Sea Stolen

Chapter 3 - Violet

Mary Margaret's Academy for young ladies was your white washed, quintessential English boarding school with roses, Shakespeare gardens, and globally minded teen girls decorating campus. Russian heiresses typing furiously on the latest i-phones; English politician's daughters swinging hockey sticks as they wandered back from morning practice; Chinese girls chattering animatedly in mandarin: it was your classic modern boarding school. 50% international and perched in the Cornish countryside. Ten minutes' walk to the closest village, thirty minutes bus ride to the closest town, but only five minutes to the closest beach. You only had to wander past the sports pitches and the immaculate trimmed lawns, out the school's back gate, down the cliff steps and you were right on the sand with the big vast blue stretching before you.

Excluding the top notch education, lack of men, and student population worth several billion in inheritances and trust funds that gorgeous beach was the reason Mary Margaret's Academy still had a waiting list into the hundreds while other boarding schools across England were closing their gates permanently.

Violet Dryden sat in art class, making a neat watercolour study of the bowl of fruit in the centre of the circle of easels. Each painted piece of fruit looked realistic and soulless.

"Hey Vee, check it out," Michelle Jakande whispered in her ear, making practically violent head gestures towards her own work. Vee set her paintbrush down and peered over. Colour and paint exploded on her best friend's canvas with vague distinct lines maybe meant to pay homage to the sad little bowl of fruit. Then again, it could have just been yet more oil paint thrown about. Everything about Michelle was dramatic, that was kind of how they met. Both twelve years old and at the school's annual summer fundraiser. A photographer had asked both of them to pose together for the school's brochure. Violet, the palest white girl with frail white blond curls, and Michelle, Nigerian brought up in London with an afro of corkscrew curls. The photographer said he wanted to "showcase the school's diversity". Michelle had leaned in close and whispered "If they want diversity they should take a picture of the Isabel telling Ms. Fisher to go screw herself in Cantonese." Vee had been about to reply that you couldn't take pictures of words when Michelle launched into a serious of the most sexualised poses Vee had ever seen. The photographer was not able to use the intended photos. For the next year Vee had treated Michelle like a fearless god, and the two became inseparable.

 "I call it a bowl of fruit on a summer's day. I'm channelling Caravaggio."

"That's not even close to . . . this is the wrong kind of dramatic for Carav-"

"Vee, I was making a joke," whispered Michelle, grinning lopsidedly, "The day I take this class seriously will be the day it stops being an A for effort."

"Miss Jakande what is this?" their art teacher cast a critical gaze on Michelle's . . . fruit painting.

"I'm channelling Caravaggio," said Michelle.

" . . . That's a lovely effort." Their teacher gave one last "I give up look" at the painting then moved on.

Michelle waited till the teacher was round the other side of the classroom then leaned in to whisper, "So getting an A."

*

"Why I still don't understand why you're taking Japanese again, take German with me and Sarah!"

"Speak of the devil and she shall appear," said Sarah Pembrooke, swinging an arm over Michelle's shoulders and kissing her quickly on the lips then leaning her head on her shoulder.

"And interrupt you saying romantic things in a language only you and four other people at this school are learning? I'm not a monster," said Violet.

"I always said I liked your friends, didn't I my kuschelbär," said Sarah.

"I have excellent taste and du hast wunderschöne Augen," said Michelle.

The three of them entered the dining hall. A big room decked out in Mahogany with several fireplaces. It had been one of three ballrooms back when Mary Margaret's had been a summer mansion owned by a near royalty rich family of English nobles.

"I have excellent news," Mi-Chi sat down beside Vee, completing their quartet, "I convinced Lauralle to invite you all to Saturday's beach party." Korean international student - smugly dating the drop dead gorgeous captain of the cheerleading team – Mi-Chi was the vice president to Michelle's president of the Mary Margaret LGBTQA society. Vee was their first "officially trained" ally. "Go on, tell me I'm amazing," Mi-Chi finished with a grin, leaning her head down on the table, her turquoise tipped black hair fanning out around her.

Ice shot through Violet's veins, "I can't I'm staying with my aunt that night." She tried to sound casual but her voice and body language almost always betrayed her.

"But you love beach parties. It's the only type of party we can ever drag you to," said Michelle.

"It's my aunt's birthday dinner!" her voice rose a whole octave till it was almost a shriek at the last word.

"Whoa, Vee, it's okay, I'm just playing," said Michelle. Scrunched up frown and eyes of concern scoured over her. She'd had a lot of those looks since school had started back.

"I know, I know. I have to get to Japanese, we get extra credit if we're the first one to write the date up on the board." Without waiting for their response to her obvious lie Violet jumped up, grabbed her things and bolted out of the dining hall.

Her mind was already racing through every scenario where her friends discovered her secret. Falling into the swimming pool, flash flood, rain storm, communal bathrooms, and beach parties . . .

Shutting herself inside the empty language classroom she tried to calm down. She would not, she would not, she would not think about mermaids, or swimming, or discovery.

That's when it began to rain outside.

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