A Tale of Two Proms (Bard Academy)

by Lockwood, Cara

  “First things first,” Coach H said. “How did you come to be here?” Coach H blew on the wick of a small candle on one table. A flame sparked to life. I guessed it was another of his many tricks, like stopping a guillotine’s blade in mid-air.

  “First how about you tell us how you stopped the guillotine?” Blade asked.

  “Pointed creativity,” Coach H said and shrugged. “I imagined the scene as it would unfold, and it did.”

  “Like you imagined that candle lighting?”

  “You got it. Imagination is a very powerful force in this dimension,” Coach H said. “And, by the way, in the ‘real’ one as well. Now, you answer my question. How did you come to be here?”

  Lindsay held up the old copy of A Tale of Two Cities.

  “But how….” Coach H puzzled over the books. “I saw the vault destroyed. Along with all the books in it.”

  “Not all,” I corrected. I held up the bag I carried.

  Lindsay opened her mouth to speak. “Yeah, the books were in….” I cut Lindsay off before she could babble about the cabin and about everything she’d seen there. “We found them in the woods.”

  “Well, that explains it, then.” Coach H sat down in a chair with a tired-sounding sigh.

  “Explains what?”

  “Why I’m still here,” he said and spread his hands wide.

  I was about to ask him what he meant and then it hit me: I already knew. The books anchored the ghosts to purgatory.

  “Where are the other teachers?” Ryan asked.

  “I think most of them are truly gone,” Coach H said. “When the vault was moved, we think some of the books—or most of them—were actually destroyed.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “Because the vault couldn’t be moved without destroying the books,” Coach H said. “At least most of them.”

  “Oh,” Blade said. “So that means….”

  “The only teachers to survive are the ones who wrote these books,” I said, glancing down at my bag. There were only a handful of books in there. The vault had contained a hundred or more.

  Ryan and Hana looked sad. Blade and Samir and Lindsay just seemed stunned. None of them could think of anything to say.

  Coach H looked up after a moment taking in our ring of somber faces. I couldn’t tell if he was relieved he’d been saved or disappointed. Many of the faculty wished for release, any release, from this twilight existence in purgatory.

  “Don’t mourn us,” he said. “The others are released from Bard. That’s good news. Not bad.”

  “It is?” Samir asked.

  “They served their time and now they’re on to the next world or to heaven or hell or wherever it is they were supposed to go. Do you know what limbo is like?”

  “Like waiting to see which college will take you?” Samir asked.

  Or trying to figure out if you should stay behind and marry the boy you love, I thought but didn’t say. Limbo. That was a good word for it.

  “Yes, sort of,” Coach H said. “Well, many of us having been waiting to get accepted for a hundred years. Or more.”

  I knew some teachers prayed for release and I guess now I was beginning to understand why Ms. W had been so happy to go. I guess if I had to live with not knowing what was going to happen in my life for decades, I’d be pretty antsy, too. For the first time, I could see the faculty’s point of view.

  Coach H looked exhausted. The weariness in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He’d been at Bard for nearly half a century.

  The door swung open and everyone in the room tensed for a fight. Into the dim room walked Sydney, followed by Headmaster B. She shut the door quickly behind her and shook her skirt, sending bits of mud and dirt flying to the floor.

  “Well, that was quite a dirty errand, indeed,” she exclaimed, taking off the bonnet she wore on her head. “And the smell in that prison is truly awful.”

  Sydney looked stunned. He had blood caked on his face, along with streaks of dried mud down his neck and chin. He smelled terrible, even for Sydney.

  “Unbelievable—the similarities,” Samir said, taking in Sydney’s form and face. “You sure you’re not Heathcliff?”

  “Sadly, I am not,” Sydney replied, in his just-slightly-different than Heathcliff’s accent. “And may I ask why you all bothered to rescue me? You stole my big moment.”

  “Headmaster B saved your life,” Blade exclaimed. “Where’s the gratitude?”

  “Gone, I suppose, along with my excellent speech. I used it up and then didn’t get to do the big finale.” Sydney looked despondent. “How am I supposed to be a hero now? I only had one grand gesture in me. And one speech.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ryan said.

  “You’re ticked off we saved your life? A chick cannot be worth this,” Samir said. Blade elbowed him hard and he said, “What? What did I say?”

  “He wanted to be a hero,” Blade said.

  “Hero...I do like the sound of that,” Sydney agreed. “Too bad it won’t happen now.”

  “Yeah, you might be a hero, but you would’ve been dead hero,” Samir said.

  “It seemed like a good idea yesterday,” Sydney agreed. “But then, come to think of it, I’d had quite a lot to drink yesterday. Now that I’m sobering up, I can see some flaws in my plan.”

  “Yeah, like if you lose your head for a girl then you don’t actually get to be with the girl,” Ryan pointed out.

  Coach H let out another tired sounding sigh. “Let’s get back to the point,” he said. “Sydney, what do you know about what happened to Bard?”

  “Bard?”

  “My school?” I prompted. “Remember? You ran around it for a few days before everything went kablam. The library? Chased by Guardians? Ring any bells?”

  “Oh,” Sydney seemed to remember. “Yes.” He thought a moment. “Right, well, I have no idea.”

  So much for my theory that Sydney might have a clue about who was really behind all this.

  “You weren’t in the library with Catherine?” I asked him. Sydney looked as if he had no idea what I was talking about. And there went my other theory that he was the one snuggling up to my double.

  “Did you see or hear anything before you were swept back to Paris?” Headmaster B asked. “What is your last memory before ending up at the Bastille?”

  “I was sitting in the commons waiting for Miranda,” Sydney said looking at me. All eyes turned to me then.

  “But I was in Chicago at the hospital visiting my dad. I wasn’t anywhere near Bard.”

  “Well, I’d knew you’d gone, but no one would tell me where, so I just thought I’d wait.”

  “For a week?” I asked him.

  Sydney shrugged. “I didn’t have anything better to do.”

  “Then what?” Coach H asked.

  “I saw the guy who looks like me…”

  “Heathcliff?”

  “Yes. And he was with Catherine, at least I think that’s her name. She looks like Miranda, but she isn’t.”

  My heart sank. Blade and Samir sent uneasy glances my way. They had been right, then. It had been Heathcliff they’d seen in the library with Catherine. I knew they were right, and yet, part of me still clung to a stubborn and blind hope that there was another explanation.

  Coach H’s eyes widened in what looked like surprise. “Catherine?”

  “Possibly,” Sydney said. “They were arguing.”

  “About what?” I felt a sudden lift of hope. If Heathcliff were fighting with Catherine before all this happened, maybe he wasn’t on board with the destroy-the-school plan.

  “I didn’t see them argue,” Blade said.

  “It was after they turned the corner,” Sydney said. “They opened up a hole in the floor.”

  “The vault,” Coach H said.

  “Right. She was insisting they go down and Heathcliff wanted to do something else first.”

  “He didn’t want to go in the vault?”


  “No,” Sydney said.

  “But he went?”

  “No. They were standing on the steps, leading down to the vault, and she….” Sydney paused and looked at me. Whatever was coming next, he wasn’t sure I should hear it.

  “Go on,” I said. No matter what it was, I needed to know.

  “They kissed,” Sydney said, and then he closed his eyes as if not to see the pain it caused me. “After that, the floor started to glow blue.”

  I didn’t hear what came next, of course. My heart was thudding loudly in my ears. Here was another witness. There was no way I could go on believing Heathcliff had no feelings for Catherine.

  “Wait—you’re telling me one little smooch and kablam?” Samir was finding this hard to believe.

  Coach H and Headmaster B glanced at one another.

  “They are an epic love story,” Hana said. “Maybe they have power beyond just being characters. Maybe it’s their love that….”

  Blade elbowed Hana and she seemed to remember I was still in the room. She’d temporarily forgotten in her desire to figure out what had happened. It didn’t matter, though. I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach and knocked the wind out of me. The worlds “epic” and “love” kept swirling through my head, so did me imagining them kissing in a way that nobody has ever kissed before. I was a fool. I could see that now.

  I felt Headmaster B watching me carefully, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care if she could read my mind, even. Let her stare.

  “And the next thing I remember, I was sitting in a room at the Bastille,” Sydney said. He’d opened his eyes and was looking at me again. I hated that look of pity I saw there. I didn’t want to be pitied by Sydney Carton. Or by my friends.

  “Okay, you’re sure you saw Catherine?” Coach H asked Sydney. “I wonder when she arrived.”

  “She’d been on campus for a couple of weeks,” Hana said.

  “What?” This seemed like it was news to Coach H.

  “You didn’t know about Catherine?” Hana asked, glancing at me. Hadn’t Headmaster B promised to warn the rest of the faculty back when I had warned her? We both looked over at Headmaster B, who had just the hint of guilt on her face.

  “Headmaster B knew about Catherine,” I said, finding my voice at last. It was dull and flat. “We told her weeks ago about Catherine and she said she was going to call a faculty meeting.”

  Now, the attention of everyone in the room turned to Headmaster B. Charlotte, the tiny woman in the long black dress, sighed. She sat down on a chair as if she’d lost the will to stand up any longer.

  “I need answers, Charlotte,” Coach H growled.

  “Let me explain, Ernest,” she said, holding up a gloved hand. “I didn’t tell you about Catherine for a very good reason.” Headmaster B paused and cleared her throat. “Because I was the one who released her from Wuthering Heights. I brought her into our world.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was so quiet in the room that I could hear people breathing. Everyone, of course, except the ghosts. They didn’t need to breathe.

  “You what?” I demanded. My head was a swirl of anger. Headmaster B was the reason that Heathcliff had left me. She was the one responsible. Sure, I knew, deep down, it was Heathcliff’s decision to go with Catherine. But, honestly, he never would’ve been tempted would he without Headmaster B’s help, would he? Besides, it was much easier to be angry at her than at Heathcliff. It felt far more comfortable—so I didn’t examine the reasons too closely.

  Coach H’s face flushed red and he balled his hands into fists. “Charlotte, how could you do something so… so….”

  “Irresponsible?” Blade prompted.

  “Totally dangerous?” Lindsay offered.

  “Completely off the hook?” This was from Samir. Everyone stared at him. “I’m just saying that’s pretty bad-A, bringing Catherine over. Especially after all the trouble she caused last time she was at Bard.”

  Coach H was still struggling with his words. He was so angry his face flushed a dark shade of purple. “Bone-headed, is what I was going to say. Charlotte, how on earth could bringing Catherine Earnshaw back to Bard be a good idea?”

  Headmaster B coughed into her hand and then set about fidgeting with the folds of her skirt. Then, she glanced up and her eyes met mine. Something about the look she was giving me right at that moment told me I wasn’t going to like what came next. Like this was somehow my fault.

  “I brought Catherine over in hopes that she would lure Heathcliff away from Miranda’s influence and lead him back where he belonged in Wuthering Heights.” Headmaster B’s voice was cool and calm.

  “I knew it,” I sputtered, anger in my voice. “How could you…”

  But Headmaster B cut me off. “I had no choice,” she told me. “I had recently become aware of the fact that he might not go willingly as agreed. I wouldn’t have had to pursue such extreme measures, if Miranda had kept her promise to stay away from Heathcliff and to not foster an inappropriate personal attachment.”

  My anger cooled as I realized just what she was saying. She knew about Heathcliff and me. But how much? Did she know about the cabin? About Heathcliff’s plan? About his proposal? I suddenly felt light-headed.

  Headmaster B continued, as she nodded curtly at me. “Their relationship grew quite serious, I’m afraid.”

  Coach H reluctantly pulled his eyes from Headmaster B to me. His face was still a splotchy purple. “Is this true Miranda?”

  I had a flash of memory of Heathcliff proposing to me in the cabin, his eyes intent on me, determined for us to be together. The last thing he wanted to do at that moment was go back to Wuthering Heights. Personal attachment didn’t even begin to cover it. Of course, now that Catherine was in the picture, I was sure it was a completely different story.

  “Miranda?” Coach H pressed. I could feel the eyes of everyone on me. Sydney, in particular, seemed to take interest.

  “Yes,” I admitted. But, apparently, I’d been wrong about just how deep a connection we had. Looks like I was wrong about a lot of things.

  “You knew you could never be together,” Coach H thundered. “You knew it was impossible.”

  “It doesn’t even matter now,” I said. “Headmaster B’s big plan worked. Heathcliff isn’t interested in me anymore.”

  Hana squeezed my arm and Lindsay moved a protective step closer to me. I felt suddenly like crying. Everything was hopeless. Heathcliff didn’t want me. But I was still in love with him. The harsh reality of it hit me like a cold wind.

  “Did you bring Sydney over, too?” I asked Headmaster B. “Was he part of your plan as well?”

  Sydney’s face looked surprised. “She was not the one I saw,” Sydney said.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Headmaster B agreed. “I did not bring over Sydney.”

  “Then, who did?” Hana asked the room.

  “Maybe he just came over—like the Cyclops,” Lindsay offered.

  "Maybe," I said, but I didn't think so. A woman had summoned Sydney. He'd said so.

  “Well, what a mess,” Coach H said, running his hand through his short shock of gray hair. “I thought better of both of you.” Coach H just shook his head from side to side, as he glared at me and Headmaster B in turn. “It was a foolish risk. You know the dangers!”

  “Do I?” I challenged. “I don’t think you even know what will happen.” I was feeling a little bit defensive. I was tired of all the grand but vague warnings the faculty was always dishing out.

  Coach exchanged a guilty glance with Headmaster B. This much was true. They knew it could be bad, but they weren’t sure how bad.

  “Rules have been broken in the past,” Hana said. “What about Miranda’s great-great grandmother or whoever came to live in this world without a problem?”

  “Yes, but that’s because…” Coach H began.

  Headmaster B seemed to know where Coach H was headed with his train of thought. “You can’t tell them,” Headmaster B interrupted.


  “They have a right to know,” Coach H said. “We should’ve told them a long time ago. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if we’d told them everything.”

  “Told us what?” Blade asked. We all turned intently to hear what Coach H had to say.

  “Main characters are much different than supporting ones in the fictional world,” he said.

  “Well, no duh.” Lindsay rolled her eyes.

  “If a minor character like your ancestor leaves,” Coach H said. “There’s hardly a ripple in the story. But if a main character is lost from a fictional story, then…”

  “The world ends. That’s what you said.” Samir looked at Coach H pointedly.

  “Well, it’s not that simple,” Coach H said. “If a main character leaves, a couple of things could happen. One, the book will collapse on itself. It will no longer exist.”

  “Which would be the end of the world to one of you—the authors,” Ryan said.

  Coach H nodded. “Figuratively,” he said. “But there’s another, more dangerous possibility. Sometimes, when a main character leaves, the story remains, but a vacuum is created.”

  “What kind of vacuum?” Hana asked.

  “One that wants to be filled,” Coach H said. “With someone. Probably from this world.”

  “You’re saying that if Heathcliff leaves for good, Wuthering Heights would suck in some random tool to take his place?” Blade shook her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing—or that she thought it was completely awesome. It was hard to tell with Blade.

  Sydney watched the entire conversation with a confused look on his face. I knew how he felt.

  “It’s likely,” Headmaster B said. “The more important the story—the more connected and strong its bonds are with other works of fiction—the more likely it will survive the removal of a main character.”

  “Wuthering Heights is the original gothic romance,” Hana said. “Without it, even modern day books like Twilight might not exist.”

  “It’s true,” Coach said.

  “I still don’t understand how a real person could wind up trapped in Wuthering Heights,” Ryan said.

  “The dimensions, the real world and the fictional one, are tied together,” Coach H said. “Think of them like two tangled strands of time. The strands are twisted, but together find a balance. Imagine them as two sides of a scale, always trying to seek a balance of weight. If one side loses too much, the scales tip.”