The Meanings of Lost

Chapter 8

Diana:

It's odd. Somehow I didn't expect the ten-year-old to show some of the confidence that long-term athletes get.

As she walked me down the hall, I had noticed that the back of her navy blue sweater read SYNCHRO in bold white letters and above had the school crest. When we reached door 457 she produced a keychain that had been hidden under her shirt. I'm assuming that all the students do that, as this is the first one I've seen.

When we get she shut the door and walks over to her closet on the left side of the room, which is an exact mirror of the left, concerning the placement of furniture. The decor, on the other hand, is entirely different. On Ambrosine's side, there are a few posters in play, the largest of which are for The Phantom of the Opera and its sequel Love Never Dies. Interestingly enough, they are both for the European tour, which took place around two years before she was born. The wear and tear might make someone think they were the original tour ones hung outside theatres. Taking a closer look, I noticed that both of them were signed, though I did not have the time to read the names.

Ambrosine now stands in front of me without a shirt in a tan training bra. She's stepping shamelessly into a dress that has an 80s aura. It's a deep red with white trim and lace. She pulls it up. The dress goes down just past her knees and the sleeves end at the elbows. She pulls off her jeans and neatly folds them and her shirt before placing them into the brown wooden chest at the foot of her bed.

She flashes a goofy grin at me. "The dress codes for the formal supper rooms are strict for students," she explains. "You'll be fine though. There are some restrictions for guests, especially those who have been here before, but I've never seen anyone dressed like you get into any trouble before." We exit the room and she locks the door behind her.

"Did Miss Apcott give you keys?" she asks. "You can't have any to the room, it's strict that there are only ever three that can open the door. Ours, mine and my roommate's, and the master key. But you're allowed to have some to get into the building and for the lounge and stuff like that."

"No," I say, "I do not have any keys."

We go down the spiral stairs and out into the courtyard. She escorts me at a fast pace and I oftentimes have to jog to remain astride.

We enter the main building with grand doors that are a struggle to open. It takes her and Diana Prince a fair amount of time to slip through them. I know Wonder Woman would have no qualms with them, but a normal office worker like Diana should. Watching her, the way her eyes examine everything, I finally understand what Bruce means when he says he can see my gears turning. Ambrosine does not miss a beat. Her reflexes are quick and her brain quicker. It will be though keeping my identity from her.

~~~~~

The supper goes by in silence. Looking around, Ambrosine's dress choice is not so odd. Many girls from the school are wearing similarly styled dresses, though none of them appear to be as authentic as hers.

"So," I start, not sure what I want to say.

Luckily, she interjects. "I'd like to stay at school," she states, staring me down with a firm, unwavering gaze. "You'll still get all the money if I stay, and you'll be keeping more of it since you won't have to feed me."

"I'm not doing this for money!" I exclaim all too suddenly. She crosses her arms and leans back in her seat, unconvinced.

"You know, it's not good to be cynical all the time," I tell her.

"My grandmother hates my father so much she'd rather stick me in the foster system than let me remain with him. She's also been petitioning to take me out of the school because it has an arts program that might limit my advanced brain. Her words, not mine. She only likes me because I might possibly do something clever and then she'll be able to tell all her colleagues she raised a genius. Which is funny, because of my IQ slightly above 100. I have a photographic memory, but I'm just as quick as the slightly above average Jack. And don't get me started on my aunt. I'm not even sure we're related because I always thought my mother was an only child until she showed up one day claiming to be related to my late grandfather. There's no question she's in it for money. And since the mayhem started I've been tossed around to over ten homes, all of whom wanted money with the least amount of responsibility. So, I reserve some rights to be cynical and pessimistic and whatever."

"Okay." How do I go about this? "Well, I was hoping you would like to stay with me." I'll try charming.

"That would be nice, but I have a feeling your job is quite demanding and involves a lot of sudden, unexplained disappearing. Stonewall does not tolerate tardiness. Actually, it is one of the few things that guarantees expulsion without any sort of defence. Sadly, busses aren't reliable and I haven't the faintest clue as to your location, but I don't believe it within a hours' walk of here; I would hate to have to get up before four in the morning every day when I could easily get a full night's rest here."

I can tell this will be tough. I don't believe she likes me very much either.

"We could at least try it out. I can drive you if need be."

"Look, my..." she pauses, finding the right word, "...premonitions are always accurate. I'm not getting kicked out of the best school I've ever been to because of some stranger who waltzes in here with some disposition that she might be able to help out some sad little orphan. I'm not a sad little orphan in need of a family. I am not letting you talk me into giving up my future because of whatever reasons you're going into this. If you're looking for some kid to change your life or vice versa, you should try adopting." With that, she stood up and left.

I looked around the room. No one seemed to have noticed. The waiting staff were preoccupied and the children seemed to be having engaging conversations with their parents. I should probably follow her. I get up, as I've been informed the meal was complimentary with her education, noticing that Ambrosine had barely touched her plate.

I dash out of the room.