The Magpie Effect - The Magpie Chronicles Book 1 (#Wattys2015)

Chapter 11.1

I'd never imagined what it would be like to sit outside the Headmistress's office. It was something that I'd always considered with a sense of detached pity, like those prison-life reality documentaries I sometimes watched on TV. It would never happen to me, but I was obligated to show at least some empathy to the people that it did happen to.

And yet, on Tuesday morning, that was exactly where I found myself. The corridor leading up to Mrs Vanderbilt's office was oddly commonplace, especially with the young receptionist playing the radio on low. I'd been imagining some dungeon-like setting; a stone corridor leading to a forbidding pair of doors with a brass lion-head knocker.

In reality, it was quite nice and airy. It was playing havoc on my sense of place. I wasn't sure whether to feel petrified that my life was spiralling downwards into a drain of corruption and depravity, or like an authorised badass. I was pretty sure that the latter was a bracket that I would never belong to, so I went with the former. I was absolutely terrified. I even uttered a little squeak when she opened the door and called me in.

There was something formidable about Headmistress Vanderbilt. She was a striking woman, no doubt. She was the personification of the Atlantic itself: cold, grey and steely. She wore a dark suit and kept her hair perfectly groomed. I couldn't imagine the amount of hairspray it took to keep it all in place. I guessed that she was in her sixties, but there wasn't a single line or crease on her face.

"Sit down, Miss Sweetman," she said.

I sat down opposite her. I had my shirt buttoned up all the way to the top as some form of useless compensation, and I could barely breathe.

She surveyed me over the brim of her spectacles. "Please tell me, Miss Sweetman, why you yesterday chose to completely disregard a full day of lessons and leave the school grounds?"

"I, uh, I-"

"Speak up, Miss Sweetman," said Mrs Vanderbilt. "Mumbling isn't very becoming."

I felt myself redden. "I... I didn't mean to, I just..."

The headmistress cocked her head. "Well, clearly you did mean to," she said, "otherwise you would not have done it."

"I'm sorry, Mrs Vanderbilt," I began, trying to keep my head held high. "I didn't come to school planning to run off or anything, and it's not something I would ever usually do. It's just that yesterday was... it was just a really difficult day."

"What is it that you're referring to, exactly?"

I examined the small potted cactus plant that stood next to Mrs Vanderbilt's nameplate. It had a central body and four branching arms that were shaped like ovals. The entire bulk of it was covered in a soft, innocent-looking fur. Behind her, lining the windowsill, were others of various shapes and sizes. Did Mrs Vanderbilt have any children, I wondered?

Apparently noticing my reluctance to offer a response, Mrs Vanderbilt reached under her desk and placed a sheet of paper in front of me. The familiar words, "WHO ATE ALL THE SWEETS?" stared up at me from the paper. I couldn't even bring myself to look at the photograph.

"Would this have anything to do with it, Miss Sweetman?"

I looked away. The words were burnt onto the insides of my eyelids. I felt like I was never going to escape them, even in my sleep. Without thinking, I reached over and turned the paper over, photograph-side down.

"I understand that this is something very personal," said Mrs Vanderbilt, "and we will get to the bottom of it. It does make me sad, however, to think that you could not have come to me or a member of staff, rather than run away with your secret in tow."