Chapter #38Going Alloway: Monday by: Masktrix   “School dismissed. Sixth form, stay behind.”
You stay rooted to your seat as the lower forms file out of the chapel, murmuring rumors about why you’ve been held back. Every single one of you knows why: the Halloween Party. Eventually your form are alone.
“OK guys,” Marius Hall says, a quarterback addressing the huddle. “Everyone knows what this is about, so I’ll cut to the chase. The blow-out on Halloween has made some serious waves. Faculty aren’t happy, and we can’t be seen to set a bad example for the lower forms. Which is why, this morning, we all discussed what we were going to do. We operate on an honor system. So, you’ve got one chance to come forward as the organizer, take your punishment like a man. Or the whole sixth form is going to take the hit.”
There’s a disgruntled silence. Most eyes fall on Todd Baldwin, while Dalton Reeves stands next to him, a small upturn of a smile on his lips. Abi Steiner and Kate Gross are in the middle, both looking the picture of reluctant innocence, while Lucas Tanner, for the first time in his life, looks utterly pissed off.
“No one?” Marius says. “All right. I’d have hoped someone would have had the balls to come forward. The prefects met this morning and decided the following. All exeats are hereby withdrawn for two weeks, no exceptions.”
Groans erupt from the pews. Marius continues.
“Washington dorms have been swept, and I understand the Adams and Jefferson dorms will be too. Any contraband – and I do not care how small – will be disposed of. Computers will be checked for anything that can bypass the intranet. Fair warning: get it off your laptop or you won’t have a laptop.”
Someone to your left mutters ‘fucksake’; to your right there are grunts and cries of protest. Lucas Tanner looks even more annoyed and is visibly biting his lip. Baldwin, Reeves, Steiner and Gross stay as they were.
“Finally, day students – to restrict you bringing contraband to friends, as of tomorrow, parking privileges are revoked until the end of the week. Get a ride from your parents or use the buses.”
The whole place erupts. As Mariah, the first two don’t hit you at all. But the third? “WHAT?” you’re almost out of your seat before the Niamh golem’s hand is on your shoulder. “Unbelievable. Some asshats get drunk in the woods and I lose my car. How’s that fair? How’s that fair, Marius, huh?”
Your voice is lost in the din, but Mariah’s brain is shaking with rage. Shit, you think, using her fire to conceal your real worry: how am I supposed to find Niamh without the ability to stay late? Picking a day student now seems a really dumb idea. You keep your eyes forward. Lucas looks over at his fellow prefects like he wants to kill one of them… but, strangely, it’s not aimed at Todd Baldwin. Lucas knows he’s the man responsible – he told you on Friday when you were Chris Fiore.
“Thems the breaks, people. And if anyone wants to man up and admit it, obviously we can look at reinstating things sooner. Form dismissed.”
***
You spend the morning on autopilot, the first break sat slumped on a bench outside. The prefect meeting is bugging you. Sure, it makes sense if they suspend privileges, but it’s also a chance to snoop around dorms. Is she hiding as one of the five? You’re still puzzling it out when –
“Hey, Mariah.” You look up. Alyssa Erikson is coming over to you slowly, making her way unsteadily on the gravel as she rests heavy on a light metal crutch, its handle heavily wrapped in padding. You focus on your Mariah brain. We’ve never shared a class. I know her only by reputation and having seen her around – Alyssa’s got some kind of disability, always on a single crutch. Runs the school paper.
“Oh, hey.”
“Mind if I sit here?” she asks. You suddenly feel very awkward, and pull your books aside to make space. Alyssa is one of your suspects.
“Ah, sure. Sure. No problem. Of course. Why couldn’t you? Uh, did you want something?” It’s meaningless babble, and Alyssa soaks it up with a nod – she’s more than used to it. She slowly lowers herself down.
“Perceptive,” Alyssa nods, leaning toward you. At first you think it’s to be conspiratorial, but then you realize it’s just so she can pull out a notepad shoved in her blazer side pocket. “I’m writing a piece on the sixth form crackdown. They’re going totally overboard. Aaaand I couldn’t help but hear you yell about your car privileges. So. Quote?”
“Sure,” you say. “It’s a load of hot garbage, is what it is. This is a school of gets-away-with-its and gets-punished-for-doing-nothing.” You puff out your cheeks. “Why should I have to ride the Bus of Shame? It bites. Sucks. Like a… bitey-sucky thing.”
“A bitey-sucky thing.”
“I’m a science geek, not the writer! Mosquito. That’s a bitey-sucky thing. You can pep that up, right?”
Alyssa sucks the end of her pen. “‘It… frustrates me that we aren’t doing enough to uncover the true culprit.’ Better?”
“Doesn’t really have my own stamp, but it works.”
“No one around here puts a stamp on things quite like you,” Alyssa says, before catching herself a beat. “At least, so I hear, anyway. You’ve a unique voice in the sixth form. Should use it more.” She grips her crutch and hauls herself off the seat. “Well, good chat. I’m going to get some more interviews done. See you around.”
***
A scream rings down the main corridor as you walk to lunch, gossiping with fake Niamh and fellow geek Aiden Nichols about the biology test coming up tomorrow. You look over, brushing the strawberry blonde mess that blocks your vision away. Why didn’t I get a pixie cut like Niamh? Oh, that’s right. Because I don’t want to look like a receptionist. Love you girl, but c’mon…
“First year prank?” Aiden asks, ears picking up as you watch a crowd form in front of you.
“Sounds like it came from the girls’ bathroom,” Niamh says. You crane your head as you walk past, a mass of bodies in green blazers gather around the toilet entrance, as… someone takes a bow?
“Yeah, yeah. Thank you, thank you,” you hear Scott Ricci say. “Accidents happen. Thanks folks. Nothing to see here.” He laughs and shakes his head, Sean Ince and Jared van Camp leading him off, the latter slapping him on the head and grinning.
“What happened?” Aiden asks one of the fifth form, watching as Scott’s trio take the next, near-identical door along, into the boys’ washrooms.
“Idiot wasn’t paying attention. Walked straight into the ladies’ by mistake.”
Sure, a ‘mistake’. At least it’s in-character for Scott. You snort when a blushing, red-faced Hannah McMaster – no doubt the source of the scream – steps out into the corridor.
***
“You ever think we should form a marching band?” you say, to no one in particular, as you sit in band practice, saxophone fastened over your shoulder.
“What, like one of those ones that stomp up and down, playing tunes while making shapes?” Eric Murphy asks, sitting a few seats over with the rest of the strings. “And with those guys in the stupid hats who do twirling?”
“Yeah, the color guard,” you say, looking over the music. You have no idea how to read sheet music, but Mariah’s brain translates it all beautifully.
“Jeez, Mariah! You can’t say that!” Portia Haas hisses, setting her flute down. “It’s racist.”
You look at her, and slowly, roll your eyeballs, further and further, until it looks like they’re being sucked into your head. Thanks, Portia Haas-to-flunk. You keep quiet as at least three other members of the band explain the phrase "color guard" to her. In truth, there’s no way you could form a marching band. It’s common.
The silence is broken by a tap of the conductor’s baton by Mr Greer. Everyone stops and looks up. “OK, everyone. We’re going to start with Bartok’s Swineherd’s Dance.”
The baton twitches; the music begins. It soars, sweeping up into a rousing folk tune. You set the instrument to your lips, ready to come in the moment Greer’s baton flicks in your…
Greer waves it off, the cacophony receding. “Loki Swain,” he shouts, looking over at a boy in the corner, eyes near-shut as if he’s dozing, very clearly not paying attention. “You feel like joining us?”
Loki Swain. Just his name makes my stomach twist a little. Your lips tighten on the mouthpiece. He waltzes around with a magic air; nothing ever fazes him. Wouldn't it be a twist, you think, if my girlfriend picked a disguise that my disguise has a crush on?
“Ah, sorry, Mr G,” Loki says, giving a smile. “Just kind of, y’know. Forgot how to read music.” He blinks, concentrating for a moment, then gives a lazy thumbs up.
Greer returns the thumbs up sarcastically. “All right, from the top…”
***
10.30pm. You close Mariah’s notebook, pinch the bridge of her nose, and sigh, taking off your glasses and set them on her nightstand. You’re back on thirtieth, a homecooked meal in your belly. You open up the messenger on Mariah’s phone, sign in to your own account and hover her finger over the touchpad, trying to decide which name to send to Shelly.
Fifteen names. But who was acting strangely today? And were they actually Niamh, or was it just chance?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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