Chapter Seven: In Which I Find Useful Information, or, Five Previous Schools
Although the Headmaster’s desk couldn’t have been any messier if a tornado had blown through it, I was fairly confident that I would be able to find what I needed mere seconds after beginning my search. Considering that Glass Farthingdale was a new student, and that the Headmaster was a busy man and disorganized when it came to his office, it only made sense that the file I wanted would be somewhere on top.
The top file happened to be my own, which was hardly a surprise. Perhaps, in a different situation, I would’ve paused and flipped through the sheaf of papers titled, in large block letters, GALE CAROLINE WINTERSMITH, but I was not only pressed for time, I was still drained from my intense inward struggle of a few moments before. Not to mention my unbearable curiosity had resurfaced.
I shifted my own file just slightly, and GLASS F jumped off the folder directly underneath and hit me with the force of a blow. Fingers shaking, I slipped the file out from the clutter of papers, placed it on top, and opened it.
The first thing to greet me was a picture of Glass Farthingdale herself, pinned to the inside of the folder. It appeared to be a semi-recent photograph, probably taken at one of her previous boarding schools. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the black-and-white palette, or the graininess of the photo, or if the two coupled together softened her features, but Glass didn’t look nearly as scary as she did when I’d met her. Instead, she looked sad. Her eyes, two grainy black whirlpools, reflected something that I immediately recognized. Heartbreak, emptiness, distrust, and loneliness intermeshed to create the look of someone who’d been abandoned.
Something within me ached with sudden pain, and, on an impulse, I flipped open my own file. My picture stared back at me, nearly a stranger without my spectacles (they’d made me take them off for the photo), round face glowing unnaturally white against the grey background. Unlike Glass Farthingdale’s photo, mine hadn’t softened me. I looked half-blind and edgy. But my eyes were the same as hers: Heartbreak, emptiness, distrust, and loneliness swirled together in grainy black depths, and abandonment reflected outwards.
I didn’t know what to do with this information, or how to process it, so I didn’t. Instead, I shut my file and turned back to hers.
The first page always contained what I considered to be more trivial information – such as height, weight, birth date, physical appearance, who to contact in case of emergency, etc. – and I had half a mind to just barely skim it, but something caught my eye.
Birth Date: Unknown.
Intrigued, I hurriedly read the rest of the page. As I had half suspected, nothing more was mentioned of her birth date, and her age was just marked as “Approximately 16”. But she was apparently three inches taller than me, at five feet and eight inches, and, of more interest, she had a long, white, jagged scar that ran across the back of her neck. Her emergency contact was some corporation I’d never heard of before, with a “Refer to Ms. Harcourt” scrawled beneath.
I turned the page, hoping to find something about her missing birth date, or more about the corporation and why it was Glass Farthingdale’s emergency contact. Instead, there was a list of her previous boarding schools. Five, apparently. There were dates next to each.
Eastwood Boarding School. December 12, 1903 – January 13, 1905.
Morrisburg Boarding School. February 9, 1905 – March 6, 1906.
Allslost. April 2, 1906 – October 20, 1907.
Thierak Academy. November 15, 1907 – January 13, 1908.
Cornerstone Academy. February 8, 1908 – May 18, 1908.
Unfortunately, there was nothing to explain why Glass Farthingdale had left any of these schools. However, I could tell, just by looking at the dates, that none could be considered a natural transfer. The dates were all disjointed, with unusual transfer times, and about a month in between each start at a new school. Of course, there were all kinds of possibilities for this, but, most likely, since she was now attending Norlocke, it was because she had been expelled. I had only been expelled from two boarding schools, though, and, according to the dates, I’d been attending boarding schools many years longer than Glass had. So, what did she do? What had happened? What had caused her to be expelled from five different schools in less than five years?
The file wasn’t telling me, in which case I’d have to do some digging of my own. I pulled a scrap of paper and a small pen out of my skirt pocket and scribbled down the names of the schools as well as the dates Glass had attended them.
There were still a few pages, and I skimmed them rapidly, trying not to worry about the sound of footsteps in the hallway or, worse yet, the door suddenly opening. Sentences and words flashed across my line of sight: Allergic to milk. Chicken pox. A+. A+. A+. A+. Nothing yet about her unknown birth date, the corporation, or anything else more noteworthy.
I arrived at the last page, and just a glance told me that, while it might be incredibly useful, it was also incredibly long. Far too long to read now. The Headmaster would surely come back at any moment. It was amazing he wasn’t back already. I started to close the file. And hesitated. I couldn’t stop here. I might never get a chance to look at it again. Besides, based off the last page’s detail, it was probably meant to be given to Dr. Livesely. If that happened, the paper might as well have never been written for all the opportunity I’d have of reading it.
I felt torn in two, but curiosity got the best of me. I started reading.
And only made it a few lines in before I slammed the file shut, slipped it back into its place in the pile, and dove for my vacated chair.
The door burst open mere moments after I’d seated myself, revealing the Headmaster, a thundercloud darkening his features, with one of his hands resting somewhat forcefully on the shoulder of one of the students, a boy named Lawrence Teagarden. His name suggested someone rather small and placid, but Lawrence Teagarden was neither. Dwarfing even many of the teachers, he was known as the most volatile student at Norlocke, and just looking at him could get you punched. I hoped Walken was alright.
The Headmaster’s step faltered when he saw me, and a momentary look of confusion darted across his face. Apparently, he’d been so caught up in Walken’s distraction that he’d forgotten about me. But he recovered amazingly fast. “Leave, please, Ms. Wintersmith,” he said sternly.
“Yes, sir,” I said, and slipped out. The door shut behind me, cutting off Lawrence Teagarden’s deadly glare.
Walken, lounged casually against the wall, was waiting for me just around the corner. I gave him a quick once-over to make sure he wasn’t hurt before snagging his sleeve and pulling him further away from the Headmaster’s office. I didn’t want to be anywhere near there, in case the Headmaster realized his blunder and called me back.
“Your distraction was very effective. Thank you,” I whispered to him as we walked briskly towards the stairs. “But next time maybe pick something a little safer.”
Walken grinned at me, looking more awake than usual.
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