The Four of Them

2

Apparently Evie had shared a dorm with Ariane and her friend Julie. It was on the third floor. There were two floors of dorms, long hallways with doors on either side, hundreds of identical rooms.

Ariane introduced me to Julie, a tall light-haired student who hardly ever spoke but sent plenty of judgmental glances my way. Our room was dark, with only one little window in the back behind Ariane's bed. I unpacked swiftly and silently, trying to take up as little space as I could in the wardrobe.

I hesitated before sitting on the bed. This was Evie's bed. She'd sat here, slept here. I knew she'd probably touched the very book I signed my name in, but this felt closer. I knew she'd been here. What if she'd left something here?

Don't be ridiculous, I told myself. Firstly, Evie always kept her things in one place. Secondly, the school made sure to send us everything. They'd cleaned out the room. No trace of the poor quiet girl who'd graced this undeserving school with her presence.

I sat down. Evie had been right here. She probably stayed up late studying in this very bed. She was always a night owl. The image of her talking and laughing with Ariane and Julie flashed through my head. How could she enjoy these girls' company? Were these really her best friends?

"Usually you'd have to sleep with another first-year," Ariane told me, as though presenting to me a novel idea. "But since you're Ever's sister, and we were her best friends, the school is letting you stay with us until next year."

"What happens next year?" I asked.

Ariane laughed, glancing with a mocking grin at Julie. "We become third-years, and we get double rooms instead of triple."

"Oh," I said stupidly. Why was it I knew nothing about this place? Evie had gone here for almost two years. I should have known at least the names of her friends.

When Ariane and Julie went down for dinner, I stayed in the room. My mind knew Evie had left nothing here, but my heart wanted so desperately to find something of hers, even a bobby pin or thread from one of her dresses. Just proof that she had been here.

As soon as the girls were gone, I examined the room for traces she'd left behind.

There was nothing, as I should've known. I should go down to dinner. Sighing, I opened the wardrobe, sorting through the dresses until I found my uniform. I took it off the hanger and paused. There was a name, written in cursive. Evie loved cursive.

I pulled the fabric closer, squinting at the name written on it. I couldn't quite make it out, but I could tell–the first letter was E.

This had to be her old uniform. Carefully, I slipped it over my head, not wanting to tear it. It fit snug, and a little long. Evie and I were always similar weight, but she was taller than me. This was it. This was her uniform.

Evie had always wanted to be a dancer. That was why she was so strong; she was always dancing. Strange to think, she probably dreamed about it in this very room. Maybe wearing this uniform. I thought of her, onstage, spinning in front of an audience. She only ever performed once, when we were little. Her stage fright wouldn't let her do it again.

I used to want to dance with her. But I was so clumsy and disorganized. I fell every time I tried to spin, while she pirouetted beside me in her white leotard. She tried again and again to teach me. I was never cut out to be a dancer.

I should have gone to dinner with the girls then, but I wasn't ready yet to face this school, this funeral house where everyone knew my sister's name. Instead I sat down with my journal. Being where Evie had spent so much of her life was daunting. It made me think of her more than ever, and I didn't know what to do with my complicated emotions.