‘Hurry up!’
‘Will you chill out? I’m almost finished.’ Her jaw set, Allie crouched in the dark, painting the last ‘k’ as Mark knelt beside her holding a flashlight. Their voices echoed in the empty corridor. The light beam illuminating her work quivered when he laughed.
A sudden snapping sound made them both jump.
Fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed above them, then flooded the school hallway.
Two uniforms stood by the door.
Allie dropped the can of paint slowly without taking her finger off the trigger, causing the last letter to stretch freakishly down the wall of the headmaster’s office to the dirty, linoleum floor.
‘Run.’ As the word left her lips, she was already flying down the wide corridor, the rubber soles of her sneakers squeaking hollowly in the emptiness of Brixton Hill School. She didn’t look back to see if Mark was behind her.
She didn’t know where the others were, but if Harry got caught again his dad would kill him. Rounding the corner at speed, she turned onto a dark stretch of corridor. At the end of it she saw the red glow of a fire exit sign.
A thrill of power rushed through her as she ran towards freedom. She was going to make it out. She was going to get away with it.
Crashing into the double doors, she shoved hard against the bar that should have freed her.
It didn’t budge.
Unbelieving, she shoved again, but the door was locked.
Bloody hell. If I hadn’t just been vandalising the place, she thought, I’d alert the local paper.
Feverishly she scanned the wide corridor. The police were between her and the main entrance. The only exit at this end was locked.
There had to be another way out.
She held her breath to listen. Voices and footsteps were heading her way.
Resting her hands on her knees, she let her head drop low between her shoulders. It could not go down this way. Her parents would destroy her. A third arrest in a year? It was bad enough when they made her go to this godforsaken school. Where would they send her now?
She ran to a nearby door.
One, two, three steps.
She tried the handle.
Locked.
Across the hall to another.
One, two, three, four steps.
Locked.
She was now running towards the police. This was crazy.
To her relief, though, she pulled the third door open easily. A supply closet.
They left the supply closet unlocked but locked empty classrooms? This school is run by idiots.
Slipping in gingerly among shelves of paper, mop buckets, and electrical equipment she couldn’t identify in the gloom, she steadied her breathing. Behind her, the door swung shut, latching with a solid click that sounded deafening to Allie.
Her breath caught. It was darker than she’d expected. She held her hand up in front of her face – right in front of her face – and she couldn’t see it. She knew it was there; she could feel its existence. But not being able to see it was instantly disorienting. Reaching out to steady herself, she gasped as a top-heavy pile of papers begin to slip. She struggled to rebalance it without being able to see it.
Outside the door she could hear faint voices; they sounded far away. She just had to wait a few more minutes and they’d be gone. Just a few more minutes.
It was hot, airless.
Stay calm.
She counted her heavy breaths… twelve, thirteen, fourteen…
But it was happening. That feeling of being encased in concrete, unable to breathe. Her heart pounding, rising panic burned in her throat.
Please calm down, Allie, she begged herself. Just five minutes and you’ll be safe. The guys’ll never tell.
But it wasn’t working. She felt dizzy; suffocated.
She had to get out.
As sweat streamed down her face and the floor seemed to swing beneath her, she reached for the door handle.
No no no… it can’t be.
The inside of the door was completely smooth. There was no handle.
Frantic, she felt the entirety of the impassive door, then the wall around it. Nothing. There was no way to open it from the inside.
She shoved the door, scratched at its edges with her nails, but it would not give. Her breath came harder now.
It was so dark.
Curling her hands into fists, she pounded on the smooth, unyielding door.
‘Help! I can’t breathe. Open the door!’
There was no response.
‘Help me! Please?’
She hated the pleading tone in her own voice. Sobbing now, she put her cheek against the door and gasped for air as she slapped the wood with her hands.
‘Please.’
When the door opened, it did it so suddenly she fell forward helplessly, straight into the arms of a police officer.
He held her at arm’s length, shining a flashlight into her eyes, taking in the wild hair and tear-streaked cheeks.
He grinned over her head at the other cop. That was when Allie saw Mark, his head down and his cap missing. His arm was firmly in the grip of another officer, who grinned back.
Against the constant rumble of a police station on a summer Friday night, Allie heard her father’s voice as clearly as if he were standing in front of her. She stopped twirling her hair and looked anxiously at the door.
‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I’m very sorry for the bother,’ she heard. The tone in his voice was one she knew quite well: humiliated. By her. She heard another male voice she couldn’t quite make out and then her dad again. ‘Yes, we’re taking steps, and I appreciate your advice. We’ll discuss this and make a decision tomorrow.’
Decision? What kind of decision?
The door swung open, and her grey eyes met his tired blue eyes.
She felt her heart twist in her chest just a little. Unshaven and rumpled, he looked older. And very tired.
He handed a few papers to the female officer, who barely glanced at them before adding them to her stack of paperwork. She reached into a drawer and pulled out an envelope containing Allie’s things, which she shoved across the desk to Allie’s father. Without looking at either of them she said robotically, ‘You’ve been released into your father’s care. You’re free to go.’
Allie rose stiffly and followed her dad down narrow brightly lit corridors to the front door.
When they were outside in the cool summer air she breathed deeply. Relief at being out of the police station mingled with anxiety about the expression on her father’s face. They walked to the car in silence.
From across the street her father unlocked the door of the black Ford and it beeped its incongruously chirpy welcome. When he started the engine, she turned to him earnestly, her eyes filled with explanations.
‘Dad…’
He looked straight ahead, his jaw tense. ‘Alyson. Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t talk. Just… sit there.’
After that, their journey was silent. And at their house, he got out of the car without a word. Allie scrambled after him, the worried feeling in the pit of her stomach growing.
He didn’t seem angry. He seemed… empty.
Allie walked up the stairs and down the hallway, past her brother’s empty room – these days she could pass it without looking in. Or wondering.
In the safety of her own bedroom, she studied herself in the mirror. Her hair was tangled, black paint was smeared on her temple and mascara was smudged under her grey eyes. She smelled of stale sweat and fear.
‘Well,’ she told her reflection, ‘maybe it could have been worse.’
She was still in bed the next morning when her parents called her down to the living room.
When Allie made it downstairs, still groggy from sleep, they were perched side-by-side on the navy blue sofa across from her. Her dad’s hair was neatly combed now, but he had circles under his eyes. Her mother’s expression was calm but her lips were set in a tight line.
‘Alyson…’ her father began, then faltered. He rubbed his eyes wearily.
Her mother took over. ‘We’ve been talking about what we can do to help you.’
Uh-oh.
‘Obviously you’ve not been happy at your current school.’ She was speaking very precisely and slowly. Allie’s eyes darted from one parent to the other. ‘Now that you’ve broken into the school, set fire to your records and spray-painted ‘Ross is a dick’ on Headmaster Ross’ door, it’s rather obvious that they’re not very happy with you either.’
Allie chewed on the cuticle of her little finger and fought the urge to giggle nervously. Giggling really wouldn’t help.
‘This will be the second school to ask us, very politely, to send you somewhere else to study. We’re tired of receiving very polite letters from schools.’
Her father leaned forward and looked Allie in the eye for the first time since he’d picked her up at the police station.
‘We understand that you’re dealing with everything that’s happened, Alyson,’ he said. ‘But graffiti, truancy, vandalism… Enough. You’ve made your point. We get it.’
Allie opened her mouth to defend herself but her mother shot her a warning look, so she closed it again.
Now it was her mother’s turn again. ‘Last night, the very helpful police liaison officer suggested we send you to a different school. Out of London. Away from your friends.’
She said the last word with bitter contempt.
‘We made a few calls this morning, and we’ve…’ her mother paused, glancing across at her father almost uncertainly before continuing, ‘we’ve found a place that specialises in teenagers like you.’
Allie flinched.
‘We’ve spoken to the headmistress and she’s agreed to accept you. Starting now.’
‘Now… what?’ Allie’s voice rose in disbelief. ‘Like today? But the summer holiday just started!’
‘The school is called Cimmeria Academy,’ her father said as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘It’s a boarding school.’
Boarding school?
The words reverberated in Allie’s head.
They must be joking, she thought.
But she knew they weren’t. She could see it in their faces.
‘It will be difficult for us to afford, but we think we must at least try and stop you from throwing your whole life away. You’re a juvenile now in the eyes of the law but you won’t be for long.’ Without warning, he slapped his hand hard on the arm of the cream-coloured sofa. Allie jumped. ‘Come on, Alyson! Wake up. You’re sixteen years old. This has to stop.’
Allie listened to her heart pound.
Thirteen beats. Fourteen, fifteen…
She couldn’t believe how bad this was. It was unbelievably bad. Record-setting levels of badness were happening right now in this room.
‘Look, I know I messed up. I feel really, really bad about it.’ She turned to her father, imploring. ‘But don’t you think you’re over-reacting? Dad, this is crazy!’
He shook his head. ‘It’s too late. The decision has been made. We leave after lunch. Until then no computer, no phone, no iPod. And no leaving this house.’
When her parents stood up it felt like the judge was leaving the courtroom. In the emptiness they left behind, Allie exhaled shakily.
The next few hours went by in a blur of confusion. Allie was supposed to be packing and getting ready, but mostly she tried to talk her parents out of their crazy plan.
She got nowhere.
Instead, her mother handed her a slim, ivory envelope dominated by an elaborate crest in thick black ink and the words: Cimmeria Academy. Below that, ‘Information for new Students’ was beautifully written in curly handwriting.
The two sheets of paper inside appeared to have been written on a typewriter. She wasn’t certain – she’d never actually seen typewritten paper – but the small, square letters each made a noticeable indentation in the thick creamy paper. Each page held only a few paragraphs; the first was a letter from the school’s headmistress, an Isabelle le Fanult. She said she was looking forward to welcoming Allie to the school.
Oh good, Allie thought, chucking the letter aside. I’m so thrilled.
The second page was no more useful than the first. It said a school uniform would also be supplied. That she should bring wellies and a raincoat because ‘the school campus is large and rural.’
She scanned the rest of the letter looking for the usual ominous mention of ‘school rules’ and sure enough there it was, highlighted in bold
The full rules for student behaviour will be supplied to you upon your arrival. Please read them and follow them closely. Violations of any school rule will be punished severely.
And just below that, more bad news:
Students are not allowed to leave the school grounds once they arrive without permission from either their parents or the headmistress. Permission will only very rarely be given.
Allie’s hands shook as she folded the paper back into the envelope and set it on her desk.
What is this, a school or a prison?
The more she thought about it, the angrier she became.
Just before one o’clock, she marched downstairs to where her mother was making lunch in the kitchen.
‘I’m calling Mark,’ she announced defiantly, picking up the phone from the kitchen counter.
‘Oh are you?’ Her mother set her knife down with slow deliberation. As if there were other things she’d like to do with it right about now.
‘If I’m being sent to a prison school I have a right to one phone call, don’t I?’ Allie was pale with righteous indignation. Her hand gripped the phone like a vice.
Her mother studied her for a minute, then shrugged, picked the knife up and returned to thinly slicing a tomato.
‘Call him then.’
Allie had to think for a second before dialling. His number was programmed into her mobile, so she rarely actually dialled it.
Mark’s phone rang several times.
‘Yo.’ His voice was so reassuringly familiar and normal that for a second Allie thought she might cry.
‘Hey. It’s Allie.’
‘Allie! Bloody hell. Where have you been?’ He sounded as relieved as she felt.
‘In lockdown.’ She glared at her mother’s stiff back. ‘They took my phone away, and my computer. They won’t let me leave the house. How are things with you?’
‘Oh, the usual.’ He laughed. ‘The parental one is pissed off, the school’s very pissed off, but it’ll blow over.’
‘Are they kicking you out?’
‘What? Of school?’ He sounded surprised. ‘No. Are they kicking you out?’
‘Allegedly. My parents are sending me away to a prison camp they insist on calling a school. Somewhere in Outer Mongolia.’
‘Seriously?’ He seemed genuinely upset. ‘That sucks! Why? No one got hurt. Ross’ll get over it. I’m going to do some community service, apologise to everybody and then it’s back to normal school hell. I can’t believe your parents are being so medieval.’
‘Me neither. Listen, The Medieval Ones say I won’t be able to talk to you once I get to this prison school, but if you want to find me, it’s called Cimmeria Academy. I don’t know where it is but Google…’
The line went dead. Allie looked up to see her mother holding the plug, which she had pulled from the wall. Her face was expressionless.
‘That’s enough of that,’ she said, lifting the phone from Allie’s suddenly nerveless hand.
She returned to slicing the tomato as Allie stood stock still, staring at her. Over the course of 30 seconds all the blood left her face, then returned in a rush as she fought back tears. Finally she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room.
‘You people. Are. Crazy!’ The words started low, but rose to a scream as she mounted the stairs. She slammed the door behind her.
Shaking, she stood in the middle of her bedroom.
She no longer recognised this place as her home.
After that she packed.
Maybe leaving wasn’t so bad. How much worse could boarding school really be?
She dressed for her new school with care, choosing skinny jeans and a long, black t-shirt with the world ‘Trouble’ scrawled across it in sparkly silver.
She brushed her dyed red hair and left it loose. Studying herself in the mirror, she thought she looked pale. Scared.
She hated being scared.
I can do better than this.
Grabbing her liquid eyeliner, she applied a thick black swoosh to her eyelids, then she coated her lashes in mascara. Next, she dived under the bed and pulled out a pair of dark red, knee-high Doc Marten boots, lacing them up over her jeans. The boots were well-worn and scuffed.
When she walked downstairs a few minutes later her expression was mutinous.
Looking at her outfit, her mother sighed dramatically but said nothing. She just picked up her purse and headed for the door.
Outside, the sun shone brightly. It was a hot summer afternoon, and kids pedalled by on their bikes, shouting at each other happily. On a normal day, Allie would have been heading to the park to hang out with Mark and Harry and talk about last night’s exploits.
Instead, she stopped and looked back at their ordinary London row-house, trying to memorise it. It wasn’t much, but it had always been home, with all the emotional power that small word can hold.
Now it just looked like every other house on the street.
As London’s crowded streets gave way to rolling green fields dotted with white sheep dozing in the warmth, a wave of loneliness washed over Allie.
She was already far away from her own world. Already lost.
The mood in the car didn’t help. Her parents barely acknowledged her presence.
She had no idea where the school was, and the town names whizzing by didn’t help much (Guildford, Camberley, Farnham… Whoever heard of them?).
Then they left the motorway and began to wind their way up and down hills on tiny country lanes surrounded by high hedges that blocked any view, through minuscule villages (Well, Dippenhall, Frensham…).
Finally, after more than two hours, they turned down a narrow dirt track. Her father slowed the car to a crawl as the road passed into thick forest where the day was cooler and quieter. After a few minutes of jostling and bumping, they arrived at a tall iron gate.
The car stopped. The rumble of the engine was the only sound.
Nothing happened for a long minute.
‘Do you need to beep the horn or push a buzzer or something?’
It was the first time Allie had spoken since they left the house. She wondered if her parents noticed that.
Before her father could reply, though, the gates shivered and, with a clanging metallic sound, swung slowly out. Inside, the forest continued, and the sun barely filtered through the thick branches.
Allie stared into the shadows ahead.
Welcome to your new school, Allie, she told herself grimly. Welcome to your new life.
The gates locked into place with a shudder.
Feeling her throat beginning to close, Allie focused on breathing. She really didn’t want to have another panic attack right now. But she couldn’t shake an overwhelming sense of dread.
Her father pulled the car forward onto a smooth gravel drive that rolled through thick trees. After the rutted dirt road outside the gates, the drive was so smooth the car seemed to float.
After a few minutes the drive emerged from the trees. Blinking in the bright sunlight, she saw an enormous gothic edifice of dark red bricks. The three-story structure looked as if it had been ripped from another time. Its jagged roof jutted sharply in peaks and turrets, topped with what looked like daggers of wrought iron stabbing the sky.
Holy crap.
‘It is an impressive building,’ her father said.
Her mother snorted. ‘Impressively ghastly.’
Terrifying. The word they are looking for is ‘terrifying’.
The second the car stopped moving, the front door of the school swung open and a slim, smiling woman slipped out and ran lightly down the stairs. Her thick, dark blond hair was held back loosely with a clip, and it curled up at the ends as if it were happy to be there. Allie was relieved to see how normal she looked: her glasses were pushed up on top of her head, and she wore a creamy cotton cardigan atop her pale blue dress.
Allie’s parents climbed out and walked over to meet her. Lagging behind, Allie reluctantly opened her door and left the back seat of the Ford. She didn’t close the door.
‘Mr and Mrs Sheridan, it’s so nice to meet you in person.’ The woman’s voice was warm and lilting; she smiled easily. ‘I hope the drive wasn’t too tedious for you. The traffic can be awful between here and London. But at least the weather is lovely today, isn’t it?’
She had oddly beautiful golden-brown eyes, and Allie noticed a faint accent, but she couldn’t identify it. Was it Scottish? It added delicacy and complexity to her words, as if they were filigreed.
After more pleasantries were exchanged, the three turned towards Allie. Her parents’ smiles disappeared, replaced with the cultivated blankness with which she’d grown uncomfortably familiar. But the headmistress smiled at her warmly.
‘And you must be Allie. Welcome. I’m Isabelle le Fanult, the headmistress at Cimmeria Academy. You can call me Isabelle.’
Allie was a bit surprised to hear her nickname, rather than ‘Alyson’. To be told to call a headmistress by her first name seemed weird too.
But quite cool.
Isabelle turned her smile back to Allie’s parents. ‘I’m afraid it is our policy that parents bid farewell to their children here,’ she said. ‘When the students cross the threshold they start their new lives as Cimmeria students, and we like them to do that independently.’
Allie’s father lifted her two small bags from the trunk and set them down on the gravel.
Picking up the larger bag, Isabelle stepped away tactfully.
Allie’s father turned to her. ‘Work hard and drop us a line now and then.’ He looked sad as he gave her a quick hug.
Her mother smoothed a strand of hair out of Allie’s face, and whispered, ‘Please give this place a chance.’ For just a second she hugged Allie tightly, and then she let go and walked to the car without looking back.
The whole time, Allie stood stiffly, her hands clenched at her sides.
When the car disappeared into the shadows of the forest, she took a gasping gulp of air. Only then did she realise she hadn’t been breathing.
When Allie turned to the headmistress, she found her watching her soberly.
‘It’s always difficult the first time.’ Isabelle’s voice was gentle. ‘It gets easier.’
Allie didn’t want anybody’s sympathy right now. And she didn’t know who this woman was. With a curt nod to show that she was perfectly fine, she picked up a bag and turned to face the enormous, Gothic school building.
Isabelle headed briskly towards the steps, saying over her shoulder, ‘Just follow me. I’m afraid we have a little distance to go.’
Allie hesitated. She turned and looked to where the car had disappeared into the trees. She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be anywhere.
I could run.
The thought came to her from nowhere.
Her nerves crackled. She was fast. No one could stop her.
‘You have a decision to make.’
Allie swung towards the voice.
The headmistress stood in the doorway, watching her with astute eyes. ‘You could run. There’s a fence, but you might get through it. Or around it. And you could go out there,’ she gestured at the forest, ‘on your own.’ She paused. ‘Or you could take a chance. On me. On Cimmeria. On what your life might be here.’
She showed no sign of trying to stop Allie. She seemed to be letting her decide.
‘What will it be, Allie?’ She cocked her head. ‘Will you give me a chance?’
Allie looked down the empty drive, now silent, save for the birds singing overhead.
The thing was, she had nowhere to go.
So she turned, and walked into the shadows of Cimmeria Academy.
Inside it was dim and cool, the bright sunlight filtered into colourful shade by a stained glass window far above her head. The ceilings were high, held aloft by thick stone arches. The stone floor had been polished smooth by thousands of feet over hundreds of years. Candleholders five feet tall stood like sentinels in each corner. Some walls were covered with old tapestries, though Allie didn’t get a good look at them as she hurried after the headmistress, who moved at a brisk pace.
Isabelle never mentioned that moment outside. Instead, she launched into cheerful patter.
‘You’ll find this building is simply endless,’ she said. ‘But believe me, you’ll get used to it.’
Allie hardly heard her as they walked from one glorious room into another. From the entrance hall they moved on into a wide hallway with dark wooden floors, then up a grand staircase with a heavy mahogany banister, polished to a high sheen.
Isabelle’s espadrilles made a soft shushing sound as she skipped upwards, all the while reeling off facts and figures about the building. Allie was a bit dazed by it all – the staircase was Edwardian, or had she said Victorian? The dining room was Reformation… or was it Tudor? Classrooms were in the east wing, but what did she say was in the west?
At the landing, Isabelle turned left and walked down a wide corridor, then climbed a narrower flight of stairs which led to a long, dim hallway lined with wooden doors painted white.
‘This is the girls’ dormitory. Let’s see, we’ve put you in 329…’ She hurried down the hall until the appropriate number appeared, and swung the door open.
The room was very dark and small with a single, bare bed, a wooden dresser and desk, and a free-standing armoire. All except the desk were painted the same clean shade of white. Isabelle flipped a latch Allie couldn’t see, swinging open a wooden shutter covering an arched window. Instantly the room glowed with golden afternoon light. She pushed the window open and a breeze flowed in.
‘All it needs is a little fresh air,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Your uniforms are in the wardrobe. Your parents gave us your sizes but let us know if anything doesn’t fit. You should have everything you need.’
She paused as if expecting a response but, unable to think of anything to say, Allie stared around her, speechless.
‘Shall I leave you to get settled, then?’ Isabelle headed towards the door. ‘Dinner is at seven. Mealtimes are strict – please be on time. Oh, by the way…’
She turned back. ‘I noticed you’ve been having trouble in English lately so I’ve added you to my own class. It’s a special seminar with a smaller class; I hope you’ll find it interesting.’
Overwhelmed with information Allie nodded silently; then, realising that words were required, she said haltingly, ‘I… I’ll be fine.’
‘There’s endless information about the school and your classes in the envelope on the desk. I’ll send a prefect around to introduce herself and answer any questions you might have.’ Isabelle tilted her head to one side, studying her. ‘I’m very sorry about what happened with your brother, Allie. And I do hope you’ll be happy here. I think this is the right place for you.’
Without waiting for a response, she left. The door closed behind her with a quiet click.
Allie exhaled. For a long minute she stood still in the silence of the small, bare room as her mind whirled with questions.
What am I doing here? And, while we’re at it, where is here anyway? She looked at the door as if she could see the headmistress through it. Why would they tell her about Christopher? That’s none of her business.
Shutting off the noisy thoughts that were beginning to cause her brain to pound, she lifted a bag up onto the bed and busied herself with unpacking. When she opened the dresser drawers she found most were already full of t-shirts, shorts and sweaters, all in white or midnight blue, with the Cimmeria crest above the heart.
Curious, she opened the armoire to find neatly pressed dark blue skirts, white shirts and blue jackets. As she rummaged through the back of the wardrobe, though, her fingers came across something much too light and filmy to be a uniform.
Pushing the hangers back so she could see, she found three delicate ball gowns hanging gracefully among all the workaday clothes.
Running her fingers wonderingly across the silky fabric of a white gown, she tried to imagine herself wearing it; nibbling canapés and making small talk.
Her own bitter laugh surprised her.
Not my world.
She shoved the dresses back into the wardrobe roughly and turned to the desk.
The envelope Isabelle had left her was thick. Inside was a map of the building, a class schedule, and slim, black folder on which was written in large letters: The Rules.
Inside, sheet after sheet had been written out by hand in a similar dramatic, curling script.
What the hell…?
Holding the papers in her hand, Allie sank slowly to the chair. Before she could get further than the first line, though, someone tapped lightly on her door.
The door swung open and a pretty girl in a Cimmeria uniform walked in. Her straight, white-blonde hair brushed the tops of her shoulders. She wore pink Birkenstock sandals.
Noticing that her pedicure matched her shoes perfectly, Allie felt awkward and tomboyish.
When was the last time I painted my nails?
She got the feeling the girl was trying not to stare.
‘Allie?’ She had a husky voice that didn’t match her appearance. ‘I’m Jules, the prefect for your class. Isabelle asked me to meet with you.’
‘Um, thanks.’
There was a pause. Jules raised one perfect eyebrow enquiringly and tried again. ‘She thought you might have questions that I could help you with?’
Allie struggled to think of interesting questions. And failed. ‘So,’ she said after an uncomfortable pause, ‘are we supposed to wear a uniform every day? All the time?’
Jules nodded. ‘Whenever
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