The Sinister Sweetness of Splendid Academy

by Nikki Loftin

  The door to the school opened again. I looked up, hoping it was Allison, come back to apologize. But it was another girl from the class, sent back for me.

  “Lorelei? Hurry, or you’ll miss music!”

  I jumped up and followed her inside. Music always made things better.

  Everyone else was already in the music room, sitting down on plush beanbag chairs.

  “Today, we’ll begin our study of musical instruments,” Ms. Threnody said, and tossed her long hair over one shoulder. “Beginning with this one.” She held out a big, velvet bag.

  Her voice was strange. It was deeper than any woman’s voice I’d ever heard, and rich. She spoke slowly, considering every word she said, picking each one like a fruit that she rolled around on her tongue before she shared it with us. She opened the bag, and out tumbled fourteen smaller jewel-colored velvet bags. “Choose one, but don’t open it yet.”

  All the girls scrambled for the fuchsia and purple ones. I ended up with a brown bag, the deep rich brown of Andrew’s eyes. I gripped it, trying to feel what was inside. It felt long, thin, and hard.

  “You may open them now.”

  I was opening mine before she gave permission, and so I was first to see the instrument.

  “A reed pipe?”

  I was confused. It wasn’t a recorder, or a penny whistle, or anything I had ever seen before at a music store. It was an old-fashioned flute, cut by hand from some sort of reed. Mine was dyed purplish brown and carved with tiny gargoyles. The mouthpiece was the head of a gargoyle with an open mouth right where I was supposed to put my lips to blow.

  Creepy, I thought. I’d have to kiss a gargoyle every time I came to music class.

  Ms. Threnody’s laughter reminded me of the faraway roar of the ocean. “Yes, dear Lorelei. A reed pipe. One of the oldest instruments in the world, played by shepherds and nymphs in the days before history.”

  She settled her hand on my shoulder. It felt cold and slightly damp. Ick.

  “Ms. Morrigan told me you were studying mythology. This instrument would have made the music the Muses sang to.”

  “Aren’t we going to sing?” I dropped my eyes away from hers. It was hard to look straight at her for long; the colors of gray in her irises kept shifting and swirling. “I love singing.”

  She leaned down and whispered in my ear. “As do I, Lorelei. But can I tell you a secret?”

  I nodded.

  Her voice became a tiny snake that curled through my ear and lodged in my brain. “I can’t stand the sound of children singing.”

  My eyes flew open.

  “They don’t pay me enough to have to listen to that racket all day long.”

  “But . . . but you’re the music teacher, aren’t you? Isn’t that your job?” Had anyone else heard her? No, they were all busy unwrapping their pipes and showing them off. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I am,” she said. “As serious as the grave.” She picked an invisible piece of lint off my shoulder, and blew it away. Her breath smelled like salt.

  “But . . . but . . .” I was furious. I wasn’t going to be allowed to sing—none of us were? But we were the students. This was supposed to be our school. “Why not?” I bit out, not caring if everyone heard me. “Why can’t we sing?”

  She straightened up. “Oh, fine, Lorelei. If you must sing us a little solo, go ahead. But quickly. This class isn’t your little Carnegie Hall, now, is it?”

  The whole class was paying attention now.

  I sputtered, angrier than I had ever been with a teacher. She was making it sound like I had begged her for a solo! Making me out to be some sort of show-off. The kids around me started laughing.

  Allison raised her hand, waving it until Ms. Threnody noticed. “Ms. Threnody, don’t be so hard on Lorelei,” she said.

  I looked gratefully at Allison. She was trying to help me out; I would have to thank her later. But then she went on, “She’s just upset because her boyfriend, Andrew, isn’t here today.”

  I gasped. Did she think that was funny? From their giggling, I could tell the rest of the girls obviously did.

  “I see. A boyfriend.” Ms. Threnody crossed her arms over her chest. “Lorelei? Is that so?”

  I felt my eyes narrow and gritted my teeth to keep the words I was thinking from spilling out. Ignoring Allison, I shook my head once at Ms. Threnody. She uncrossed her arms. “Well, then. You were so anxious to perform. Go ahead.”

  And then she said the words my mother had hummed to me every night for years, before I’d sung her our special lullaby. I didn’t know how she knew those words, but she did. She plucked them out of my brain like a shell from a beach. “Sing, little Lorelei bird. Sing me a special song.”

  If she hadn’t moved away, I would have scratched her eyes out.

  “No,” I muttered.

  But then she stood in front of me, and commanded: “Sing.”

  I couldn’t resist.

  “Sleep, baby, sleep. Thy father guards the sheep. Thy mother shakes the dreamland tree, and promises sweet dreams for thee . . .”

  My throat still burned from the sand, and I could hardly hold a note for two counts without coughing. The song sounded terrible. It was the German lullaby my mother had taught me years before, and I had never sung it for anyone else. I tried to stop singing, and the effort made my voice squeak and go flat, then sharp. Somehow, she was forcing me to sing. The last words were almost a moan. “Sleep, baby, sleep . . .”

  I was sobbing by the end. Ms. Threnody clapped slowly, obviously enjoying my pain. The other kids looked away, the way you do when someone embarrasses herself terribly.

  I closed my eyes. Laughter cascaded over me like the slapping of waves on a boat.

  “Would you like me to sing another lullaby, class? It might give you a better, ah, appreciation for the form. Lullabies really can be lovely, when sung properly, and by a gifted singer.”

  My classmates begged her to. She opened her mouth and began.

  I had never heard the lullaby she sang, but I knew it somehow. It was in German and, even though I couldn’t speak the language, I understood every word.

  Bist du bei mir, geh’ ich mit Freuden

  If you are with me I go with joy

  zum Sterben und zu meiner Ruh’.

  to my death and rest.

  Ach, wie vergnügt wär’ so mein Ende

  Oh how pleasant would be my end

  es drückten deine lieben schönen Hände

  if it would be your lovely hands

  mir die getreuen Augen zu!

  that would close my eyes!

  It was terrifying. It was glorious. Every note was a pearl, luminous and polished, glowing from the rich warmth of her perfect tone.

  It was everything I had ever wanted to hear in a song, the best, most meaningful music that had ever been made. As she sang, I began to cry; all of us did. The other students were moving toward her, iron filings drawn to a magnet. I sat on my hands and wept. Her voice was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard, and it made me ashamed of my own.

  The song ended, and the entire class burst into applause. The girls hugged each other and the boys slapped each other on the back.

  Ms. Threnody turned to me and nodded. “And that is why you will start with a reed pipe.”

  I nodded back, but my nod was not agreement. It was challenge.

  * * *

  Lunchtime came quickly, and with it, a discovery: I wasn’t hungry. I sat down at the table, aware of Ms. Morrigan’s eyes on me. I watched the waiters rushing around, noted the glazed expressions on the faces of all the students. They started eating as soon as their plates arrived, and all conversation stopped. The thin waitress I had seen drinking tea brought me a plate piled high with steak. What was her name? I co
uldn’t remember.

  * * *

  “Thank you, Miss . . . ?”

  Her hands shook, and she almost dropped the plate on my lap. She didn’t answer, but shot a frightened glance at Ms. Morrigan.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again, “I can’t remember your name. Mine is Lorelei. What’s yours?”

  Her lips worked as if she was trying to answer. Ms. Morrigan nodded slightly, twitched her fingers in a strange gesture toward her own lips, and the woman took a shaky breath.

  “Vasalisa,” she murmured, her eyes rolling back in her head like a frightened horse.

  “Vasalisa?” I had heard that name before. “There’s a picture of a girl named Vasalisa in the hallway. From Romania, I think. Have you seen it?” I peered at her face. “Same eyes, too. Was that you?”

  She dropped my plate in front of me, and gravy spattered the purple tablecloth. She backed away, muttering apologies. I glanced down. The food looked delicious, but my stomach churned. All I wanted was something plain. Toast, or some fruit. “Vasalisa?” I called. “Could I please have a piece of toast? Just plain?”

  But she had gone.

  “Fascinating,” Ms. Morrigan said. “You’re not hungry again today, Lorelei?”

  “Not really,” I answered, watching the students around me shovel food into their mouths as fast as they could. It was amazing. We hadn’t been here a whole week, and it looked like some of them had gained ten pounds. Why wasn’t I hungry? What had changed since yesterday?

  And then it came rushing back to me in a flood of memory. The science experiment—the sand. The bone sand. I had eaten a handful of it, and now I wasn’t hungry, not like before. Why not? Was it . . . magical, like Ms. Threnody’s music, and the endlessly full candy bowls? It was the only explanation I could come up with that fit. But it made no sense, unless what I feared—about Andrew—was true.

  Were we being fed? Or fattened up?

  I looked over at Ms. Morrigan. She wasn’t smiling.

  “Well, I’m afraid you’ll not be much use to me, then,” she said quietly, setting her spoon down. I glanced at her bowl. It was filled with some sort of weak broth, no meat or vegetables in it that I could see. She stood up and settled her napkin in her chair. “I’ll have to decide what to do with you. Stay here.”

  I sat wondering what I had done. Vasalisa came back with refills for the other students. None of them had even noticed Ms. Morrigan leaving, and they didn’t notice Vasalisa, either. They just kept eating, eating, eating. I snapped my fingers in front of the eyes of the boy next to me, but he didn’t even blink.

  “You should eat.” The sudden voice right next to my ear frightened me, and I jumped.

  “Oh, Vasalisa. It’s just you.” I shrugged. “I know I should eat. But I don’t want to.”

  “Shh. They’ll hear.”

  I assumed she meant the other wait staff; the students were in no danger of hearing anything. Were the other kids all hypnotized?

  “Why are you not eating?” she asked, her eyes darting to the door, then to the tables around us. “Every child feels the hunger. Are you fighting it?”

  “Fighting what?” I asked. What had she meant? “The hunger?” I tried, when she didn’t answer. She nodded once. “No. Not anymore,” I whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the clink of silverware. “I’m really not hungry. Well, I’m a little hungry. Normal hunger. For toast.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, setting down a plate in front of me. It was toast, but swimming in butter. “I apologize; it is not plain. But we are not allowed to make the plain food.”

  “Where are you from, Vasalisa? How did you come to work here?” I lowered my voice even more. Fear flashed across her face.

  “I, too, fought the hunger.” A pause. “I should have eaten. It would have been better. At least then, there is an end.”

  Before I could ask her what she meant, she practically sprinted for the door. I saw why, a few seconds later, as Ms. Morrigan came back into the room.

  “Principal Trapp wants to speak with you,” she said.

  I followed her out of the cafeteria. No one watched me go, except Vasalisa, who was frozen by the door to the kitchen, her dark brown eyes liquid with pain. For me? I wasn’t sure.

  Principal Trapp wasn’t in her office. She was in my classroom, standing by my desk. When we walked in, I saw what she was holding, and I blushed. It was the myth I’d been working on. I hadn’t gotten very far since Andrew had disappeared. Been sent home, I reminded myself. I didn’t know for sure where he was.

  The principal was reading the last part of the story, but looked up when we walked in. The last few paragraphs were a mess, I knew—full of misspellings, sentence fragments, and who knew what else. I wanted to run away from the sympathy in Principal Trapp’s eyes, but Ms. Morrigan had her hand on my shoulder, and I had a feeling she would love an excuse to grab me tight enough to leave a mark.

  “Lorelei?” The principal’s voice was kind, as always. “Alva tells me you’re not feeling well.”

  “I’m well,” I said, feeling Ms. Morrigan’s nails bite into my shoulder the tiniest bit at the lie. “I’m just not hungry is all. Is that a problem?”

  “I’m afraid it is, but only because it worries me. Your energy’s been so low, I haven’t seen you running in the hallway since the first day.” She laughed, and her eyes sparkled as she hinted at our race down the halls. “I thought it might be because of what that unfortunate boy did on the playground.”

  She looked out the window at the playground, where the sand glinted white as ever, then turned back, her green eyes full of sympathy. “But Alva tells me you’re not eating. And that your schoolwork is suffering these past two days.” She glanced down at the paper again. “I can’t even read most of this, Lorelei.”

  I wanted to explain that my work wasn’t suffering because I was protein-deficient, or whatever she thought, but because my study partner had been absent. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want Ms. Morrigan to know I wasn’t up to the work she was giving out. She would use that against me somehow.

  “It’s her attitude,” Ms. Morrigan said. “And aptitude as well.”

  “Alva, come now. Lorelei’s got such gifts—”

  Ms. Morrigan laughed abruptly, an ugly sound. “I haven’t seen them.”

  “I know,” the principal said. “You’ve been overwhelmed with work. What if I come in and observe? Maybe another set of eyes—”

  Ms. Morrigan interrupted. “With your schedule? You’re already doing the job of three administrators. I told you before: I can handle the kids and the cafeteria. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

  “I’m worried about you, too, Alva. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes.”

  “To match yours.”

  They both laughed. I let out a sigh. They were ignoring me, pretty much. Maybe we were done.

  “Can I go now? I promise I’ll work harder tomorrow.” I tried to step away from Ms. Morrigan—her fingers were pressing against a nerve—but I couldn’t. I looked over my shoulder, and into her eyes.

  “Not yet,” Ms. Morrigan said. “We haven’t finished our discussion about your work. And your attitude.”

  I couldn’t breathe. I felt the blue of her eyes like frost on my skin. For a moment, my whole world was pain, fire inside my body, and outside. The searing pain of being burned from the inside out, and held motionless while it happened. I tried to scream, but my lips were held immobile. I was trapped, dying.

  That’s right, a voice said over the silent screaming. Pain if you resist, pain if you fight. Pain if you remember. The kind of pain no child has ever known, the voice mocked, suffering beyond what any child could endure.

  But the voice was wrong. I had felt a deeper pain, one that had lasted for over a year: the pain of knowing I had done someth
ing unforgivably evil.

  She promised pain if I remembered? I prayed every day for some way to forget my pain.

  “Lorelei?” The principal was waiting for something. She shuffled the papers in her hand, and I realized there was no pain, no voice. Just Ms. Morrigan’s cold, questioning eyes, and her fingers on my shoulder. I’d been daydreaming again. Carried away by my imagination. Focus, Lorelei. What had the principal been talking about? Oh, yes. My work suffering.

  She wanted me to tell her what was wrong, but I just shrugged. I wouldn’t say anything in front of Ms. Morrigan, no matter if it got me in trouble.

  Instead of being mad, though, the principal smiled and nodded cheerfully, as if I’d done something wonderful.

  “Excellent,” she said, standing up and dusting her hands off. “You have such potential, Lorelei. I know it. In fact, you may turn out to be the best student I’ve ever had. But take care of yourself, please? Eat your meals. Let us care for you . . .” She took a step toward me, and Ms. Morrigan’s fingers tightened until my shoulder burned with agony. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The whole world tilted on its axis, and everything went dark. I fell into a dream, or a faint, but I thought I heard Ms. Morrigan’s voice as my eyes closed.

  “She’s nothing special.”

  And then, softer, “I think she is.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

  TOIL AND TROUBLE

  I woke up with the taste of sand in my mouth, and a rock where my heart had been. Was it Friday? I looked at the clock. Five o’clock. So, still Thursday, I thought.

  I was missing half a day. It was gone, like a lost tooth. My mind kept searching for those hours, but thinking about them brought a stabbing pain in between my eyes.

  Had I hit my head? Did I have amnesia? No, that was way too soap opera. Maybe I was going crazy.

  The phone rang, but I didn’t bother to pick it up. There was something I needed to remember. Something bad.

  What had happened at school? All of my memories from after lunchtime were gone, wiped as clean as Molly’s vanity mirror.