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It was their hope that got to me. Having to deal with my fear was hard enough without facing their disappointment.
Mrs Bethany concluded, “Classes will begin tomorrow. For today, get settled into your rooms. Meet new classmates. Learn your way around. We will expect you to be ready. We are glad to have you, and we hope that you will make the most of your time at Evernight.”
Applause filled the room, and Mrs Bethany acknowledged it by smiling slightly and closing her eyes, a slow, satisfied blink like that of a well-fed cat. Then conversation rose up, even louder than before. There was only one person I wanted to talk to; just as well, since it looked like only one person might possibly be interested in talking to me.
I moved all the way around the room, always right at the edges, keeping my back toward the wall. I searched the crowd hungrily, seeking Lucas’s bronze hair, his broad shoulders, those dark green eyes. If I was looking for him, and he was looking for me, we were bound to find each other soon. Despite my fear of large groups, and my tendency to exaggerate them, I knew there were only a couple of hundred students here.
He’ll stand out, I told myself. He’s not like these others, cold and snobby and proud. But I soon realized that wasn’t true. Lucas wasn’t a snob, but he had the same kind of chiseled good looks, the same toned body, and the same, well, perfection. He wouldn’t stand out much in this beautiful crowd; he would be a natural part of it.
Unlike me.
Slowly the crowd shrank, as the teachers left and the students dispersed. I hung around until I was almost the only one left in the great hall. Surely Lucas would come to find me. He knew how scared I was and felt responsible for scaring me worse. Wouldn’t he want to say hello?
But he didn’t. Eventually, I had to accept that I’d missed him. That meant there was nothing left for me to do but go meet my roommate.
Slowly I made my way up the stone steps, my new shoes with their hard soles click-clacking too loudly. I wanted to keep climbing all the way to the top, straight back to my parents’ faculty apartment. If I did, though, I knew that they’d send me downstairs again immediately. Time enough to get my things and really move out after dinner. For now, the first priority was “getting settled.”
I tried to look on the positive side. Maybe my roommate was as freaked-out by school as I was. I remembered the girl with the super-short haircut and hoped it might be her. If I were living with another “outsider,” things would probably be easier all around. It would be torture, living with a stranger—actually having somebody I didn’t know there all the time, even when I slept—but I hoped the feeling would pass eventually. I didn’t dare hope for a friend.
Patrice Deveraux, the form had said. I tried to hang that name on the girl I remembered, but it didn’t quite fit. Still, anything was possible.
I opened the door and realized, heart sinking, that my roommate’s name fit her just fine. She wasn’t another outsider at all. Instead, she was the total embodiment of the Evernight type.
Patrice’s skin was the color of a river at sunrise, the coolest, softest brown, and her curly hair was pulled back into a soft bun, which showed off her pearl earrings and her slim neck. She sat at the dresser, still neatly lining up bottles of nail polish while she looked at me.
“So you’re Bianca,” she said. No handshake, no hug—just the click of each bottle of polish against the dresser: pale pink, coral, melon, white. “You weren’t what I was expecting.”
Thanks tons. “You neither.”
Patrice cocked her head, studying me, and I wondered if we hated each other already. She lifted one perfectly manicured hand and began ticking off points. “You can borrow my perfume but not my jewelry or clothes.” She didn’t say anything about borrowing my stuff, but it was pretty obvious she wouldn’t ever want to. “I plan to do most of my studying in the library, but if you want to work here, let me know and I’ll talk with my friends somewhere else. Help me with the assignments you’re good at, and I’ll do the same for you. I’m sure we can learn a lot from each other. Sound fair?”
“Definitely.”
“All right. We’ll get along.”
If she’d acted all fake friendly with me right away, I think that would have weirded me out more. As it was, I was sort of reassured that Patrice was so businesslike. “Glad you think so,” I said. “I know we’re…different.”
She didn’t argue. “Two teachers here are your parents, right?”
“Yeah. I guess word travels fast.”
“You’ll be fine. They’ll take care of you.”
I tried to smile at her and hoped she was right. “You’ve been here at Evernight before?”
“No. First time.” Patrice said this as though changing her whole way of living was as simple for her as slipping into a new pair of designer shoes. “It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”
I left my opinion of the architecture out of it. “You said you had friends here, though.”
“Well, of course.” Her smile was as delicate as everything else about her, from the peach gloss on her lips to the perfume and nail polish bottles neatly arrayed on the dresser. “Courtney and I met in Switzerland last winter. Vidette was a friend of mine when I was staying in Paris. And Genevieve and I spent a summer together in the Caribbean, once—was it St Thomas? Maybe it was Jamaica. I can’t keep these things straight.”
My pokey hometown seemed duller than ever. “So you guys all just—run in the same circles.”
“More or less.” Belatedly, Patrice seemed to realize how awkward I felt. “Eventually they’ll be your circles, too.”
“I wish I were as sure as you are.”
“Oh, you’ll see.” She dwelled in a world where endless summers in the tropics were everyone’s for the taking. I couldn’t imagine ever being a part of that. “Do you know anybody here? Besides your parents, I mean.”
“Only the people I’ve met this morning.” Meaning Lucas and Patrice, for a grand total of two.
“Plenty of time to make friends.” Patrice spoke briskly as she began putting away more of her things: silky scarves the color of ivory, hosiery in shades of taupe or dove gray. Where did she plan to wear things so elegant? Maybe it was unimaginable for Patrice to travel without them. “I hear Evernight is a wonderful place to meet men.”
“Meet men?”
“Do you already have someone?”
I wanted to tell her about Lucas, but I couldn’t. Whatever had happened between me and Lucas in the forest—it meant something, but my feelings were too new to share. All I said was, “I didn’t leave a boyfriend behind in my hometown.” I’d known all those guys at my old school since I was a little kid, and I remembered them back when they used to play with Lincoln Logs and mash Play-Doh in my hair. That sort of made it impossible to feel passionate about any of them.
“Boyfriend.” Her lips curled upward, as if the word struck her as childish. Patrice wasn’t sneering at me, though. I was simply too young and inexperienced for her to take me seriously.
“Patrice? It’s Courtney.” The girl outside knocked on the door even while she was opening it, obviously certain she would be welcome. She was even more beautiful than Patrice, with blonde hair that fell almost to her waist and the pouty kind of lips I’d seen only on starlets in TV shows, who could afford stuff like collagen. The same kilt that hung awkwardly at my knees made her legs look a thousand miles long. “Oh, your room is much better than mine. I love it!”
The rooms were all pretty much alike, actually—a bedroom large enough for two people, with white, cast-iron beds and carved wooden dressers on each side. The window looked out upon one of the trees that grew closest to Evernight, but I couldn’t think of anything special about it.
Then I realized there was one thing. “We are close to the bathrooms,” I said.
Courtney and Patrice both stared at me as if I’d done something rude. Were they too refined to acknowledge that we needed bathrooms?
Embarrassed, I kept going. “I’ve never, um, shared a bathroom before. I mean, I have with my parents, but not with—what, it’s like, twelve of us sharing each one? That’s going to be crazy in the mornings.”
This was their cue to agree and gripe about it. Instead, Courtney kept studying me, curious. I figured her curiosity was only normal, but I wished she would say something. Her narrow-eyed gaze felt threatening, even more so than most strangers’ did.
“We’re going out in the grounds tonight,” she said—to Patrice, not to me. “To eat. A picnic, you might say.”
Meals at Evernight were meant to be taken in the students’ rooms. Apparently they explained this as “tradition,” the way things were back in ye olden days before anybody had invented the cafeteria. Parents would send care packages to supplement the Spartan grocery allowance delivered each week. This meant I had to learn how to cook using the little microwave my parents had bought me. Patrice obviously didn’t worry about such mundane problems. “Sounds like fun. Don’t you think so, Bianca?”
Courtney shot her a look; apparently that invitation wasn’t meant to be open.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m supposed to eat with my parents. Thanks for asking me, though.”
Courtney’s lush lips could look almost ghoulish when twisted into a smirk. “You still want to hang out with Mommy and Daddy? What, do they feed you with a bottle?”
“Courtney,” Patrice chastised her, but I could tell that she was amused.
“You’ve got to see Gwen’s room.” Courtney began tugging Patrice out the door. “Dark and dreary. She swears it might as well be a dungeon.”
They took off together, and whatever fragile connection Patrice and I had created was broken in an instant. Their laughter echoed throughout the hallway. Cheeks burning, I fled my new room, then the dormitory floor, hurrying upward toward my parents’ apartment and refuge.
To my surprise, they let me in without a fuss. They didn’t even ask why I was early. Instead, Mom gave me a big hug, and Dad said, “Check out our packing job, okay? There are a few things for you to do, but we got you started.”
I was so grateful I could’ve cried. Instead I went to my room, eager for peace and quiet in some safe place.
Only a few pieces of winter clothing still hung in my closet. Everything else had been bundled into Dad’s old leather trunk. A quick check of my overnight bag showed makeup, barrettes, shampoo, and the rest all neatly tucked in. Most of my books would stay here; I had too many for the few shelves in our dorm room. But my favorites had been set out for me to box up: Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, my astronomy texts. The bed had been made, and on one pillow was a packet of things for me to hang up on my walls, like postcards friends had sent over the years and some star maps I’d hung on the walls of our old house. But something new had been hung in this room, an affirmation from my parents that this was still my home, too: a small framed print of Klimt’s The Kiss. I had admired the print in a shop months ago, and apparently they’d bought it as a surprise for me on my first day at the new school.
At first, I was simply grateful for the gift. But then I couldn’t quite stop looking at the picture or shake the thought that somehow I’d never really seen it before.
The Kiss was a favorite of mine. From the days when my mother first showed me her books about art, I’d always loved Klimt. I was in awe of the way he gilded every pane and line, and I liked the prettiness of the pale faces that peeped out from the kaleidoscopic images he created. Now, however, the image had changed for me. I’d never paid as much attention to the way the couple tilted toward each other—the man leaning in from above, as if tugged toward her by some inexorable force. The woman’s head fell back in a swoon, giving in to gravity’s pull. Her lips were dark against the paleness of her skin, flushed with blood. Most beautiful of all, the picture’s shimmering background no longer appeared to be something separate from the man and woman. Now it felt as if it was a rich, warm mist, their love made visible, turning the world around them to gold.
The man’s hair was darker than Lucas’s, but I was trying to imagine him there nonetheless. My cheeks felt warm—blushing again—but this was a different kind of blush.
I jerked back to the here and now; it felt almost as if I’d fallen asleep and begun to dream. Quickly I smoothed my hair and took a couple of deep breaths. I realized I could hear Glenn Miller’s “String of Pearls” on the stereo. Big Band music always meant that Dad was in a good mood.
I couldn’t help but smile. At least one of us liked Evernight Academy.
When I finally finished my packing, it was nearly dinnertime. I went into the living room, where music was still playing, to find Mom and Dad dancing together, being a bit silly with it—Dad pursing his lips, mock sexy, and Mom holding the hem of her black skirt in one hand.
Mom spun around in Dad’s arms, and he dipped her backward. She tilted her head almost to the floor, smiling, and saw me. “Sweetheart, there you are.” She was still upside down as she spoke, but then Dad righted her. “Did you get your packing done?”
“Yeah. Thanks for helping me get started. And thank you for the picture; it’s beautiful.” They smiled at each other, relieved to have made me happy, at least a little bit.
“Quite a feast tonight.” Dad nodded toward the table. “Your mother outdid herself.” Mom didn’t usually cook big meals; tonight was definitely a special occasion. She’d made all my favorites, more than I could ever eat. I realized that I was starving because I’d gone without lunch, and for the first part of the dinner, Mom and Dad had to speak to each other. My appetite kept my mouth too full to talk.
“Mrs Bethany said they’ve finally finished refitting the labs,” Dad said between sips from his glass. “I hope I have a chance to check them out before the students do. Might have some equipment so modern that I don’t know what to do with it.”
“This is why I teach history,” Mom replied. “The past doesn’t change. It just gets longer.”
“Will I have you guys for teachers?” I said through a full mouth.
“Swallow your food.” The Dad command seemed auto-matic. “Wait and see tomorrow, like the others.”
“Oh. Okay.” It wasn’t like him to cut me off that way, and I felt taken aback.
“We can’t get in the habit of giving you too much extra information,” Mom said more gently. “You need to have as much as possible in common with the rest of the students, you know?”
She meant it lightly, but it hit me hard. “Who is it here I’m supposed to have something in common with? The Evernight kids whose families have been coming here for centuries? The outsiders who fit in here even worse than I do? Which group am I supposed to be like?”
Dad sighed. “Bianca, be reasonable. There’s no point in arguing about this again.”
It was past time to let it go, but I couldn’t. “Right, I know. We came here ‘for my own good.’ How is leaving our home and all my friends good for me? Explain that again, because I never quite got it.”
Mom laid her hand over mine. “It’s good for you because you’ve almost never left Arrowwood. Because you rarely even left our neighborhood unless we forced you. And because the handful of friends you made there couldn’t possibly sustain you forever.”
She made sense, and I knew it.
Dad set his glass down. “You have to learn to adapt to changing circumstances, and you have to become more independent. Those are the most important skills your mother and I can teach you. You can’t always stay our little girl, Bianca, no matter how much we might want you to. This is the best way for us to prepare you for the person you’re going to become.”
“Stop pretending that this is all about growing up,” I said. “It’s not, and you know it. This is about what you guys want for me, and you’re determined to get your way whether I like it or not.”
I stood up and walked away from the table. Instead of slinking back to my room for my sweatshirt, I just grabbed Mom’s cardigan from the coat rack and pulled it on over my clothes. Even in early fall, the school grounds were cool after dark.
Mom and Dad didn’t ask where I was going. It was an old house rule: anybody on the verge of getting angry had to take a quick walk, a break from the discussion, then come back and say what they really mean. No matter how upset we were, that walk always helped.
As a matter of fact, I created that rule. Made it up when I was nine. So I didn’t think my maturity was really the issue.
My uneasiness in the world—the sure, complete belief that I didn’t really have a place in it—that wasn’t about being a teenager. It was a part of me, and it always had been. Maybe it always would be.
While I walked across the grounds, I cast a glance around, wondering if I might see Lucas in the forest again. It was a stupid idea—why would he spend all his time outside?—but I felt lonely, so I had to look. He wasn’t there. Looming behind me, Evernight Academy looked more like a castle than a boarding school. You could imagine princesses locked in cells, princes fighting dragons in the shadows, and evil witches guarding the doors with enchantments. I’d never had less use for fairy tales.
The wind changed direction and brought a flicker of sound—laughter from the west, in the direction of the gazebo in the west yard. No doubt those were the “picnickers.” I gathered the cardigan more tightly around me and walked into the woods—not east toward the road, the way I’d run that morning, but instead toward the small lake that lay to the north.
It was too late and too dark to see much, but I liked the wind rustling through the trees, the cool scent of pines, and the owl hooting not so far away. Breathing in and out, I stopped thinking about the picnickers or Evernight or anything else. I could just get lost in the moment.
Then nearby footsteps startled me—Lucas, I thought—but it was Dad, his hands in his pockets, strolling toward the same path I stood on. Of course he could find me. “That owl is close. You’d think we would scare him off.”
“Probably he smells food. He won’t leave if there’s a chance of a meal.”
As if to prove my point, a heavy, swift flapping of wings shook the branches overhead, and then the owl’s dark shape darted to the ground. Terrible squealing revealed that a small mouse or squirrel had just become dinner. The owl swooped away too quickly for us to see. Dad and I only watched. I knew I should admire the owl’s hunting skill, but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the mouse.
He said, “If I was harsh in there, I’m sorry. You’re a mature young woman, and I shouldn’t have suggested otherwise.”
“It’s okay. I kinda flew off the handle. I know there’s no point in arguing about coming here, not anymore.”
Dad smiled gently at me. “Bianca, you know that your mother and I didn’t ever think we’d be able to have you.”
“I know.” Please, I thought, not the “miracle baby” speech again.
“When you came into our lives, we dedicated ourselves to you. Maybe too much. And that’s our fault, not yours.”
“Dad, no.” I loved it when it was just our family together, only the three of us in the world. “Don’t talk about it like it’s something bad.”
“I’m not.” He seemed sad, and for the first time I wondered if he didn’t really like this either. “But everything changes, sweetheart. The sooner you accept that, the better.”
“I know. I’m sorry I’m still letting it get to me.” My stomach rumbled, and I wrinkled my nose and asked, hopefully, “Could I reheat my dinner?”
“I have a sneaking suspicion that your mother might have already taken care of that.”
She had. For the rest of the evening, we had a good time. I figured I might as well have fun while I could. Tommy Dorsey replaced Glenn Miller, and then Ella Fitzgerald replaced him. We talked and joked about stupid things mostly—movies and TV, all the stuff my parents wouldn’t pay any attention to if it weren’t for me. Once or twice, though, they tried joking about school.
“You’re going to meet some incredible people,” Mom promised.
I shook my head, thinking of Courtney. She was already definitely one of the least incredible people I’d ever met. “You can’t know that.”
“I can and I do.”
“What, you can see the future now?” I teased.
“Honey, you’ve been holding out on me. What else does the soothsayer predict?” Dad asked as he got up to change the records. The man still kept his music collection on vinyl. “This, I want to hear.”
