Page 10 of Nobody in Particular

It’s impolite of me, I know it is, but the words leave my mouthbefore I can censor them. That’s what sleep deprivation will do to a person, I suppose.

He raises his bushy gray eyebrows and purses his lips. “It was not out of pity,” he says, in a tone that is surprisingly gentle. “Do you know who I believe is the least likely person to do something reckless and ill-advised?”

I meet his eyes. “Who, sir?”

“Someone who has recently done something reckless and ill-advised, and is paying dearly for it.”

I tear my eyes from his, staring at his desk instead. My mouth goes dry, and my upper lip twitches against my will. His words land heavy. I have, after all, already made a vow to myself—multiple vows, really—to toe the line perfectly this year. For the rest of my life, too, if I can manage it, but this year seems like a reasonable starting point.

I intend to never experience anything like these last three months again.

When I don’t reply, the headmaster continues, gentler still. “I wonder if you might reconsider my offer of grief counseling.”

“No, thank you,” I say.

“Our psychologist, Miss Billows, is well equipped to help.”

“I’m certain she’s wonderful at what she does,” I say. “But I’m not grieving.”

“Rose—”

“I’ve met all of my commitments,” I go on, speaking over him. Rude again. “I completed all my holiday reading preparations. I’m not housebound, I’m not antisocial, I’m not in tears. I feel fine.”

I do feel as though if I’m not excused to go to bed within the next two minutes, my eyeballs might detach themselves altogether, fall backward into my skull, and tumble right down my throat. But I digress.

The headmaster has that look about him. The one adults wear when they’re quite certain they know your inner world much more intimately than you ever could. “Are you happy, though?”

I’d be happier if I were asleep. “Of course I am.”

He stares at me, studying my face. If I thought a smile would helpmy case right now, I’d force one, but somehow I think it would read slightly false.

“Whatever you need, Rose,” he says finally. “If you want to take me up on the offer, or if there’s anything I can do…”

“Thank you, sir,” I say, hardly daring to hope the meeting is at its end. But then, glorious days, he dismisses me, and I lurch through the door before he can change his mind and all but sprint to Dewitt. Sidney, who was stationed outside the headmaster’s office that whole time, follows after me, and then heads into his own room down the hall. He probably needs a nap of his own at this point. His shift commenced in the middle of the night, when he escorted me to school from the palace.

My room was set up by some of the palace staff while I was at the gala. When I arrived in the night, I was far too tired to take any of it in. In fairness, I’m still far too tired, but with the afternoon light streaming through the parted curtains it’s hard to miss the details now.

The charcoal bedsheets are brand-new and rumpled from my brief time in them this morning. My bedside table bears the same stained-glass lamp as last year, and the photo collage Eleanor made for my birthday hangs cheerfully above the bed. Two dozen unknowing smiles to mock me from above as I sleep, just what the decor called for. The photos are familiar—Molly and me, side by side on the bus on the way to a school soccer match. Eleanor, Molly, and me at last year’s formal. Alfie, Florence, and Harriet, laughing at something, drinks in their hands. Oscar, Molly, and me sitting around a table at Molly’s birthday dinner.

I wrench my shirt over my head, pull off my skirt, then step onto the bed and unhook the collage. I slide it down the side of the bed, and it scrapes the wall on the way down until it hits the carpet with a thud. Then, I collapse face down onto my pillow.

I’m asleep before I even pull up the covers.

SIXROSE

After ten or so minutes, I wake up to a thunderous banging. I open bleary eyes and stare at my dim surroundings in confusion, half convinced I’m still at home. Then I piece it together. I’m at Bramppath, in my new room, and Eleanor is screeching at me from outside my door.

“Inside voice!” I call back sluggishly as I attempt to sit up, groping for a shirt in the darkness. No luck. Why must waking up be so difficult?

Speaking of, why on earth is Eleanor trying to wake me up already? It can’t possibly be dinnertime, can it?

Eleanor makes no attempt to lower her volume. “I’ve been knocking for five minutes!”

My head is pounding, and my stomach is churning, and somehow I can hear my own eyes as I force them open. It feels like the hangover from hell, and I didn’t even get the pleasure of being drunk beforehand. At this point, if I weren’t a prefect, I’d simply skip dinner and go right back to sleep. Alas.

Sighing as loudly as I can, I somehow make it to the door and fling it open. Standing on the other side are Eleanor and Danni, with Molly lurking sulkily several feet behind them. They’re all dressed in their formal dining gowns—more or less blackgraduation robes, only they’re unsecured in the middle, so they drape like open curtains.

Officially, we’re expected to dress business casual at a minimum beneath them. Danni, new as she is, has made an attempt at this, wearing an extraordinarily frilly dress, a button-down cardigan, and a pair of scuffed pumps. Eleanor and Molly, on the other hand, are both in sweatpants and T-shirts as everyone else will be, and the juxtaposition between them makes Danni look somewhat ridiculous. Like a librarian on an important first date.

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