The Mini Mischiefs - Stories from Mastering The Mischief

Lawrence, 16

I run my hands over the strings of my guitar, feeling the roughness, the smoothness. My fingers fall in to place, second nature to me. My thumb falls down the strings, pushing out an easy C. I close my eyes, a smile moving over my face as the note reverberates through my ears.

"This, ladies, is something I wrote a while back," I say, opening my eyes to look at the six girls sitting and lying on the grass around me. One of them sighs, looking up at me adoringly. I wink at her and strum out the chords, reveling in the attention. The sun is beating down on us, we've just finished our last exam and tomorrow we're heading home. I couldn't imagine a more perfect ending to the term.

"Oh, Lawrence, do another," Ana sighs as I finish the song, "I could listen to you all day."

"I'd love to, but I think my dear cousin wants to speak to me," I say, seeing Victoire walking across the grounds towards us. I stand and swing the guitar around on its strap so that it's on my back. I walk over to Victoire and give her an easy smile.

"How's it going, Head Girl?" I ask. She rolls her eyes at me.

"Have you heard from your mother?" she asks, her voice soft and warm, lightly accented. I shrug, grinning.

"Maybe," I say. Victoire cocks an eyebrow at me.

"Is she taking Dominique, Louis and I home tomorrow or not?" she asks, putting her hands on her hips. I pull a slip of parchment out of my pocket and open it, pretending to read it slowly. Victoire makes a sound like "tss" through her teeth.

"Uh, I think so," I say, "it just says something about soup. Actually, it might just be a recipe-"

She grabs the parchment and scans it.

"A simple 'yes' would have been adequate," she snipes, turning on her heel and walking towards the castle. I fall in to step beside her.

"Ah, but where would the fun be in that?" I ask her. She glances at me, trying not to smile.

"You are so like your father," she says. I smirk.

We reach the Entrance Hall and she looks at her watch.

"I've got to go," she says, "I'll see you later. If you see Dominique and Louis could you let them know we're going home with you?"

"Maybe."

"Merci."

"What?"

"You know what it means."

I grin as she disappears down the stairs. I hesitate, wondering if I should go back down to the girls. I shake my head and start upstairs. They can find me on the train tomorrow. I decide to go and find Fiona. I'll check the art room first. If she's not there, then I don't know where she'll be.

"Fionaaaaa Joyce!"

I swing in to the art room, startling my sister, making her splash paint on her clothes and face.

"God, Law, don't you ever go anywhere quietly?" she asks, wiping scarlet paint off her nose. I check a desk for wet paint before sitting on it, bring my guitar 'round to my front.

"Rarely," I shrug, strumming, "what ya painting?"

"I don't know yet," she says, stepping back so I can see, "it started out as birds, but-"

"It looks like a massacre," I say. She tilts her head to the right, absent-mindedly running her brush up and down her cheek, smearing it with red paint. Her eyes glaze over as she loses herself in thought. I pluck at the strings of the guitar, waiting for her to come out of her trance. She blinks, sighs and points her wand at the canvas, wiping it clean.