In the Hall with the Knife

by Diana Peterfreund

  “When?”

  “Um, when Peacock tried to brain him in his office?” She hadn’t gotten an answer out of Orchid, either, and the storm had come in right after.

  “Oh, right—He wants me to tutor someone. By the way,” he added quickly, “did you get any info about what Beth—what Peacock—was in for?”

  “Not yet,” said Scarlett, “but now that she’s in the house, we’ll worm it out of her.”

  “You will,” he corrected her. “You know she won’t speak to me.”

  Scarlett waved off his concern. “Of course. You know I have my ways.”

  Finn looked around at her setup. “So, this is the inner sanctum.”

  Scarlett spread her arms wide. “Voilà! None who have seen it may live.”

  “You’ll make an exception for me though, right?” He batted his unfairly long eyelashes at her.

  She pretended to consider this. “Fine. But I’ll have to take a toll. You can drop your eyeballs in the dish on the way out.”

  He laughed. “How did you keep Boddy from making you bunk with the terrible twosome?”

  “Karlee and Kayla are staying in Mrs. White’s room.”

  “And Peacock?”

  “I made sure to stick her with Orchid.” Scarlett’s secrets were safe. At least for tonight.

  “You arranged that pretty well,” said Finn.

  “Yeah, unlike you. Trapped on the floor with that drill sergeant.”

  “True.” He frowned. “It’s too bad we aren’t really up here making out.”

  She shoved at him. “Eww, stop.” Her speech to Mustard hadn’t been a lie. It wasn’t only her parents who believed Scarlett had better things to do in high school than waste time dating. Romance was a hassle. Who needed it?

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a tone that meant he was definitely not. “Would you rather be up here with Vaughn?”

  “Hardly.”

  “No?” he asked, skeptical. Finn found the idea much more difficult than she did. “I figured every girl in that room was about to swoon at his rugged pioneer-with-a-fiddle routine earlier.”

  “A fiddle is a violin, not a guitar.”

  “Really?” Finn looked confused. Anything that didn’t go into a test tube always confused him. There were many things she liked about her best friend, and Scarlett would even call his singular passion for science one of them. But it did occasionally render him clueless.

  “Honestly, I thought that song was creepy.”

  Finn shrugged. “It’s a folk song. He’s right, by the way, there are way creepier ones. Have you heard that one about the guy who hanged his girlfriend and then went back to bed?”

  Must be one of the “murder ballads” Vaughn had mentioned. “What a lovely musical genre he’s into. Hasn’t he heard of pop? Or anything written this century?”

  “Not up here in the wilderness.”

  The shutters rattled under the onslaught of another gust of wind. Scarlett supposed they would have to rejoin the group soon enough. She didn’t care what the others thought, but it wouldn’t do to break the rules.

  “Leave it to Vaughn Green to actually come to school in a blizzard,” she said. “He’s a bigger suck-up than you are.”

  “I’m . . . trying to take that as a compliment.”

  “You should take it as a challenge.”

  Now Finn’s interest had been piqued. “Really?”

  “Haven’t you noticed him everywhere?”

  “You mean . . . cleaning?” Finn asked. “I thought that was his job.”

  “No, I mean, it’s like he’s in every humanities class in the catalog. Who takes music history?” She hadn’t even known that was an option, but apparently Mr. Green was acing it. “How does he even have time to work janitorial with his course load?”

  Finn fixed her with a look. “What’s your real fear, Scar?”

  She sighed. “I’m afraid he’s gaining on me for the humanities honors.” Blackbrook, with its laser focus on scientific achievement, didn’t have a single valedictorian. A lot of STEM geniuses were hopeless at humanities, and the school recognized that by splitting the top honors in two. And she and Finn had a pact. Science honors for him. Humanities for her.

  Obliterate the competition together.

  Behind his glasses, Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Well. We can’t have that.”

  “Exactly.” Let Vaughn Green play all the folk guitar he wanted. He could join an army of coffeehouse musicians. As long as their turf was maintained.

  Finn thought for a minute. “Okay, well, there’s not much I can do until the power’s back on, but I’ll look into it.”

  She put her head on his shoulder. “I knew you would.”

  Finn straightened. He loved being reminded of his special talents. “At least I don’t have to worry about him competing for your affections.”

  “Never, baby,” she said with a smile. “You know I only have Machiavellian schemes for you.”

  9

  Orchid

  After they’d finished sweeping up the hall and Rusty and Vaughn tacked up a tarpaulin over the broken window, everyone headed to the kitchen for refills on their cocoa. Everyone but Orchid, who slipped silently back into the lounge.

  The fire had died down to embers, and the room was dim, though still warmer than it had been in the hall. The last she’d seen her glasses, she’d been sitting on the carpet, drinking cocoa and listening to Vaughn play the guitar, like something out of a music video or a cologne ad. She’d felt safe, even with the storm raging outside.

  Ironic. The campus getting wrecked by this flood was the only thing protecting her from certain doom. When the evacuation began, and then just as quickly stopped due to worsening conditions, the other students got frustrated, but Orchid just breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t even care that the power outage meant her accountant couldn’t call her back. The important thing was this: If no one could get off Rocky Point, then no one could get on it, either.

  There. Orchid caught sight of her chunky black frames near the corner of the carpet. One arm of the glasses was bent upward at an awkward angle. She swiped them off the floor to examine the extent of the damage. At least the glass lenses hadn’t broken. A large mirror with an ornate gilded frame hung next to the mantel, and Orchid crossed to it to check out how bad they looked when she had them on.

  Just as she’d feared, the glasses sat crookedly on her nose. They’d be annoying to wear, but she supposed it would be expected, even so. Actual glasses wearers wore bent and broken glasses anyway, because it was better than walking around half-blind. She removed them and examined her reflection in the mirror.

  Her hair hid half her face, which was little more than a pale oval in the dying light. The bright blue of her eyes, however, was clear, even in the gloom. Maybe she should consider colored contacts.

  And what difference did it make, really? Her hiding place had been discovered. If her secret was about to come out, maybe she should just enjoy what little time she had left. Throw caution to the raging nor’easter winds.

  Be in touch soon.

  That’s what the letter had said. The lack of specificity seemed perfectly pitched to cause her peak terror. No indication of time, or explanation of what it meant to “be in touch.” More mischief with her finances? Actually coming out to Maine? What did the monster have planned?

  Orchid took a deep breath and leveled with her reflection.

  He’d better not come out here. And you know what to do if he tries it.

  She’d been strong once. She could do it again.

  Orchid sighed. She just really, really didn’t want to. She wanted to go to class, and take tests, and yes—sit in the lounge and discuss folk songs and sexist literature with other students. Even if it was with Scarlett Mistry. To be normal, for once in her entire freaking life.

  Not that it had ever really been that normal, she was forced to admit. Normal teenagers had friends, didn’t they? Friends who had slumber parties or did each other’s
hair, like Karlee had tried to do. But Orchid McKee could barely get within arm’s reach of her fellow students without them seeing through her supposedly brilliant disguise. On some level, she had always known that, which was why she’d managed to spend more than two years at the school without letting anyone in.

  “Hey.”

  She whirled around to see Vaughn Green standing on the carpet, guitar in hand. Orchid fumbled to put on her glasses for a short, awkward moment, and then gave up entirely. “I broke my glasses.”

  Vaughn raised an eyebrow. “Uh-oh. How well can you see without them?”

  Say you’re farsighted. Say they’re a mild prescription. But she didn’t do either of those things. There was no point in lying anymore.

  So instead, she smiled sheepishly. “Actually, they’re mostly for show. I confess, I’m a tragic hipster.”

  Vaughn shouldered the instrument. “If you say so. I don’t really know anything about fashion. People mostly wear flannel in this town.”

  “Then it’s good the nineties are coming back,” she said. “Were you born here?”

  “Right across the ravine,” he said. Weird. She hadn’t known there was so much as a clinic in Rocky Point, let alone a hospital. “Where are you from?”

  “California.”

  “Oh, so then you’re used to blizzards.”

  She laughed. She’d never before realized he was so funny. Or so cute. The Vaughn from history class was slumpy and mostly silent. The only times she remembered him speaking up at all was to get into bizarre devil’s advocate–style debates about whatever historical atrocity they were studying. She still recalled his opinion that they should not have handed out life jackets on the Titanic.

  They were going to freeze in those icy waters, anyway. Better drowning than hypothermia. At least it’s quick, and you don’t have to deal with floating bodies afterward.

  Spoken, she supposed, like a Maine native. A super creepy one.

  Between that and the talk of murder ballads, Vaughn definitely had a dark side. Still, Orchid never would have guessed it, looking at the boy standing across from her, smiling like a puppy with a treat, his amber-brown eyes sparkling even in the dying light from the fire.

  His performance tonight had been . . . something else. Back in her old life, Orchid had known a few pop stars, and, to be frank, most of them didn’t even know how to hold a guitar. Vaughn, hidden away at the edge of the world, was the real deal.

  Maybe she would have learned that long ago if she’d dared to set foot near any of the performing arts kids at Blackbrook. But she’d always deemed that far too dangerous.

  She gestured to the instrument. “You’re a really good musician.”

  “Thanks,” he said, running his hand through his hair. But then he frowned. “You don’t think we’re going to come back next term and find out we can only sing G-rated nursery rhymes, do you?”

  “Nah. I think Headmaster Boddy’s just stressed because of the storm. He’s usually pretty cool.” She thought about their conversation in his office the other day. “You know, unless he’s trying to pressure you to use your scientific talents to ‘make the world a better place.’” She made little air quotes with her fingers.

  Vaughn looked relieved. “I haven’t really dealt with him. I try to stay invisible around here.”

  “Me too,” she said before she could stop herself.

  “I can tell.”

  “You can? I must be doing a bad job of it, then.” Under normal circumstances, Orchid would have freaked.

  “No,” he said awkwardly, gesturing at the frames in her hand. “I mean . . . the fake glasses.”

  “Oh.” She looked away and twirled the frames in a circle by the broken arm. “Yeah. Well, what can I say, it worked for Clark Kent.”

  Only difference was, she turned into a superhero when she had the glasses on. Orchid McKee had all kinds of special abilities. She was invisible—usually. She was a genius—just ask Headmaster Boddy. And, until she’d received that letter, she kind of thought she was a master of disguise.

  Vaughn was still examining her, though, and she didn’t like it when people watched her too closely. It reminded her of the old days. She hadn’t liked Karlee and Kayla buzzing around her like makeup artists, either. Or maybe it wasn’t so much that she didn’t like that they were looking, but that she feared what it was they might see.

  All this effort to make a new life for herself, and Orchid McKee was as much a role as any other.

  “Don’t you ever want to look like someone different?” she asked Vaughn.

  He laughed mirthlessly. “Every single day.” He added quickly, “You know, small towns are like a fishbowl.”

  She wondered if it was tough, being one of the few locals at the school. That was a type of celebrity, too, in its own way. “It’s hard to turn invisible when everyone is looking at you.”

  “You should get better at finding phone booths.” His smile flashed in the darkness.

  “What’s a phone booth?” she asked coyly.

  His smile grew wider, and for the first time since the power went out, Orchid felt a little too warm.

  She cleared her throat and folded up the glasses. “Well, um, I should get to bed. Thanks again for the music tonight.”

  “You’re welcome, Orchid. Thanks for giving me a place to stay in the storm.”

  Ha. Nice try, buddy. But Orchid blushed anyway. As she exited into the hall, she saw Headmaster Boddy again.

  “Going to bed?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Thought I’d read for a bit, as long as the batteries in my flashlight last.”

  Headmaster Boddy made a grunting sound in his throat. “Might want to save those. We don’t know when the power will come back on.”

  Orchid looked up at the tarp fastened over the hole above the door. “Such a shame about the window. Do you think you’ll be able to get it replaced?”

  She imagined a stained-glass window was pretty expensive, and a fancy historical one was probably doubly so. Still, the window seemed as fundamental to Tudor House’s charm as the carved wood mantles and bannister. Imagining the entrance hall without the dancing colored lights the panes provided seemed as unthinkable as losing the whistling radiator in the library, or . . . or Mrs. White as the house proctor.

  The headmaster pursed his lips. “This whole place is a relic. It should be the first to go, but who knows how plans might have to change once we get a look at the damage on the lower side of campus.”

  As she was from California, floods weren’t something Orchid thought about much. Earthquakes, sure. Forest fires. But once the water was gone, couldn’t everyone just mop up? Or would they have to replace the buildings entirely? Would insurance cover that? “You don’t think the other buildings are permanently ruined, do you?”

  He straightened. “I wouldn’t want to speculate. Have a good night, Miss McKee, and do give some thought to our conversation from last week. You expressed yourself so well earlier this evening. I have no fear that you would be able to defend your research with the same degree of clarity and intelligence.”

  Orchid ducked her head. “I just—”

  “You’re worth too much to keep your light hidden under a bushel. Just promise me you will consider it.”

  She sighed again. He did want the best for her—for all the students at the school. Deep down, Orchid knew that. “I promise.”

  Mr. Boddy smiled at her, and she headed to bed, shaking her head as she passed Scarlett’s room and caught sight of Scarlett and Finn with their heads together, whispering and giggling, and went inside her own room, where Peacock was scribbling in a journal by the light of her headlamp.

  Orchid thought about how lucky she was, to be here at Blackbrook Academy, where you might not love all the people around you, but at least you felt safe.

  It was the last time such a thought would ever cross her mind.

  By morning, the worst of the storm seemed to have passed. The wind outside had all but vanished, and
when Orchid ventured to open the protective shutters over her windows, it was to a field of gray ice and slush covering the flooded campus, but no more coming from the sky.

  To most people in the house, she was sure this was a welcome sight. But all Orchid saw was the beginning of the end.

  At least the power was still out. There was no way the travel routes would be restored before the power was, right?

  Orchid was alone. Peacock’s sleeping bag was empty, though the other girl had warned her last night that she tended to get up early for her morning workout. Orchid was relieved that Peacock had managed to do so silently. She wasn’t used to having other people in her room, and she was already jumpy enough.

  After a quick trip to the bathroom, Orchid sat down to see if the broken arm on her glasses might be repairable, but despite tightening the screws, it seemed that the frames had been permanently damaged. She taped the arm back in place and tried on the result, but her handiwork was unstable and the edges of the tape caught on her hair. She frowned at her reflection. Did she dare go without her glasses? Would makeup be enough to hide her features?

  She glared down at her well-worn contouring brush. And what if she skipped even that? For once, what if she just let people draw their own conclusions about the resemblance between Clark Kent and Superman? After all, Headmaster Boddy had been right. She couldn’t keep hiding for the rest of her life. She was seventeen now. Nearly an adult. An adult who might bear some coincidental resemblance to a little girl a lot of people recognized—but, hey, stranger things had happened, right?

  Besides, as far as anyone knew, that girl was long gone. Orchid had made sure of it.

  She put away her makeup and got dressed.

  Peacock met her at the door, a towel wrapped around her tall frame.

  “Oh, hey!” Orchid said. “How was your workout?”

  Peacock scowled. “I tried, but it’s so gross and slippery out there, and you still can’t get anywhere near the gym . . .” She flopped dramatically on the bed. “This sucks. I’m about to crawl out of my skin. Do you think Mrs. White will flip out if I do some stair work in the hall?”