Nobody in Particular(12)
I do feel as though if I’m not excused to go to bed within the next two minutes, my eyeballs might detach themselves altogether, fall backward into my skull, and tumble right down my throat. But I digress.
The headmaster has that look about him. The one adults wear when they’re quite certain they know your inner world much more intimately than you ever could. “Are you happy, though?”
I’d be happier if I were asleep. “Of course I am.”
He stares at me, studying my face. If I thought a smile would help my case right now, I’d force one, but somehow I think it would read slightly false.
“Whatever you need, Rose,” he says finally. “If you want to take me up on the offer, or if there’s anything I can do…”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, hardly daring to hope the meeting is at its end. But then, glorious days, he dismisses me, and I lurch through the door before he can change his mind and all but sprint to Dewitt. Sidney, who was stationed outside the headmaster’s office that whole time, follows after me, and then heads into his own room down the hall. He probably needs a nap of his own at this point. His shift commenced in the middle of the night, when he escorted me to school from the palace.
My room was set up by some of the palace staff while I was at the gala. When I arrived in the night, I was far too tired to take any of it in. In fairness, I’m still far too tired, but with the afternoon light streaming through the parted curtains it’s hard to miss the details now.
The charcoal bedsheets are brand-new and rumpled from my brief time in them this morning. My bedside table bears the same stained-glass lamp as last year, and the photo collage Eleanor made for my birthday hangs cheerfully above the bed. Two dozen unknowing smiles to mock me from above as I sleep, just what the decor called for. The photos are familiar—Molly and me, side by side on the bus on the way to a school soccer match. Eleanor, Molly, and me at last year’s formal. Alfie, Florence, and Harriet, laughing at something, drinks in their hands. Oscar, Molly, and me sitting around a table at Molly’s birthday dinner.
I wrench my shirt over my head, pull off my skirt, then step onto the bed and unhook the collage. I slide it down the side of the bed, and it scrapes the wall on the way down until it hits the carpet with a thud. Then, I collapse face down onto my pillow.
I’m asleep before I even pull up the covers.
SIX
ROSE
After ten or so minutes, I wake up to a thunderous banging. I open bleary eyes and stare at my dim surroundings in confusion, half convinced I’m still at home. Then I piece it together. I’m at Bramppath, in my new room, and Eleanor is screeching at me from outside my door.
“Inside voice!” I call back sluggishly as I attempt to sit up, groping for a shirt in the darkness. No luck. Why must waking up be so difficult?
Speaking of, why on earth is Eleanor trying to wake me up already? It can’t possibly be dinnertime, can it?
Eleanor makes no attempt to lower her volume. “I’ve been knocking for five minutes!”
My head is pounding, and my stomach is churning, and somehow I can hear my own eyes as I force them open. It feels like the hangover from hell, and I didn’t even get the pleasure of being drunk beforehand. At this point, if I weren’t a prefect, I’d simply skip dinner and go right back to sleep. Alas.
Sighing as loudly as I can, I somehow make it to the door and fling it open. Standing on the other side are Eleanor and Danni, with Molly lurking sulkily several feet behind them. They’re all dressed in their formal dining gowns—more or less black graduation robes, only they’re unsecured in the middle, so they drape like open curtains.
Officially, we’re expected to dress business casual at a minimum beneath them. Danni, new as she is, has made an attempt at this, wearing an extraordinarily frilly dress, a button-down cardigan, and a pair of scuffed pumps. Eleanor and Molly, on the other hand, are both in sweatpants and T-shirts as everyone else will be, and the juxtaposition between them makes Danni look somewhat ridiculous. Like a librarian on an important first date.
I’m sure I’m not helping the contrast, given I’m only wearing my bra and a pair of black stockings. Danni makes eye contact with me, then her eyes trail from my shoulders to my feet, before she becomes very interested in the doorframe.
“Good, you’re alive,” Eleanor chirps.
“Debatable.”
“Are you coming dressed like that?” she asks. “You should probably at least put your gown on.”
Danni looks at my chest again at that. I stare at her until she notices me looking, and then I raise a single eyebrow. She promptly returns to looking at the door, blushing furiously. One would think she’d never seen a shirtless girl before.
“Danni,” I say, stretching out her name until it thins. “You clearly have an excellent grasp on the dress code guidelines. Do you think I need to change?”
Her eyes grow so wide I can see the full circle of her iris. “I…” she tries.
“You need to change,” Eleanor says, apparently taking pity on Danni. That’s no fun at all, though.
“You have a stain on your shirt, Eleanor,” I say without glancing at her. “I’m not interested in your fashion opinion. Danni, on the other hand, could hold an audience with the prime minister herself right now.”