Classes are canceled to start off the week, though they're supposed to begin again tomorrow as though nothing ever happened. We'll be out of class again on Wednesday, though, because most of the school is going to the service. A majority of the faculty will be gone, as well as the headmaster and any students who get parental consent.
That's nice, I suppose, though a part of me wonders how many people will go just to get off campus and away from the area for a day.
I'm shocked when Dad actually gives me permission to go, under the condition that I never leave a faculty member's sight.
It's the nicest thing he's done in a while.
It doesn't take long for me to classify this gloomy Monday as a day from hell.
Parents are swarming the place, the lot overflowing with cars. The headgirl holds a permanent position in front of the girls' dorm, a clipboard in her hand. She knows where every resident of the dormitory is, and keeps making a note whenever someone enters or leaves the building. The headboy is doing the same at my building, and I have to recite my name and grade when I head out in the morning.
It's not like Mom and Dad are going to show up here, but the headboy's not letting anybody off without the details.
I'm set on going to the cafeteria for lunch, and I manage to drag myself over there. Derek and I eat our salads in silence, sitting across the table from one another. Amber's empty seat remains a constant reminder next to me, while I note that Creighton's managed to miss every meal since Saturday afternoon.
"It's a mess out there." Derek remarks, finally getting up the courage to speak about halfway through lunch.
I nod.
"I'm surprised my mom didn't try to catch a flight from Tennessee. She's probably worried," he looks down at his salad, playing with his fork idly, "I couldn't tell her. I can't tell any of them. Mom, the headmaster. Who knows what they'd do."
I shrug, words failing me.
"Guess Atwater had to reschedule the exam," Derek continues, picking up his glass of lemonade, "I'll still probably fail it."
"You should study," I finally manage, "I could try and help you out, I guess."
"You're hopeless in that class, too."
"I know." I tell him, remembering Creighton telling me so a few minutes before we went looking for Amber.
"It's multiple choice," Derek persists, "can't be that bad, can it?"
"I don't guess so." I admit, shoving another forkful of salad into my mouth while wondering when conversations with Derek will feel normal again.
~*~
That afternoon, Derek heads back to the dorm while I sit myself on a bench, people watching.
Professor Atwater and my lit professor are directing traffic into and out of the lot, hands flailing this way and that as they try to make order out of chaos. So many parents and relatives are here that there's no fail-proof way to keep them all in line. Some of them have resorted to parking in the grass, finding no more available spaces. Others leave their vehicles on the other side of the gate, getting the code from Atwater and walking in instead.
It's an absolute mess.
"Where," demands one parent, getting in Atwater's personal space, "is the headmaster? I want to talk to him right now!"
She's tall, seeming to tower over Atwater despite only being about five-eight or five-nine. She's gripping the arm of a well-dressed man, and I have a sneaking suspicion that the most expensive car here belongs to her.
Atwater holds his ground.
"I'm afraid that you will have to wait your turn," he proclaims, "I can take you to the administration building, but there are a number of people waiting in line ahead of you."
"This is insane!" the woman shouts, pushing a strand of her blonde hair behind one ear, "Insane, do you hear me? After what happened here, you should have some sort of system! You should make this a faster process, so that if I want to pull my daughter from your pathetic excuse of a school, I can do it quickly. I'm an actress, I star in movies! I don't have time to sit here and listen to you ramble on. You're wasting my time and keeping me from finding the next big role. You're lucky we were close by when this happened. At least we didn't waste a fortune to fly first-class out here."
"Ma'am, I apologize," Professor Atwater raises his voice slightly, his tone authoritative, "we have a system this morning, and it is a fair one. No person's time is less or more important than another's, and all will be met with in due time."
"Hastings," shouts the woman, "Juliana Hastings! Does that sound familiar to you? None of them may be more important than the others, but I could put them all to shame. I'm famous, Professor, and in my world time is money."
Atwater looks away from her, and I catch him rolling his eyes as he ushers her forward alongside her husband. He looks across the lot at my lit professor, mouthing something to her. She nods, and Atwater hustles the pair of parents toward the administration building without another word.
Atwater returns a few minutes later,resuming his position near the gate. He gets several more angry parents over the course of the afternoon, but none compare to the furious actress.
At dinner, Derek brings his astronomy book into the cafeteria. Over our identical plates of casserole, we carry out a halfhearted study session.
Neither of us are doing that well, and twice I forget what page our last chapter started on.
I miss Creighton, miss Amber even more.
The cafeteria is serving dinner for longer than usual to accommodate the last of the parental figures. It's seven o'clock when I walk out, and I can see a handful of them maneuvering through line or sitting with their kids at a table.
Taking advantage of the lengthened dinner period, Derek stays behind to finish the casserole he left unattended during our earlier round of studying.
I need some air, though, so I step out into the cooling September evening.
Voices reach me almost as soon as I walk out of the classroom building, and instinct has me frozen on the top step.
There's almost no one out here, with the exception being a family gathered at one of the stone benches. It's the same bench I sat on when the police questioned me, the one that looks straight on at the lion-shaped fountain.
A girl sits on the bench, staring silently at the two adults before her. The woman is the same aggravated mother from this morning, and she's still pursued by her husband.
With a jolt, I recognize the woman's last name.
Hastings.
The realization would mean nothing to me if I didn't also recognize the girl sitting on the bench.
The shoulder-length blonde hair and the startlingly blue eyes give Creighton away pretty quickly, despite how pale and exhausted she looks.
I leave the steps of the classroom building, moving quickly and quietly to stand on the opposite side of the fountain, obscured from their view.
"You can't." Creighton is imploring, meeting the woman's gaze.
"Yes, I can. And I will," Mrs. Hastings snaps, "I'm pulling you out of here. Your father and I are going to stay in that awful hotel in town, then we'll be back tomorrow to finish the paperwork."
Creighton looks ready to argue, but her mother keeps talking as though she hasn't noticed.
"I'll find another school that will take you," she spits, "I'll pay them double to keep you over the breaks and the summer vacation if I have to, but I'll find another one."
"No." Creighton's voice is a whisper, but her mother pounces on the word with a furious expression.
"What did you say to me?"
"No," Creighton repeats, "I'm not going anywhere."
Her father steps forward, rolling his eyes like she's just another of life's inconveniences.
"You're one disappointment after another," he tells her, "you never listen. You waste your time messing around with all those codes, all those computers and electronics that can be replaced more easily than they can be tampered with. You don't do what your mother wants you too, and to top it all off you went and got this ... this curse. How are we supposed to seem normal when our daughter's such a freak? Do you know how many excuses we've made over the past year, since we finally managed to find a school that would take someone with your issue? Reform school, that's what we have to call this place in order to make it sound remotely acceptable. Do you know what people say?"
Creighton looks away from him, but she sits there and takes it until he finally closes his mouth.
"It's not a curse," she manages, "it's a supernatural ability."
"What good is it if you can't change the things you see?" her father demands, curling his lip in an awful sneer, "You're cursed, and it serves you right you ungrateful child."
Creighton doesn't comment on the statement, looking as though she would rather be anywhere but in the middle of this conversation.
"Why on earth would you have any reason to stay here?" Creighton's father continues.
"It's home." she tells him, the reply so quick that I can tell she believes it.
"That's nonsense!" snaps her mother, "This school treats you and the other freaks of nature like you're ... normal. You'll never be normal, Creighton, and I'm going to find a school that will teach you how to play your role in life correctly."
"You never call, never really worry about me unless your reputations are somehow on the line. That's why you're here now. You're scared that someone will find out that your daughter was the roommate of the dead kid. You think that would look bad, because it ties you to this school." Creighton sounds a lot more confident than she looks right now, and both of her parents are staring at her, "You paid this school a fortune over the summer so they would let me stay here. I have more in common with people here than with people in your world. I want to stay here."
Mrs. Hastings resembles a snake as she draws her hand back, then lets it connect harshly with her daughter's cheek.
Creighton stares, looking as though this is the last thing she was expecting. I'm a few seconds away from pouncing on Creighton's mother myself, from telling her to get lost.
"It's not about what you want," the hateful woman spits, "it's about what you need."
I clench my fists.
I thought Dad's obsession with me running our company was a nightmare, but that pales in comparison to this.
Creighton drops her head, and her mother's hand forces her chin up again.
"Do not cry," Mrs. Hastings warns, "it's a sign of weakness, and I don't appreciate it. At least do this one thing right."
"I need to stay here." Creighton amends, bringing a hand to her cheek.
Her mother takes a deep breath, but her father is first to speak.
"Fine," he snarls, "give me one good reason why I shouldn't send you to a real reform school."
"My GPA, have you checked it?"
Mr. Hastings nods his head, a frown creasing his forehead.
"My GPA's the best in the grade," she tells him, playing with one of her curls, "you might think my visions make me some sort of freak, but you have to admit my grade point average is good for your reputation. It's probably nice to be able to tell people your daughter has a perfect GPA. If I switched schools, I probably wouldn't keep a four-point-oh."
He considers her, shooting a silencing look in his wife's direction when she threatens to open her mouth.
"It's cheaper than most schools, too," Mr. Hastings muses, "and You're out of our way here. I guess I can live with it. Juliana, if anyone else is harmed or killed at this school, I won't argue with you. For now, though, she stays."
Mrs. Hastings scowls, glaring at her husband.
"Fine," she spits, "you can tell the headmaster we've changed our minds, even though you've gone and done that for me. Creighton, come with me. Walk me to the car."
Creighton gets to her feet, her expression unreadable. I can't move, can scarcely breathe for fear that she'll turn around or get close enough to see me.
I feel like I've somehow betrayed her by staying here instead of sneaking away, that I've found out something I never should have known.
Creighton never looks over her shoulder, never comes close enough to the fountain to risk seeing me. I stay in my position until she and her mother are a safe distance away, and her father has disappeared to look for Headmaster Perkins.
Then, and only then, I let myself start walking toward the guys' dorm.