Page 72 of The Bleak Beginning

We emerge into a wider space that seems to be the hub of activity. People rush about, carrying clipboards and speaking in hushed, urgent tones. In the center of it all stands a woman with wild gray hair, gesticulating dramatically as she speaks to a group of attentive listeners.

Aubrey’s chin juts out, pointing in the direction of the woman barking an order with zest. “That’s Margot,” she says with a hint of admiration in her voice. “Our fearless leader and the one who prefers to challenge the rules.”

Hmm, I’m beginning to think I’m going to like this woman.

“Professor Margot Blanchet,” the woman corrects sharply, her tongue rolling quickly over the French pronunciation. Herposture is confident and commanding as she surveys the group before her.

She’s dressed in a luxurious, floor-length garment that can only be described as a cross between a gown and a robe. Deep-green and vibrant reds blend together in a velvety texture. It swirls around her figure like a cascading waterfall, drawing attention to her every movement.

I find myself instantly captivated by Professor Blanchet’s presence. Her eyes, sharp and alert, scan the room before landing on Aubrey and me. With a slight nod, she dismisses the group surrounding her and strides purposefully in our direction.

“Ah, Aubrey, I see you’ve brought our newest recruit,” she says, her voice a melodious blend of authority and warmth.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Professor Blanchet.” I extend my hand, but stumble over a stray cable on the floor and fall into her.

As she stumbles backward, her body collides with a burly stagehand who strains against a rope connected to a massive metal bar of lights. The lights flicker and buzz, their brilliant beams of illumination now swaying in a chaotic mass. With a sudden crash, the heavy fixture comes hurtling down to the ground, sending nearby students into a frenzy of frantic movements. They quickly duck and dodge, narrowly avoiding being struck by the dangerous debris.

Amidst the chaos, the tangled mess of lights crackles and sizzles, sending sparks flying in all directions. The acrid scent of burnt plastic and melted sequins fills the air, assaulting my nostrils with its pungent odor. Through the somewhat settled disarray, I see a student bravely holding a fire extinguisher, ready to put out any potential flames. Another is crouched underneath a clipboard for protection while others huddle behind a fake row of trees.

My laughter comes from nervous embarrassment as I take in the mess. “Well, I guess I know how to make a grand entrance, huh?” I say in an attempt to lighten the mood. But the room remains silent.

Professor Blanchet’s face is bright red, and it’s clear that she doesn’t find this situation amusing.

I try again.

“I mean, in theater, improvisation is key, right?” Still, she doesn’t say a word, and I swear I see steam coming from her ears. “I’ll just see myself out then,” I say, as I hook my thumb over my shoulder and quickly find the exit.

No way was I waiting around to get booed offstage.

I let out a sigh; for a group of theater kids, they seem uptight. One small mistake and suddenly you’re the villain.

As I step outside, I take out my list of extracurriculars and make sure to avoid anything remotely related to the boathouse, knowing that Bishop is there with his rowing team.

If I had a marker, I would slash a bright red X across anything near, related to, or close to that direction of campus.

Skimming the page, my eyes land on something that doesn’t seementirelyawful. Besides, maybe shooting a couple of arrows would help loosen some of the tension I have in my shoulders.

I make my way across campus, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the quad. The archery range is tucked away behind the athletic fields, a series of hay bales and targets set up in neat rows. As I approach, I see a small group of students already there, bows in hand.

“Come to join us, mudslide?” a girl with a ponytail calls out, shoving a bow and a handful of arrows in my hands.

That tension in my shoulders? Yeah, now it was making itself known in my back and stomach. When were people going to drop the ridiculous nickname? It’s not even remotely clever. I had been covered in mud. Mudslide. Real original.

I force a smile. “Thanks,” I mumble, taking the equipment.

The girl turns back to the targets, losing an arrow that thuds solidly into the bullseye. Show-off.

I move the arrow, drawing back the bowstring with trembling fingers. Snickers erupt from the group, as I stumble trying to get the arrow strung to the bow properly.

Where was the instructor for this sport? Perhaps they took an arrow to the chest, because honestly, I wouldn't mind the same, if it meant getting out of finding an extracurricular activity.

“Did you really travel all this way just to learn how to avoid making a fool of yourself in front of others?” I turned my head and saw Camden speaking to me.

Great. Had I realized sooner this was his extracurricular I wouldn’t have bothered wasting my steps and gone straight to the dining hall for a meal instead.

Camden saunters over, a smirk playing on his lips. “Here, let me show you,” he says, reaching for my bow.

I instinctively pull away. “I’ve got it,” I mutter, though we both know that’s a lie.

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