up for the afternoon. I protested internally.
Truthfully, I couldn’t bear to spend even a second away from him at the moment, but I let him go, careful not to come across overly clingy or wanting. As he so deftly pointed out, if I really needed something there was the school PA system; something I wouldn’t use in a million years. The sound of my own voice was bad enough, let alone amplified through a hundred speakers.
I decided to do some snooping. I was curious to see what my competition was like, what made these Carver girls tick.
The staff rooms were first, separated from the main dorm. One of the cooks was kind of kinky. She had a whole drawer full of dildos.
Her neighbor was a family man. He had photos of his wife and kids in gold-gilded frames on the shelf, his stationary neatly arranged on the desk. English teacher, maybe. The only sign of dishevelment was his bed, the mattress having slid off onto the floor.
The janitor’s room was completely barren. There were schematics and maps of the school pinned to the wall, and that was it. I studied them, looking for anything we might have missed, a secret hatch or stargate. Unlike the others, his bed was made up. Wherever he’d been during the disappearance, it hadn’t been here.
Entering into the girls’ dorm, I started at the first room. Its occupants seemed particularly bonded. Pictures and posters were banned, but they’d gone one step further, a large board on the wall jam-packed with photos, concert tickets, things ripped out of magazines. I noticed one of the girls from the ferry. She’d had her hair tied up with two chopsticks. I’d always wanted to do that. Some pap would take of a shot of it and then the Chinese ambassador would be on the phone, blah, blah, international crisis.
This girl looked cheerful with her friends in the pictures. I reached out and touched her face like you would a loved one. It was weird, being able to connect to something, or someone, that wasn’t there.
The rest of the room was like any other. Clothes were hiding or strewn in every corner, hanging off any makeshift hook possible.
The bed nearest the window had one of those lacy, doily U-pillows. It was something you’d see in a nursing home. The next bed’s sheets were tangled up into knots.
Over the course of the afternoon, I made my way up and down the hall looking through the rooms. Each looked similar at face value, but they were miles apart when you looked closer, just as the girls that inhabited them were clearly individuals. Some showed cohesion, themes even. Others were sparse and minimalistic. Some were two-in-one – goth and emo on one side and prissy prom-ish on the other.
I was in the last room on the hall. It was by far the messiest of them all. Every drawer was pulled open, clothes spilling from their woody mouths. I walked around the perimeter, admiring the nicks and nacks.
There was a detailed map of the school discarded on the floor, an A4 version of one I’d seen pinned up in the janitor’s room. I picked it up. It wasn’t in English. The characters were foreign and I couldn’t quite pick the language. It was probably for some international student to find her way around. I let it float back to the floor and noticed an open diary nearby. I bent down to read it.
It was thorough. Every date was filled with a brief summary of the day, with XOXO written at the end of each. I cringed.
I flicked through the pages, laughing a little at the squabbles laid out in exacting detail, the author’s crushes, wants, and worries.
The last entry was different. Every page before had perfect handwriting, symmetry, but this was clearly written in a rush. I started to read just as a voice boomed over the PA.
“Kat Collins, report to the dining hall. I repeat, Kat Collins, report to the dining hall.” Shaking with fright, I muttered obscenities to the speaker.
A bedside clock showed six p.m. The sun would be on its way out. I hadn’t realized I’d been up
Truthfully, I couldn’t bear to spend even a second away from him at the moment, but I let him go, careful not to come across overly clingy or wanting. As he so deftly pointed out, if I really needed something there was the school PA system; something I wouldn’t use in a million years. The sound of my own voice was bad enough, let alone amplified through a hundred speakers.
I decided to do some snooping. I was curious to see what my competition was like, what made these Carver girls tick.
The staff rooms were first, separated from the main dorm. One of the cooks was kind of kinky. She had a whole drawer full of dildos.
Her neighbor was a family man. He had photos of his wife and kids in gold-gilded frames on the shelf, his stationary neatly arranged on the desk. English teacher, maybe. The only sign of dishevelment was his bed, the mattress having slid off onto the floor.
The janitor’s room was completely barren. There were schematics and maps of the school pinned to the wall, and that was it. I studied them, looking for anything we might have missed, a secret hatch or stargate. Unlike the others, his bed was made up. Wherever he’d been during the disappearance, it hadn’t been here.
Entering into the girls’ dorm, I started at the first room. Its occupants seemed particularly bonded. Pictures and posters were banned, but they’d gone one step further, a large board on the wall jam-packed with photos, concert tickets, things ripped out of magazines. I noticed one of the girls from the ferry. She’d had her hair tied up with two chopsticks. I’d always wanted to do that. Some pap would take of a shot of it and then the Chinese ambassador would be on the phone, blah, blah, international crisis.
This girl looked cheerful with her friends in the pictures. I reached out and touched her face like you would a loved one. It was weird, being able to connect to something, or someone, that wasn’t there.
The rest of the room was like any other. Clothes were hiding or strewn in every corner, hanging off any makeshift hook possible.
The bed nearest the window had one of those lacy, doily U-pillows. It was something you’d see in a nursing home. The next bed’s sheets were tangled up into knots.
Over the course of the afternoon, I made my way up and down the hall looking through the rooms. Each looked similar at face value, but they were miles apart when you looked closer, just as the girls that inhabited them were clearly individuals. Some showed cohesion, themes even. Others were sparse and minimalistic. Some were two-in-one – goth and emo on one side and prissy prom-ish on the other.
I was in the last room on the hall. It was by far the messiest of them all. Every drawer was pulled open, clothes spilling from their woody mouths. I walked around the perimeter, admiring the nicks and nacks.
There was a detailed map of the school discarded on the floor, an A4 version of one I’d seen pinned up in the janitor’s room. I picked it up. It wasn’t in English. The characters were foreign and I couldn’t quite pick the language. It was probably for some international student to find her way around. I let it float back to the floor and noticed an open diary nearby. I bent down to read it.
It was thorough. Every date was filled with a brief summary of the day, with XOXO written at the end of each. I cringed.
I flicked through the pages, laughing a little at the squabbles laid out in exacting detail, the author’s crushes, wants, and worries.
The last entry was different. Every page before had perfect handwriting, symmetry, but this was clearly written in a rush. I started to read just as a voice boomed over the PA.
“Kat Collins, report to the dining hall. I repeat, Kat Collins, report to the dining hall.” Shaking with fright, I muttered obscenities to the speaker.
A bedside clock showed six p.m. The sun would be on its way out. I hadn’t realized I’d been up
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