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I’m already so familiar with the cleaning cupboard that I may as well just pack up and live there. At least I wouldn’t have to limp up seven flights of stairs to get to the tower.
“Yes, Headmistress.”
“I want you back here by breakfast. Let’s hope you can start your second day a little better than your first.”
Well, seeing as my first day didn’t begin by picking up leaves for detention, I’m already kinda doubting that.
Baxter dismisses me and swans into her office. I go into the cleaning cupboard and pick up a rake, a trash bag and a large pincer tool. I don’t know if these will serve any kind of purpose, but they look like they could help with the task at hand. Armed with my equipment, I head down to the loch.
It’s a dangerous trek down there. The dew on the grass makes the terrain difficult to navigate. There’s a dense forest beside the loch, but I stick to the main gravel path, taking the long route. If I walked on the grass in this weather, I’d be skiing for days.
The curling fog nips at the skin under my tights. My legs feel damp and sticky, like they’re being sprayed with every step I take downhill.
Eventually, I reach the loch that gives its name to the school behind it. It’s hidden behind a cluster of large, ancient trees, and it’s the leaves from these trees that have been scattered around the golden stony banks of the loch. The leaves are dark green, almost black. Damp from the rain and the loch, they look like pieces of seaweed.
I gaze out at my surroundings. The loch is broader than I thought and probably a lot deeper, too — I’d been picturing a cute little stream, but I can barely make out the other side of the bank for all the fog.
I also can’t make out much of the school from this angle, but I can just about see my bedroom as the Lochkelvin turrets stand to attention. There are flags on the very top of the roof, flags I hadn’t noticed before today. A Union Jack and the deep blue saltire of Scotland are poised high above the school. I’m surprised to have missed them because they’re bothhuge, constantly fluttering at the parapets and occasionally battling against each other in the wind.
It’s even colder down here beside the water, the frozen air sliding across the currents of the loch. I warm myself up, rubbing my arms furiously before I begin the task in front of me.
There’s something meditative about cleaning. I rake up the leaves, the soft noise of small stones being turned, and deposit them into the black bag. The air is crisp and I feel like my soul is stretching somehow, widening to encompass all of the loch. Occasionally I hear splashes in the water and I’m quick enough to spot the glimmer of a fish. The loch must be home to hundreds of species.
There’s no one out here but me and the animals, and being in the open is weirdly the first time I’ve felt safe at Lochkelvin. The outdoors is a lot morenormalthan the stuff that goes on inside Lochkelvin. No one can hurt me here.
I hold the pincer in my hand, digging it into the sandy ground, and then walk around it. A familiar magic floods through my veins — the magic of rhythm, performance. The existence of my limp disappears as I stretch my legs to silent music. I gather myself, and then leap from one stone to the other, being careful not to land heavily on my injured ankle. I pirouette my way toward each fallen leaf, using my pincer tool as if it were a cane, twirling it around and over my head.
I’mdancing.
It’s been too long.
I’m quietly singing to myself, my bag heavy with sodden leaves, when I hear the snap of a twig.
I stop moving.
It’s just an animal.
And yet I turn in the direction of the noise, glancing between the thick branches of the trees. I don’t know what I expect to see, but through the curling fog, a pair of sharp, narrowed eyes face me.
I jump. But the eyes vanish in a heartbeat, disappearing into the shadowy woods.
An uneasiness settles within me. Maybe Iammore exposed here than between the dense stone walls of Lochkelvin. And I might be mistaken but those eyes didn’t look like anyone I know…
I shake my head.
Maybe it was a trick of the light.
Still, I work more quickly after that, checking the time on my watch. I cut out the singing, too. My ears prickle at every sound and I can’t stop thinking about those eyes. They’d looked openly murderous as they stared at me.
There’s a very clear, sudden splash to my right. My spine stiffens.
When I search for the source of the noise, I don’t expect to find Rory.
He’s sitting on a large rock at the edge of the greenery, his eyes closed and his legs crossed. I watch as he picks up a stone and then, twisting his body in the other direction, skims it across the loch.
“What are you doing here?” I snap at him, hauling my bag full of leaves. “Were you watching me from the trees?”
His eyes are shut but there’s a mean smile on the curve of his lips.
