October Academy

Chapter 39

I cry when I get to my dorm. I cry for a long time. And I don't know why.

I sneak into Perry's dorm, tell her everything, cry some more. She just listens, rather than saying something snarky in case it makes me cry even more. She hasn't seen me cry in a long time.

It's weak to cry so much. I don't like it. I want to be stone cold, heartless. Sometimes I trick myself into thinking I can be. Now is not one of those times. I blame hormones.

The next day, the teachers throw us a pizza party in study hall.

I sit between Acacia, Perry, Xander and Xander's friend Raphael.

Acacia talks to Perry. Xander talks to Raphael. I sit between the two groups, spinning my pen in between my fingers so much that I get dizzy.

I notice Darcy across the hall talking to his best friend – whose nickname is Chowder, and I don't know his real name. Chowder rolls on his wheelchair, running over Darcy's toes. Darcy laughs as they tease each other. I wonder how he can seem so normal today – how last night he was cruel, yet today he seems fine. I don't know what hurts worse, how not fine I am, or how unaffected he is.

Perry leans in to whisper, "He's as oblivious as Adrien Agreste."

"You know I don't know who that is," I say. "Stop watching so many kid shows, it's lowering your IQ."

"On the contrary," she hums and I stifle a laugh.

Darcy's eyes don't meet mine. He ignores me the rest of the day.

Holidays begin.

.

.

.

I stay at Gladys' over the holidays. She stuffs me with home cooking, forcing me to eat more than I usually would. I do eat a lot, but when Gladys is home, I eat more regularly, more times throughout the day, more healthily. She tells me I need to be strong for nationals, and that if I win, she'll make an announcement on assembly and show the video of me taking the trophy.

I tell her I'm not interested. She tells me it's not obnoxious to be proud of my accomplishments.

"But what of the future?" Gladys says as we sit down for breakfast one morning.

"What of it?"

"What are you going to do when your senior year is over? There's only one semester to go."

"I'm not that stupid," I say, though maybe she believes I am. I am yet to ask her of her involvement in replacing my grades.

"Maybe you could teach skating," she offers, passing me the bacon and eggs.

"I could not think of anything worse," I sigh. "I want to be an artist."

"That's not very practical," she says.

"It's not meant to be," I say, "It's what I want, not what I'm going to do."

"You should be thinking more about your future."

"I am," I say, scrunching up my nose. I don't like these kinds of conversations. The only future I am certain of, is that I will send Ben to medical school. Once that is sorted, then I will take liberties with myself.

After breakfast, I get ready for training and head to the ice rink. I spend the day carving out ice.

The next two weeks of holidays I do nothing much but skate and work. I tried to visit Ben, but ended up avoiding him because Callum moved back in over holidays.

Ben doesn't seem to notice my absence, and I think it is in part because he's in the middle of his university exams, and I barely see him this time of year regardless.

One afternoon, I walk to the mail box and find my report card sitting expectantly inside.

Before Gladys walks out, I rip open the envelope. I passed every subject. For the exams, I got an A. For the other assessment, I didn't do as well – but my average in every subject is about a C, and for Art, I even got an A.

Gladys' neighbour waters his gardens beside me. "Good news?" he says to me, noting my expression.

"Great news," I say. "I just got my report card," I say proudly.

"Fantastic," he says, grey hair sticking out from under his sun hat. "You go to that school, don't you?"

"October Academy?" I tilt my head.

"Yes, you must be very careful," he says, as eccentric and ominous as Professor Trelawney reading a prophecy.

"Careful of... what?" I ask.

"Bad things happen at that school," he says, stepping closer to the fence separating his house from Gladys'. "I hear that children are stolen in the night and swapped with monsters, like fairies to the changelings."

Now I know he's crazy. "Thanks for the advice, Mr Porter," I say, turning on my heels to return to the safety of the house.

"I think you forgot some mail, miss," he says.

I furrow my brow, skipping back to the mail box.

Right at the bottom of the mailbox, I pull out a piece of paper.

It's a news article.

The one I photocopied from the library.

The one about missing students.