Number 667

Chapter Four

Vivian turned to the large building in front of her, sneering at the overall ugliness and general uncleanness of it. The old brick house had been abandoned for months, giving nature time to take it over. Damp green moss spread across the side of the building, ivy and pumpkin vines crawling across and ensnarling all four walls. The windows and door seemed to sag as they slowly broke apart, as if they were sad that they were crumbling. Darkness loomed about them, and it even more so radiated from the forest behind it. Vivian wrinkled her nose in disgust as a foul smell wafted from the door. She turned her nose up and flounced away.
Her black hair was in two plaits today, and they brushed back and forth against the white sweater of her Twistville Girls' Academy uniform. Her black skirt matched with her new, shiny black boots, and her knee-high pure white socks stayed exactly in place, just how Vivian liked it.
No sooner had she turned down Crook Avenue, where her school sat proudly atop the highest hill in town, then a girl came dashing by her and nearly sent her flying. "Watch where you're going!" She snapped at the girl, who whirled around. Her turquoise hair was a sight to see, Vivian thought, and her golden eyes twinkled merrily. "Oh!" She said. "Sorry. You must be the new student. I'm Maple Shay." She stuck out her hand, which was neatly manicured. Vivian shook it firmly. "Vivian Long." Maple turned away from Vivian, racing up the hill. Her dark green shoes made odd little clacking sounds as she ran up the steep sidewalk, and Vivian wondered why she had worn them and what they were for.
"Vivian!" Maple called from the top of the hill. "Coming?" Vivian started up the hill, staring up at the tall sign that beheld the school's name and its motto, "Semper victoriem." "We are always victorious." Vivian said. A fit motto, she thought. A good motto meant a good school. In fact, the Twistville Girls' Academy was a large, imposing building that stood far above all of the other buildings in town, even the City Hall. It was all brick on the outside, though on the inside the walls were white, whiter even than Vivian's newly painted bedroom walls. The walls of the office room were decorated with various pictures of headmasters and mistresses from years past, the best ones emblazoned on their frames with a golden star. Vivian could see one woman, who had shining black hair and bright green eyes, named Clarissa Long. Her frame, along with some of the others around her, was emblazoned with a star. Clarissa Long was Vivian's great-grandmother, which was exactly the reason why her parents had insisted they move to Twistville.
"Virginia!" A small, pudgy man yelled in her ear. Vivian whirled around to see him, almost bumping into him. He rubbed his mostly bald head, pulling at the remaining grey hairs. He straightened his navy blue suit, and waddled over to his desk, which was cluttered with paperwork. His stainless steel nametag read, "Principal Walker". "Mr. Walker," said Vivian. "It's Vivian." Principal Walker hurriedly scribbled something on a notepad, taking a loud slurp of Starbucks coffe from a styrofoam cup. "No matter, Victoria." He said. "Now go, go. You'll miss class." Vivian was growing impatient with the man as she twined her braid around her index finger. She could feel the stiffness of her French manicure as she said, "But that's exactly it, Mr. Walker, I need my-" "Pass!" He yelled, fastwalking into another room. Vivian sighed. This man was very unorganised.
He slapped a blue peice of paper reading "New.", with his sloppy signature on it, into Vivian's palm. She gripped a firm hold on it, careful not to crinkle it, then dashed through the hallways.
She was hardly panting by the time she reached the classroom, which had a namellate above the door that read, "Language Arts: Mrs. Malloway". Vivian slowly opened the oaken doir, thankful that the steel hinges were well oiled. "Mrs. Malloway?" She called quietly. Every head in the classroom turned to her. She stepped quietly into the classroom and observed. The walls and tile floor, of course, where white. Various posters with neatly scrawled definitions under them adorned the walls. A huge, impending whiteboard stood in the front of the class, with blue marker written across. Vivian sat down at a desk, the beige wood brushing her hands. Her desk was seated in the corner of the room, near the bookshelves. They crowded around her, and she breathed in the pleasant, familiar scent of the dusty books. She slid her backpack into the gaping wooden mouth of the desk, dragging herself up again and handing the blue paper to Mrs. Malloway. Vivian shivered a bit as the paper met Mrs. Malloway's hand, but when she let go and proceeded back to her desk it was gone.
The day seemed to flash by to Vivian. When she tried to remember it, it seemed blinding and blurred at the edges. Though, she thought, it was probably only because of her restless sleep the night before. She was searing her rules in her brain, as she always did before the first semester started. Sit up straight, raise your hand only at the right times, pay attention, keep your calm. There were more, but they were less important.
As Vivian walked past the abandoned house, her eyes dragged her back to the rusty plate on the pile of rubble that used to be a mailbox. It said, as Vivian could peice-
"Number 667, Marietta and Carrie." Vivian whispered. "That must have been who lived bere before... Whatever happened, happened." Vivian stood back up, flipping her glossy hair back onto her shoulder, and turned around to head back to her house.
That night, the raindrops poured mercilessly onto the roof of Vivian's home. She lay on the bed, eyes wide open, staring at the popcorn pattern of her ceiling. It was very late, but Vivian was glad that it was a weekend. Nothing to worry about the next day. The pattern of the rain was the only thing to be heard, and it drew a poem she had once heard out of Vivian. Now, Vivian was not one to recite poetry unless it was for extra credit or the such. But this poem seemed... Special.
"Two nights and two days
The rain thundered down
In crystal raindrops
Above the town
Yet one house stood
In the terrible flood
Like everyone there
Knew it would
It was a special house
Of silver and gold
That was always safe
From drought or cold
But now it is gone
Covered by trees
Yet we know it stands forever
Below the leaves."
Vivian thought it seemed apropriate for the situation of the rain, or so she told herself. She really didn't know why she had urtered the solemn verse.
Finally, after a relentless hour of tossing and turning, Vivian fell asleep atop of her clean, crisp blue comforter.