a whiff of something I actually wanted to eat?

  “There’s a new helper in the kitchen,” Marie-Rose said, gesturing for me to take the remaining half of the cookie. “When I passed by the kitchen door, I must have looked awful,” she said slowly. “Frau Blumen pulled me inside and showed me this stash of cookies she’d baked for the staff. I already ate two.”

  “You mean to tell me the teachers get cookies while we get watery pudding?”

  Marie-Rose nodded.

  I bit into the cookie, hoping that it tasted bad, because maybe that would make my irritation fade. But, of course, it was as delicious as it smelled. I chewed it slowly, savoring the spicy flavor. “This school sucks.”

  Marie-Rose sighed. “Yes, but the cookies are good.”

  “If we ever got them, they’d be good.”

  “How did your video call go?” Marie-Rose asked.

  I told her Honeybun’s news and how I’d be stuck at Steinfelder for the holidays.

  “Maman will be flying to Rio alone this year,” she said, nodding sadly. “I’ll be here with you.”

  “Are there any other kids staying behind over the break?”

  Marie-Rose licked crumbs from her fingers. “More than you’d expect. But then, that’s what this place is, right? A place to keep us out of the way?”

  I didn’t need to agree. I’m sure she saw it written all over my face.

  Chapter Four

  If I said I wasn’t watching every second for a sign, a secret note, or something from Austin, I’d be lying. A week had gone by since I’d discovered the sketchbook in the well house and had my conversation with Dad and Honeybun. There’d been no further sign of Austin. What was keeping him away?

  From my seat in art class, I had a perfect view to Steinfelder’s rear garden, a snow-frosted graveyard of dead stalks and flower bushes. The cold seeped in through the windows, as it did in most places in the old chateau, and Marie-Rose pulled her wide scarf tighter around her arms, feeling the chill more acutely, as skinny girls do.

  I’d never been a ballet dancer, and I’d certainly never been skinny. But lately, I’d noticed that my clothes hung a little looser, thanks to Steinfelder’s bland food. Enough mystery meat and you lose your appetite. It was even harder to choke it down now that I knew about Frau Blumen’s forbidden cookies. I was sure I could smell them baking some afternoons, even from all the way up in our dorm room. I wondered how no other students had found out about them. Maybe there was some way to stage a cookie protest, a kitchen sit-in.

  “Good afternoon, class.” Miss Kovac, surely the recipient of the aforementioned baked goods, tapped on her board with a chalk holder.

  “My fingers are too cold to hold the pencil,” whispered Marie-Rose.

  I slipped off my gloves and passed them to her under the table. “Take these.”

  Marie-Rose gave me a grateful look and slipped her tiny fingers inside them.

  “Class, we will work on shading today. As you must know, nothing looks real if it is drawn one-dimensionally.” Miss Kovac’s thickly accented voice was as raspy as a chain smoker’s, but she was pretty. Her long brunette hair was tied in a girlish side ponytail with a long, red ribbon and her skin was dewy, like she’d spent a fortune on face creams. An old-fashioned artist’s smock hung on her small frame, covering a simple gray dress. Popular with students, she was the youngest teacher at Steinfelder. I’d never found her very warm, but she did know about art.

  “You must use dark and light together to show dimension. Here, you see a line drawing of a box. Watch how I shade it to show the dimension.
” Miss Kovac began to sketch furiously, coloring in the sides until it almost looked real.

  Most of the girls nodded, understanding the basic technique. Marie-Rose had a puzzled expression on her face.

  “You just color in the flat sides, you know, where the light isn’t,” I said.

  “Oh.” She slid her pencil behind her ear and the worried smile slipped away.

  “If you will direct your attention to the sketches around the room, you will find many examples of shading, which reveals perspective and depth.” Miss Kovac said, with a sweep of her hand. Instantly, I wondered if she’d once worked as a guide of some sort, perhaps the kind that took bored tourists around the castles of her eastern European homeland. “And now, students, please come and get your paper for today’s assignment. You have thirty minutes to draw the still life I have arranged.”