The Good-For-Nothing Society | Completed

Chapter Seven

"How did you do that?" Grace is asking me.

We're two hours post-dinner and just finished 'prep', which is where we're confined to our room to do homework. One day in school and I already had three essays to write.

We're heading down to the shared communal area we have with the boys. All the girls who weren't wearing any makeup this morning suddenly look their best, there isn't a single eyelash without a bit of mascara on. It's amazing what the prospect being up close and personal in a TV Room with boys can do to girls.

"How did I do what?" I ask, letting my hand slide over the marble banister.

"In C.M? How did you know all the answers about Stan Jones? We haven't been taught that yet, not really."

I don't want to speak about dad, I don't want to cry in front of someone I've known just over twenty-four hours. But I can't not speak about him if I'm answering questions like hers, because it's the only answer I have.

I steel myself as I say, "it a game my dad and I would play. Well, I thought it was a game. I wanted to be better than him at it. I would spend hours and hours when I was a kid, practicing. Turns out he was training me for..." I lift my arms to gesture to the school. "This."

"That's cool," Grace nods as if it makes perfect sense. I suppose from the outside it does, but when you grow up thinking you're having a very normal childhood and it turns out you are decidedly not, it's a bit disquieting. "Your dad is a spy?"

"I, uh. I don't know." I stumble for an answer. "I always thought he was an engineer. Miss Gateshead's said he was an engineer and then she said and so much more. Whatever that means."

"Ah, yes. These operatives and their vague answers."

"Wait." I pause mid-step. "You're not saying that Miss Gateshead is, you know, a spy?"

Grace laughs, "of course she is. She's one of the best in her field. They had to practically strong-arm her into taking the job here, at least that's what the rumour mill is churning out."

"But... Why? If she's the best? Why send her somewhere like this?"

Grace shrugs, "who knows. My dads worked with her, he's pretty tight lipped about it though. They all are. The old headmaster vanished one day and she appeared, like a magic trick."

"And everyone just accepted that?"

Grace shrugs again, "they're spies. The very best. What can a bunch of kids do?"

Did she really just ask what a bunch of kids, who have been trained is espionage, can do? "A lot," I mutter.

Grace gives me a pointed look, then she links her arm through mine and says, "come on, let's go and get a hot chocolate."

When we get to the communal area, there's sixth formers everywhere. Some are cuddling up on sofas, kissing their boyfriends. Some girls are flicking their hair and loudly laughing at something a boy said. Some are fixing their outfits in a long mirror, touching up their lip gloss. Grace and I head into the mini kitchen, it's got a tiny four seat table, a kettle, a toaster, a microwave and an oven. It's about three people wide, and it's completely empty.

"I'll make the hot chocolates," I say to Grace, reaching for two mugs and the chocolate powder.

Grace takes a seat at the small table, fiddling with a bit of paper that had been left there. I mindlessly make the drinks, mulling over the day. I think about what happened in C.M, Elijah, Stan Jones; what it means to be in a school like this, Miss Gateshead.