The Sinister Sweetness of Splendid Academy

by Nikki Loftin

  The phone stopped ringing, and a few seconds later I heard a shout. Molly’s voice sounded far away and echoey. “Lorelei? It’s a girl. And when you get off the phone, for the last time, set the table!”

  Someone was calling me? No one called me. I didn’t have any friends, not anymore. My head pounded when I moved toward the phone. What had happened at school?

  “Hello?”

  “Lore, it’s Ally,” I heard. I waited until I heard the click of Molly putting down the receiver before I answered.

  “Hi, Ally. What’s up?” Why was she calling? Especially after what she had said in music about me. My cheeks burned. Why can’t I forget the public humiliation of Ms. Threnody’s class, instead of the after-lunch part, I wondered. Whatever happened then couldn’t have been worse than music, could it?

  A lance of pain shot through my forehead as I reached for the memory again.

  “I just wanted to call and say I’m sorry,” Allison answered. Her voice sounded rough. Had she been crying? “I wasn’t myself.”

  “You mean, in music class?” I hesitated. “What do you mean, you weren’t yourself?”

  “I don’t know,” Allison said after a few seconds. “It was like, I was just filled with . . . meanness. Like I couldn’t control it. You know?”

  “No, not really,” I said. This was her idea of an apology? The line buzzed between us.

  “Principal Trapp heard about what I said in music,” she said softly. “She called me to her office to talk to me about it.”

  “Oh,” I said. Now I got it. She was calling because she had to. Only I didn’t get it. Why was the principal interested? Allison had just made a joke at my expense. Sure, a pretty mean one. But usually, principals didn’t get involved in little things like that.

  Maybe it was because I had been hurt. Maybe it was because she really does love me.

  Maybe I’m special, to her. My heart raced. “What did she say?” I asked.

  “She said she wanted Splendid to be a safe place for all her students,” Allison said. “And she had zero tolerance for teasing.” She paused. “So, um, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”

  I didn’t answer. She hadn’t just been mean once; she’d done it a lot of times. And left me to spend my summer alone, after she’d found out my secret.

  “Please, Lore,” Allison asked again. “I swear I won’t say anything about Andrew Fortner again.”

  Andrew! That was it. “Okay, Allison. I forgive you. On one condition,” I said, when she started to bubble her thanks. “Tell me something, will you? This afternoon. I can’t seem to remember what happened. After lunch.”

  “You mean, after snack?” Allison sounded amused. “I can understand why everything went fuzzy—you practically ate yourself into a sugar coma! I mean, come on, Lore. I know it’s all-you-can-eat candy, but you must have eaten six bowls of Skittles during the social studies video.”

  “I ate snack?”

  “Um, yeah. Although ‘inhale’ might be more accurate. Oh, wait a minute.” I heard a shouted “In a minute, Mom, I’m on the phone,” and then Allison was back. “Hey, I have to go to dinner. I’m starving.”

  “Wait,” I said, “Do you mean I was in class after lunch? I came back to class?”

  “Um, yeah,” Allison said. “You were acting all weird, but I thought that was because you were mad at me. Hey, you’re not still, are you?”

  “Not?” I asked. Not what? Acting all weird? I didn’t know what she meant by that. Since I couldn’t remember any of it, I didn’t know what to say.

  What I did remember from that morning was bad enough. Andrew was missing. I wanted to ask Allison about him, whether she knew where he lived, but I stopped myself. I might forgive her, but I didn’t think I could trust her. Who knew when she would get “uncontrollably mean” again?

  Allison’s voice came across the line, quieter. “Um, not still mad at me. You said you forgave me.”

  “I do,” I said just as softly, and said goodbye. It felt strange, like I was saying goodbye to more than a conversation.

  Maybe I could forgive Allison, but I knew if I didn’t try to find out what had happened to Andrew, I would never forgive myself.

  But that evening, riding all over the neighborhood on Bryan’s skateboard, I couldn’t find Andrew’s house. Instead, I found myself heading for the school, again and again, like every street in our neighborhood led toward it. When I finally got home, it was almost ten, and Molly was on a tear.

  The next morning, Molly was still yelling at me. “Lorelei, look at you. Just look at you! What kind of a girl does that to herself?” I glanced down. So I still had a little road rash on my knees. Well, maybe more than a little. It was pretty gross. I picked a tiny piece of gravel away from one of the scabs. I really had to learn how to use Bryan’s skateboard, or I was going to need skin grafts.

  Who really needs all their skin? Ms. Morrigan’s first words to me floated into my mind, interrupting Molly’s catalogue of my faults as a girl, stepdaughter, and overall human. If I was right about Ms. Morrigan, if what I imagined was true . . . No. Crazy thoughts, Lorelei. I had to stop thinking about it.

  I felt like I really was going crazy, and Molly’s early-morning yelling didn’t help. I crossed my fingers behind my back and apologized, promising never to go off without helping set the table first, promising never to fall off a skateboard again, never to bleed again.

  I guess I overdid it. She got even madder, but when I went outside, she didn’t follow.

  I sat down on the front step, waiting for Bryan to come downstairs, trying to figure out what I couldn’t remember. Dad’s van was already gone. I needed someone to talk to. I hadn’t had anyone since Mom who really listened.

  Maybe . . . I turned the thought over in my mind like a fallen leaf. Maybe I could talk to Principal Trapp. She was the only adult who seemed like she really cared about me. Of course, she had said I didn’t need to tell my secrets to anyone. But what if I told them—just to her? Not all of my secrets. But I could tell her about my dysgraphia, or whatever it was. Then, if that went well, I could ask about Andrew, make sure he was okay. Who knows—maybe he would be back today.

  I stood up. Maybe I could get to the principal during breakfast. If I hurried.

  I took a few steps, then broke into a jog. The scabs on my knees pulled with each step, but I ignored them. Dad would probably have a fit when he saw them, too. I could almost hear him now. “Whatever happened to Barbies and pink stuff? Where’d my little girl go, Lore-lore?” He’d said it a hundred times in the past year.

  I’d wear pink every day if I could have Dad back, I thought. If I could have my family back. I rounded the corner and saw Principal Trapp standing outside the school, waving to me as though she’d been waiting for me all her life.

  “Hi, Lorelei the Golden,” she called out when I got close enough to hear. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Fantastic!” I shouted back, and ran toward her. This was my chance!

  But then, the automatic doors opened up and Ms. Threnody and Ms. Morrigan stepped out.

  The morning sun slid behind a cloud, and three cars pulled through the driveway, hiding the teachers and the principal from sight. When the cars drove off, they had all gone inside. I had a feeling it was going to be a very bad day.

  I had no idea.

  During lunch—another meal where no one spoke, and everyone except me ate enough to choke a horse—Ms. Morrigan stood up.

  “That was your last chance, Lorelei,” she said over the sounds of silverware and chewing. “Stubborn, stupid little thing. Follow me. It’s time to clean out your desk.”

  “Why?” I asked, looking for someone, anyone. The principal? Vasalisa? There was no one there but the hypnotized kids. “Am I in trouble?”

  “Oh, I’d say you w
ere trouble itself. But we’ll find something to keep you out of the way. A girl as . . . special . . . as you? I know just the place.”

  I thought she was going to put me in detention. But, as it turned out, they didn’t have detention at Splendid.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

  THE UNSPOKEN RULE

  That night, when Dad got home, I ran out to the driveway to meet him. I was crying so hard that by the time he opened the van door, I could hardly speak.

  “Dad. Dad, I have to talk to you.” I grabbed his arms, my rough hands catching on the smooth cotton of his shirt. My palms were red and raw from the afternoon’s work.

  “Whoa, Lorelei. Calm down! What happened?” He put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my face. “Home stuff or school stuff?”

  I took a deep breath. “School stuff,” I managed. He held me close, rubbing my back the way he used to do when I was little.

  After a few minutes, I stopped crying. “Thanks—hic!—Dad,” I hiccupped, and we both laughed. He leaned back against the door of the van, pulling me next to him.

  “It wasn’t that kid Bryan was talking about, was it? Andrew something or other? He didn’t come back to school today, did he?”

  “No,” I said, trying to stay calm, but I couldn’t. Hearing his name brought the whole horrible afternoon rushing back. “Dad, it’s not Andrew. In fact, that’s part of the problem. I think Andrew is dead. Murdered.”

  “What?” Dad stood up. “Lorelei, is this just more of the same kind of drama you’ve been coming up with since Molly?”

  “Dad! I don’t care about Molly. She didn’t even want me to tell you. I need you to pay attention.”

  He stepped away. Great. I’d ticked him off. “Don’t care about Molly? I think we’d better have this discussion inside. Is she home?”

  “Yes,” I mumbled. “She’s going to be mad I said anything. I tried to tell her what happened—I mean, she asked me why I was so upset, right? But she thinks I made it all up. She even took the phone away when I tried to call his parents!”

  “Well, I’ll admit, it’s a little far-fetched,” he said, pulling on my ponytail softly. “I think I would have heard something, on the news even, if one of your classmates had been murdered.”

  He wasn’t listening to me. I had to get his attention, and I knew one way to do that for sure. One word. “Not if they didn’t find his”—I swallowed hard—“his bones yet.”

  I had broken the unspoken rule.

  Dad stopped, his hand trembling on the doorknob. “What exactly do you think happened, Lorelei?”

  I knew he probably wouldn’t believe me, but I had to tell him what I suspected. “I think my teacher, Ms. Morrigan—and maybe the other teachers, I don’t know for sure. They all seem suspicious,” I took another deep breath. “I think she ate him.”

  Watching Dad laugh at me, I remembered why I never told him anything. Why kids didn’t tell adults anything, most of the time. Adults don’t listen. They don’t pay attention, and they don’t care.

  Of course, Dad hadn’t listened to anything I’d said since the day Mom went into the hospital and never came out.

  That had been all my fault.

  I supposed I deserved to be ignored now.

  After dinner, Bryan disappeared into the living room to play video games. Molly went into their bedroom with a magazine, leaving Dad and me alone so that Dad could—in her words—“straighten me out.”

  I’d shown him my hands. The skin was pink and peeling, and the pads of all my fingers had scrape marks on them.

  “How do you explain this, if I’m lying?” I asked as calmly as I could.

  “That skateboard again,” Dad said and sighed for the tenth time. “Molly said you went out after school for hours yesterday. I wish you wouldn’t disappear like that. It worries her.”

  “Worries her?” My jaw dropped. Molly had only worried that I wouldn’t get home in time to set the table.

  “She’s not the only one worried, baby,” he began, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand. “Let me just see if I got this straight. You honestly believe your teacher—and maybe the entire teaching staff at your new school—is fattening up the students to eat them. You think they ate your little friend. And this afternoon, Ms. Morrigan pulled you out of class and put you to work in the kitchens, scrubbing pots. So that road rash you showed me is supposed to be dishpan hands. Did I get that right?”

  “Yes,” I said. My face felt hot. Even I knew it sounded ridiculous. He didn’t believe me. Why would he? It was something from a horror movie, a bad one. All I knew was I had to try. “I don’t think the whole staff is in on it. The wait staff seems normal, compared to the others. I haven’t ever seen the teachers for the other grades. But my teacher, Ms. Morrigan, and the music teacher, Ms. Threnody? She has to be in on it.”

  “Of course, I suppose Principal Trapp is in on it, too.” Dad sounded tired.

  “No,” I said slowly. “I don’t think she knows there’s anything going on. She’s really nice. Maybe . . . maybe I need to tell her.”

  That was sounding better and better. I could already tell Dad wasn’t going to help me. Maybe the principal would, if I could find some way to show her what was going on, some way so she would believe me. If I could get her alone.

  “Tell her what?” Dad asked. “What exactly would it be that you would say to the principal of your school, Lorelei?”

  “Well . . .” I paused. “I think maybe they’re . . . witches, or something?”

  “Of course!” Dad slapped his palm against his head. “I should have thought of that myself. Of course, there would need to be—what?—three of them. Because there are always three witches around the spell pot, right? But if there were three, and they snacked on children, that would definitely point to magic.”

  He’d figured it out? I nodded, wondering where he was going with this. For a minute, his eyes shone with the same brokenness they’d held for the past year and a half. But then he shook his head in disgust. “For crying out loud. You’ve got bigger problems than worrying about magic, Lorelei. Real problems. You need to focus on your schoolwork, and try to keep up. This charter school could be a real chance for you to make up for lost opportunities. Get some one-on-one tutoring to help with your problem. You’re going to want to get into college someday—”

  “College?” I couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “I may not live through the week! Did you miss the whole ‘eaten by witches’ part of this conversation?”

  “This isn’t a conversation. This is a fairy tale. I always told your mother to stop filling your head with all those wild fantasies. Witches, ogres, unicorns. It’s no wonder you can’t tell the difference between reality and fiction. If she—”

  “Leave Mom out of this,” I yelled. My chair fell over as I stood up. “She would have believed me.”

  “She wouldn’t have encouraged this kind of nonsense.”

  I heard Molly’s voice from the bedroom call out, “You tell her, hon!”

  “Lorelei, I’m going to call a psychiatrist in the morning. You need help—”

  “I need you to listen!”

  “I’ve listened long enough. You have an overactive imagination—always have—but now it’s gone too far. Molly was right. I’ve overindulged you. I let you have your way for so long, you’ve taken advantage of me and Molly—”

  “Molly? It’s always about her, isn’t it? She doesn’t care about me as much as her . . . her pedicure, Dad. Mom would have listened to me. She would have cared. You don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have forgotten about her and married that hag. I hate her. And I hate you!”

  I couldn’t see through my tears, but I felt Dad’s hand on my arm, pulling me down the hallway to my room.

  “You have no right to say such things about me
or Molly, Lorelei. I’m disappointed in you.” He looked down at me like I was something stuck to his shoe. “You can come out when you’re ready to apologize.” He shut the door, leaving me alone in my room, muffling his voice. “I can’t believe you would act this way.”

  “Believe it,” I shouted back at him through the door. “Or don’t believe it. It doesn’t matter. By this time next week, I’ll probably be dead. And Bryan, too!”

  I heard his footsteps stop, and I said something I shouldn’t have.

  “Then you’ll have what you want. Your old family gone, so you can start over with her.”

  I thought he was going to come back. I thought he would open my door, I could apologize, and he would listen. But, instead, I heard Molly’s voice.

  “Do you see? This is what happens when you’re too lenient with kids. She’s taking terrible advantage of you—and me. I can’t tell you how hard she’s been on me. But, really, babe. A psychiatrist? They’re so expensive. Maybe the school has a counselor . . .” Her voice trailed off, and their footsteps moved away.

  I stayed in my room through dinner, and most of the weekend. I came out to read the Sunday paper, though, to see if there was a missing person’s story about Andrew. Nothing. Of course, I was grounded, and Molly gave me the evil eye anytime I went near the phone—not that I knew Andrew’s phone number.

  On Sunday evening, Molly and Dad called a family meeting to let Bryan and me know that they were signing us up for an optional after-school sports program at Splendid “to help Molly out since we’d been so hard on her,” according to Dad. “She needs time to adjust to a new life. Some time to herself. You kids need to be more understanding. Especially you, Lorelei.” It sounded like Molly had written a script for him; he kept looking at her after every sentence, making sure he got his lines right.

  I needed to be more understanding? I had a very bad feeling that I understood far more than I wanted to about a whole lot of things. But, of course, I had that wrong, too.