Filed to story: Kissed by Claw and Fang
“Yeah, okay.”
“Good. See you later, girls.” He smiles at us, then disappears out the door.
Macy shakes her head as she grabs her own school uniform out of the closet. “Just ignore him. My dad’s a total dork.”
“Most good dads are dorks, aren’t they?” I ask as I move to the mirror on my closet door so I can start fixing my hair. “Besides, he reminds me of my dad. It’s kind of nice.”
She doesn’t say anything to that, and when I glance her way, it’s to find her staring sadly at me-which is, bar none, the second worst thing about losing my parents. I hate the sympathy, hate the way everyone feels sorry for me and no one knows what to say.
“That was supposed to be a happy comment,” I tell her. “You don’t need to feel bad.”
“I know. It’s just that I’m so happy you’re here and we have this time to get to know each other. And then it hits me all over again and I feel gross for being happy.” She sighs. “Which sounds like I’m making this all about me, but I’m not. I just-“
“Hey, you.” I break into what I’m learning could be a really, really long soliloquy. “I get it. And though how I got here sucks, I’m glad we have this time, too. Okay?”
A slow smile takes the place of her worried look. “Yeah, okay.”
“Good. Now get dressed. I’m starving.”
“On it!” she says, disappearing into the bathroom to do just that.
Twenty minutes later, we finally make it down the back stairs (“sooooo much less crowded,” Macy swears) to the cafeteria, after winding our way past no less than seven suits of armor, four giant fireplaces, and more columns than existed in all of Ancient Greece.
Okay, the last might be a slight exaggeration, but only slight. Plus, the fact that they’re black instead of white gets them extra points in my book. And that’s not even counting the gold filigree around the tops and bottoms of the columns.
I mean, the whole thing is a total head trip. Seriously. Going to school in Alaska is wild enough. Going to school in an actual castle, complete with halls whose bloodred ceilings are lined with Gothic lancet arches, is hella cool.
At least if you don’t count all the people staring at me as we make our way through the halls. Macy dismisses it as “new-girl stuff” and tells me to ignore it. But it’s pretty hard to do that when people are honest-to-God turning around to stare at me when I pass. I know Macy said they’ve all been together for a long time, but come on. I can’t actually be the first new person to land here, can I? Just the idea is absurd. Schools get new kids all the time-even schools in Alaska.
Macy interrupts my inner diatribe with an excited “We’re here!” as we stop in front of three sets of black-and-gold doors. The wood is carved, and I try to get a closer look at the designs, but my cousin is in too big of a hurry to show me the cafeteria. Which…seen one, seen them all, I figure.
But as she throws open one of the doors with all the pomp and flair of a game-show hostess showing me the car behind curtain number one, it’s pretty obvious that I’m wrong. Again. Because this cafeteria-and it feels wrong to even refer to the room by such a mundane name-is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Ever.
I’m pretty sure it even puts the library to shame.
To begin with, the room is huge, with long walls covered in different murals of dragons and wolves and I don’t know what else. Crown molding in black and gold runs around the edges of the ceiling and down the walls, framing each mural like a regular painting. The artist in me is fascinated and wants to spend hours studying each one, but I’ve got class in half an hour, so it’ll have to wait. Plus, there’s so much else to see here that I don’t know where to look first.
The ceiling is arched and an in-your-face, unapologetic bloodred, overlaid with curved black molding in elaborate geometric patterns. A huge crystal chandelier hangs from the center of each one, casting the whole room in a soft glow that only makes its grandeur more obvious.
There are no picnic-style tables here, no utilitarian trays or plastic silverware. Three long tables covered in tablecloths in shades of gold and black and cream run the length of the room. They are surrounded by tufted, high-backed chairs and set with real china and silverware.
Classical music floats through the room, dark and more than a little eerie. I don’t know much about this kind of music, but I know creepy when I hear it, and this is definitely it.
So much so that I can’t resist saying to Macy, “This music is very, um…interesting.”
“‘Danse Macabre’ by Camille Saint-Saëns. Overkill, I know, but my dad has it playing in here every year for Halloween. Along with the score from
Jaws and a few other classics. It just hasn’t been changed over yet.”
I think about Lia and how she said the same thing about the pillows in the library. In my old school, the Halloween spirit was pretty much exhausted by reading a scary story in English class and a costume contest on the quad at lunch. Katmere Academy takes the holiday to a whole new level.
“It’s cool,” I say as we find a cluster of empty seats.
“It’s a lot, especially weeks after it’s over. But Halloween is my dad’s favorite holiday.”
“Really? That’s so weird, considering my dad hated it. I thought it must have been something that happened when he was a kid, but apparently not, if your dad goes all out for the holiday.” I asked Dad once, a few years ago, why he disliked Halloween so much, and he said he would tell me when I was older.
Turns out the universe had other plans.
“Yeah, that is weird.” Macy glances around. “But isn’t this place cool? I’ve been dying for you to see it.”
“Totally cool. I want to spend hours just looking at the murals.”
“Well, you’ve got all year, so…” She gestures for me to sit. “What do you want to eat? Besides cherry Pop-Tarts, I mean.”
“I can come with you.”
“Next time. Right now you should get off your hurt ankle for a few minutes. Besides, I’m pretty sure today is going to be a little overwhelming. Let me help out where I can.”
“It’s pretty hard to say no to that,” I tell her, because she’s right. I’m already overwhelmed, and the day has barely started. I’m also touched by how hard Macy is working to make things easier for me. I smile my thanks at her.
“So don’t say no.” She pushes me playfully toward a chair. “Just tell me what you want to eat, or I’ll bring you seal steak and eggs.”
The horror must show on my face, because she bursts out laughing. “How about a pack of cherry Pop-Tarts and some yogurt with canned berries?”
“Canned berries?” I ask, doubtful.
“Yeah, Fiona, our chef, cans them herself when they’re in season. Fresh fruit is pretty hard to come by up here once late fall hits. The display at the party the other day was a special treat.”
“Oh, right.” I feel silly. Of course there aren’t any fresh berries in Alaska in November. If a pint of Ben and Jerry’s costs ten bucks, I can’t imagine what a pint of strawberries would be. “That sounds great. Thanks.”
“No problem.” She grins at me. “Sit down and take a load off. I’ll be right back.”