Miss Mabel's School for Girls (12 page)

Camille frowned at her fourth misshapen page.

“You’ll get it,” I said in an encouraging tone. “Try starting over again. I’m not sure that one will even fly.”

“Oh, my aunts can hang it. They never write me back anyway.”

“Do you have anyone else you can send a letter to?”

“No,” she muttered, looking more flustered than ever. “Well, maybe Leda’s mother. She likes me.”

 Leda bent over her own letter, oblivious to the rest of the world and intent on her task. My envelope, addressed to my mother, tried to escape from the books I set on top of it. The desk jerked and spasmed, forcing me to hold onto the sides to keep from getting bucked out.

Camille rolled her eyes, scrunched the paper into a ball and flicked it off her desk. It flew to the other side of the room and circled around a few desks before landing in the fire. Camille perked up.

“That’s a good thing,” I said, looking down to her other papers flopping on the floor. “At least that one flew somewhere.”

She perked up a little and started towards the front to get another one. Isabelle, a first-year with wide glasses that made her eyes as large as the circular lenses, distracted her with a question, and soon Camille was deep in conversation, her task forgotten. I eyed one of her discarded pieces on the floor. Although tattered and wrinkled, it may still fly. I picked it up and smoothed it out with the heel of my palm. After a quick check to make sure no one was paying attention, I started a second letter. 

P

I miss you. I don’t have a lot of time, but I’m okay. Things are going as they should. Lots of big tests to pass, another one tonight. I’m keeping track of the news, so be careful out there, please?

Love,

B

Camille returned to her desk when I started to fold the paper. By the time I finished, she’d plopped back into her chair and caught a glimpse of my letter.

“Oh!” She cried, perplexed. “You folded another one. How did you do it so fast?”

I shoved it under the textbooks with the other and attempted an innocent smile.

“Lucky, I guess.”

She didn’t appear convinced.

“Luck, sure. Who was your letter to? You’ve never mentioned any friends at home.”

Leda looked up now, almost complete with her third attempt. It was just about ready to fly, which made it squirmy. I stumbled for a viable response to satisfy their curious gazes.

“I-it’s for a friend.”

“At home?”

“Yes!”

Surprised by my vehemence, Camille recoiled, suspicious. 

“You must really miss them,” she said slowly.

“Yes,” I nodded, hoping it didn’t come out strangled. “I miss them a lot.”

Camille opened her mouth to say something else, but Miss Bernadette took her chance by calling out a warning for time. Frantic, Camille turned back to her letter, her hands flying with surprising speed. I held back my relieved breath and buried myself in a textbook before they could ask more questions.

Ten minutes later, Miss Bernadette gave us permission to release the letters. A cloud of square papers of various sizes cluttered the air, flying in circles around our heads. A few of them straggled near the desks, flopping like dead fish in an attempt to fly, Camille’s latest attempt included.

When Miss Bernadette opened the window the letters spilled out, fading into the blue sky. My letter to Papa disappeared in the anonymity of the crowd, with no one any wiser.

We left class shortly after, congregating in the hall at the same time as the third-years. Priscilla sent me another false, cheery smile, to which I responded with a twiddle of my fingers, as if we were the best of friends.

“I can’t wait until you crush her in the next match,” Leda said under her breath when Priscilla disappeared with a smirking Jade in tow. “That’s all anyone talks about in the library anymore.”

“Me as well,” I said.

I trailed just behind Leda up the stairs, only half-listening to her talk about a flaw in the Council system that she wanted to correct when she came to power. The rest of the afternoon stretched in front of us, and it felt glorious, like flexing a well-worn muscle. I wanted to take the day for a run. If I had been at home, I’d try to track down Papa, see if he was free to give me another lesson on sword work.

“Are you listening?”

“What?” I asked, jerking to attention. Leda shot me a glare.

“Why isn’t anybody interested in politics?” she said with a hot breath and her usual annoyed eyebrow lift. “Everyone spaces out when I talk about them.”

“I’m listening now. Promise.”

“Too late,” she said, throwing her bedroom door open. “I’m done.”

Her door closed in my face with a final bang. I sighed, then turned to go to my own room, but a cry from some other first-years stopped me in my tracks.

“Bianca, come join us!”

Camille beckoned me from one of the tables in the common room. I walked up to find Isabelle setting out a couple of pieces of canvas and paper.

“I’m teaching Camille watercolor if you’d like to join,” Isabelle said. “Miss Amelia ran a class on the weekend. She said I have a lot of talent, and wants me to take the Watercolor mark with her in a couple of years.”

Camille glowed with excitement, already rattling off on all her plans for the paper. Jackie sat at the window seat, shifting through a Divination book and lounging back against the wall in lazy, feline grace.

“You can draw me a deck of Diviners’ cards, right Izzy?” Jackie asked, her lips pursed. “I’d like to have my own. With pictures no one else will ever have. A one-of-a-kind original. Something that would shock my grandmother.”

“Of course,” Isabelle shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. I plopped into a chair. 

“Are you an artist, Isabelle?” I asked, perusing a few sheets of paper she’d set out. The drawings were extraordinary, still-life pictures brought to life through charcoal and paper. A few crinkled paintings rested next to them. The bright, explosive colors startled me, a sharp contrast to the even tones of the drawings. I had to turn away, the pictures were so vivid. If Jackie wanted a deck of Diviners’ cards to surprise her grandmother, then Isabelle was the painter for her.

“Yes. I’m going to go for the Landscape and Watercolor Mark when I’m a third-year.” Isabelle’s chest puffed out a little bit. “My mother and I sold some of my paintings at the Spring Festival in Chatham. The High Priestess walked by and lifted her eyebrow when she saw one of my works. I think you could say that’s a good sign.”

I imagined that the High Priestess probably meant,
Blessed be, what is this exquisitely horrifying mess of colors? Did a rainbow vomit on the page?

“They certainly do catch your eye,” I said, striving for diplomacy. Isabelle grinned, oblivious to my need to squint.

“Thank you.”

Jackie looked at me askance.

“She’d make an interesting Diviners’ deck, don’t you think?”

I sent her the same inflexible smile.

“One-of-a-kind,” I agreed, and Jackie winked at me. 

Camille and Isabelle threw themselves into the drawings with gusto. I sat down near an empty sheet of paper and stared at it. An awkward lump of charcoal sat discarded nearby, and I picked it up.

“Try it with your eyes closed,” Isabelle said, startling me. I looked up to see her watching me, her great glasses drooping on her nose. “Don’t think too much about it. Just put whatever picture first comes to your mind on the paper.”

“With my eyes closed?”

“Yes,” Isabelle said. “It’s amazing what the mind’s eye can express if we just let it.”

I hesitated, looking from Jackie to Camille and back to Jackie. Isabelle had already turned away, paintbrush in hand, pointing out a few different tubes of color to her mesmerized student. No one else paid attention to me. With one final pause, I closed my eyes and lifted my hand to the page. At first I envisioned a trail, with Letum ivy hanging from the soaring branches, and Papa behind me, walking hand in hand with Mama. I started to draw the lines of the trees, their great arms reaching out. Then I saw the emerald colors of spring and summer. The blur of the colors when I ran. It all built on itself, and my arm moved faster and faster until I opened my eyes. Expecting to see the outline of the green tunnel that lived in my memory and dreams, my hand fell to my lap in disappointment.

“Oh,” I whispered. “That’s not it at all.”

An odd conglomeration of lines and twists met me. None of my leaves came together. Not a single point or shape seemed purposeful. A massive blob of smudged black lines stared back at me. Isabelle moved behind me and looked at it with her head cocked to the side.

“Don’t be discouraged. Drawing with your eyes closed isn’t done to produce a masterpiece. It’s done to help you see.”

I stared at the mess in skeptical regard. Even if I turned the picture upside down, it remained a mess. A disaster, even in art’s name. A sudden melancholy took over me, and I didn’t know why.

“See what?” I asked.

The mess that is my soul?

“I don’t know,” Isabelle shrugged. Her cryptic voice annoyed me. “That’s for you to decide. Don’t give up on it yet.”

Jackie slinked over and stood behind my shoulder.

“That looks like a raven,” she said, motioning towards a group of lines meant to be, I imagined, the thick overhead canopy. “Ravens are the harbinger of death, you know. At least, in divination, when they stand alone like that.”

The words struck a nervous chord inside me.
Harbinger of death.
Jackie pushed against my shoulder with one hand. “You should let me do a reading with you one day,” she said. “I think it would be very interesting.”

More like terrifying.

“Sure,” I said, with more conviction than I felt, motioning towards Isabelle with a nod of my head. “As soon as you get those Diviners’ cards.”

“Put it somewhere you can see it,” Isabelle instructed, shoving her glasses higher on her nose. “Sometimes the answer will come to you when you least expect it.”

Resisting the urge to crumple it and use it for fuel in the fire, I stood up from the chair. “Yes, Isabelle. I’ll do that. Thank you.”

Pleased again, and oblivious to the underlying tone of frustration in my voice, she returned to Camille’s side. I took my appalling piece of art to my bedroom, and just to be contrary, tacked it on my wall, where I’d see it every day.

A Terrible Thing

“B
ianca?”

Camille’s voice from behind my door interrupted my agitated pacing on the night of the second match. I yanked the door open so hard it slammed against the wall with a crack. Camille let out a little yelp of surprise. Leda just rolled her eyes, undisturbed as usual.

“Hi,” I said, grimacing as I recovered the door. “Sorry to scare you. I guess I’m more nervous than I thought.”

“We came to wish you good luck,” Camille explained, wringing her hands until the knuckles blanched white.

“Thanks.”

“You’ll do g-great,” Camille said and bit her bottom lip. “I-I-I’m sure the second task won’t be too difficult.”

“Great job making her feel better,” Leda muttered.

“I’m sorry!” Camille cried. “I-I’m just so nervous for you!”

Leda grabbed Camille’s elbow and directed her towards the stairs. “You’ll be fine, Bianca,” she said, turning to me. “Just do what you always do.”

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked, motioning to Camille, grateful to take my mind off the task for even a few seconds. The urge to pull them back into my bedroom, to force them to stay with me until the last minute, took over me. I forced it back.

Confidence.

“I’ll handle her. We’ll see you in the library.”

Camille shot me one last agitated glance, mouthed the words
good luck
and disappeared around the corner with Leda pushing from behind. I thought of calling after them, but I didn’t. Instead I stood back on my heels, feeling lonelier than ever before.

I returned back to the confines of my room with a shaky breath.

It was pointless to prepare for a task that could be anything, so I ran through a few sword routines I’d practiced since I started learning sword work at ten. The familiar movements comforted me, even if I felt a little foolish with my empty hands.

“Bianca?”

Miss Bernadette knocked on my door. I jerked and hit the candlestick. It fell onto a roll of parchment, immediately spreading the flame.

“No!” I cried.

“What?”

“Just a second!” I called, then extinguished the fire by slapping it with my hand. The doorknob turned, and Miss Bernadette peered in.

“Everything okay?”

The parchment burned beneath my palm.

“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. “Just finishing up some homework.”