Juliet is eight years old the first time she experiences a warm house, thanks to her best friend sneaking her in, hiding her from his father. All is well until they're caught by his older brother, Theodore Petrov. Instead of snitching, he brings the...
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She could feel where her too tight shoes were digging into her skin and willed herself to keep writing, despite the sleeves of her coat falling over her hands every time she moved. No matter how many times she pushed it, rolled it, bunched it up, it would fall straight back down.
The rest of the children in the room were dressed in what seemed to be their nicest clothes. Neat and tidy, polished shoes and unripped stockings, perfectly pressed shirts and dresses.
She felt like an eyesore, and probably was one. Her bright red jacket had nicks from when she'd brushed too close to a rotting fence, or snuck into the bushes behind her house. Her denim skirt had floral patches from repair, sewn by her next door neighbour, Mrs. Hillard, when the years of wear finally caught up.
She finished the last question, and looked around at the other children, all taking the same exam. Most heads were still down, furiously writing answers, counting on fingers. The rest sat with tears in their eyes, staring at the paper, unable to continue.
There was a countdown clock at the front of the room.
01:52:32
01:52:31
01:52:30
She picked up her paper and approached the woman sitting next to the clock, at a big wooden desk. She was doing a crossword, and it took her a while to notice the girl standing before her.
"Excuse me, I've finished. Can I leave, please?" she said, quiet as to not disturb anyone else.
The woman let out a startled yelp, and the girl felt every eye in the room turn to stare at her back. She shrunk in on herself.
"You can't possibly be done. It's only been about an hour," the woman replied. She was old. Very old. And the girl could smell the coffee on her breath and see the lipstick clinging to her large front teeth. She gave the paper to the examiner, and after a quick flip through, was met with a: hmph, and a: "Yes, I suppose you may leave."
* * *
The door leading to the hallway was heavy, and groaned when she pushed it open. She wanted to leave this place. She scurried from the room, the door closing with a bang behind her.
Head down and hands in pockets, she moved quickly through the busy corridor, the school kids moving between classes. They all had uniforms on. Ties, socks pulled to their knees, and blazers with the academy's golden crest embroidered into the pocket on their chests.
She rounded the corner, and just managed to look up in time before she smacked into someone and sent them both toppling to the ground. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could, and looked at the boy, rolling on the floor, groaning. She didn't think that she'd hit him that hard.
