Hello, everyone.
Well, it took me about two weeks, but I finally got around to completing the next installment of
In the Shadows. Chapter four introduces some more of the canon characters, including a new ship. Since I'm planning to focus maninly on Esme's relationship with only a handful of the characters mentioned, I won't be writing anything about any ships in this story that don't involve her. But that doesn't mean I won't do any one-shots in the future.
And even though Halloween was almost a month ago, the parsley soda was very good (even though
I was the only one who drank it, lol).
I've included a picture of it-- tacky homemade label and all --along with the pictures of me in my Esme costume, for anyone who's interested.
Esme1 Esme2 Esme3 Parsley SodaAlso, I made these a while ago over at the
tektek.org (I'm particularly happy with how Nero came out):
EsmeJeromeCarmelitaNeroThat's all the goodies for now. Enjoy the chapter.
***
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Because the V.F.D. Training School was nestled in such a sheltered area of the Mortmain Mountains, it was often mistaken for a factory. The vast brick building was an impressive three stories high— the first floor contained the classrooms, whereas the second was the location of the administrative office and cafeteria, while the third floor was limited to the students’ dormitories.
Surrounding the building was a pair of metal gates connected to a ten-foot tall fence with jagged spikes carved all around the top. As Esmé descended the bus with the other students, she speculated on two possibilities: 1). If the purpose of the gates was to keep those not associated with V.F.D. out, or 2). If the gates were simply a way to keep the students of the school
trapped within its premises.
A young man who introduced himself as Jacques Snicket, a student teacher, greeted Esmé and the rest of the students at the gates. She knew that Kit was a triplet, and therefore Jacques had to be one of her siblings. As he spoke, Esmé couldn’t help but notice his unusual feature: a single eyebrow, which furrowed in annoyance every time someone laughed or wasn’t paying attention. Esmé giggled at the girlish way Jacques stamped his foot and wrung his hands in frustration every time someone interrupted him.
“Did you
miss me, Jacky old boy?” crowed a voice from somewhere in the crowd.
Esmé recognized the voice as that belonging to a boy she had met on the bus whose name she had yet to learn. He seemed kind, considering he had offered everyone on the bus a piece of mango-flavored candy. When he had offered one to Esmé, however, she had merely shaken her head and replied politely, “No, thank you.”
“Bert?” asked Jacques, peering into the crowd. “Is that you?”
“Well, of course! Who else did you think it was?”
Along with the other students, Esmé watched as the boy named Bert emerged from the crowd. He was tall and had an average build, with black hair parted to the side. Behind his glasses were the most beautiful pair of blue eyes Esmé had ever seen, and she felt herself blush as the boy looked her way.
“Cute, isn’t he?”
Esmé turned at the sound of the voice to see yet another face she recognized from the bus. It was a girl, perhaps a year or two older than herself, with long, auburn hair that fell in soft waves over her shoulders. Her eyes were a deep chestnut brown, and she was fortified with a sweet smile that reminded Esmé a little of her mother.
“I guess so,” Esmé admitted, and shrugged her shoulders.
“First year?” asked the girl.
Esmé nodded.
“I’m Beatrice Taylor.” Lifting her hand, Beatrice pointed through the crowd at Bert just as he slapped Jacques on the back. “And that jokester standing next to Jacques is Bertrand Baudelaire— we all call him ‘Bert’.”
“I think I prefer ‘Bertrand’,” Esmé stated honestly. She had avoided using the name ‘Bert’ ever since the six-week-old kitten she’d had as a child had died. She hoped that if she got to know Bertrand Baudelaire, then he wouldn’t mind her using his given name rather than the one that others referred to him by.
The sound of Jacques clapping his hands together interrupted Esmé’s conversation with Beatrice, and the two girls focused their attention on him.
“Everyone who is a returning student may now head up to their dormitory,” Jacques said. “The rest of you are obligated to follow me.”
“I guess I’ll see you later,” Beatrice said. Before Esmé could ask Beatrice which dormitory was hers, she had turned and was hurrying off in the opposite direction.
***
Esmé and the other first-year students shuffled behind Jacques through the front doors of the school. Sculpted above the entrance was a large eye like the ones that decorated the walls of Count Olaf’s apartment. The eye seemed to stare down at the students as if it was watching them. Esmé was struck by the notion that the eye was secretly observing them, and the phrase “under a trained eye” crossed her mind.
Spread out before the students was an open hallway with a row of classrooms on the right, and a line of bright blue lockers on the left. Straight ahead was the library, and to the right of that stood the auditorium.
As they turned the corner and headed into the auditorium, Esmé could hear some of the students behind her whispering in regards to Jacques’ femininity. They snickered, and Esmé rolled her eyes.
The line of students disbanded, and Esmé wandered off to find an empty seat.
She eventually located one at the far end of the tenth row, seating herself quickly before anyone could shoo her away or accuse her of taking their seat. Such things had happened countless times in the other schools she had attended, and she hoped that the students of the V.F.D. Training School were a bit more considerate.
Esmé had just settled down into her seat when she was approached by a plump girl. She was short, with glasses too large for her face and mouse-brown hair.
“You didn’t happen to come across a bright pink notebook on the bus, did you?” the girl asked.
Esmé shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “But I just got here myself. Have you checked the lost-and-found?”
The girl let out an overdramatic sigh and flung her arms in the air. She hung her head, allowing the edges of her bob-styled hair to fall into her eyes. “I don’t have
time to waste looking in the lost-and-found,” she whined, and then looked up at Esmé. “That notebook contains a very important article I wrote for the school newspaper, and it’s due by three p.m. today! If I had time to rewrite it, then I would, but I don’t, so I can’t, and now everyone’ll be mad at me and blame me and be like ‘
It’s Geraldine’s fault because she’s stupid and we should never have let her be a journalist for the school newspaper’ and then I’ll be fired and lose my extra credit and”—she paused to draw a breath —“then I’ll be kicked out of school because I do terribly in everything but note-taking and my parents will disown me and I’ll have to get a job at some daily tabloid place and I really don’t want to because places like that lie and my father’s a journalist, too and he says it’s always better to tell the truth and my mother says people who lie go to Hell and—”
Just listening to the girl talk was enough to make anyone’s head spin, and Esmé held up a slim, pale hand. To her surprise and relief, the girl shut up, and Esmé was able to speak.
“What if
I helped you find your notebook?” she offered.
The girl’s blue-gray eyes lit up, and she grinned, displaying a mouthful of braces. “Oh,
would you?” she asked excitedly. “That would be fantastic!”
Esmé had always had trouble saying no, and even more difficulty when it came to being overly sympathetic. She knew that ditching orientation would get her into trouble if she was to get caught, but the girl was so pitiful that Esmé simply could not help herself.
“Which way to the lost-and-found?” she asked.
“Follow me,” said the girl.
Together, the two of them slipped out of the auditorium and disappeared before anyone could notice.
***
The lost-and-found was located in the administrative office. On the walk up to the second floor, Esmé discovered that the girl’s name was Geraldine Julienne, whose parents were members of V.F.D. She was currently attending her second year at the training school, and referred to herself as a ‘journalist in training’. She had few friends and was looked down upon by most of her teachers, which was due to her constant failure to pay attention.
In return, Esmé told Geraldine the story of how she had come to be recruited into the V.F.D. Training School. Esmé explained about the difficult years she had spent in public school, and how she had been ridiculed by the other students due to her shabby clothing. She talked of how her parents had enrolled her in Count Olaf’s acting class as a way to express herself and work out her frustrations using a positive method. She spoke of when her mother had taken ill, and how the then twelve-year-old had been forced to go live with Count Olaf. Conveniently leaving out the parts of being physically beaten and verbally abused by her guardian, Esmé skipped ahead to when her mother had died. It was at this point that Geraldine reached up and placed one of her chubby hands on Esmé’s shoulder.
It was the first time in which someone her own age had shown her the slightest sign of affection or sympathy. The rest had all come from her parents, or Fernald. Esmé smiled down at the girl whose appearance bore a strong resemblance to an owl, and thought to herself how wonderful it was to have found a friend in a place she had been so uncertain about.
Esmé and Geraldine soon reached the administrative office and went inside. After stating to the secretary their purpose for being there, the woman behind the desk pointed them in the direction of a cardboard box. The girls headed over, and began to sift through the contents.
“There isn’t anything
personal written in your notebook,” Esmé asked, “is there?”
Geraldine’s round eyes widened behind her glasses. “Actually,” she said nervously, “there
is.”Esmé was just about to ask Geraldine
what it was that she was so fearful of people finding out, when the other girl began digging desperately through the box. Esmé watched in amazement as various items— including a pair of track pants, some pompoms, mismatched shoes, lunchboxes, an alarm clock, and a portable CD player —went flying in every direction.
It was only when the secretary asked them (irritably) to keep it down when Geraldine lifted up her head. Turning to look at Esmé, she saw that Geraldine’s eyes were full of tears.
“What?” Esmé asked. “What is it that’s written in your notebook that’s so important?”
Geraldine ushered her over to a secluded corner of the office, beckoning her with one finger to lean down. Esmé did so, and Geraldine whispered: “It contains the name of the boy— a boy in this school, Montgomery Montgomery —who I’ve had a crush on since the fifth grade. I wouldn’t be so worried if it was just his name, but I said some other things as well, and if it falls into the wrong hands, then I’ll be humiliated. Dig?”
Esmé nodded.
“So we’ve
got to find it,” Geraldine went on in the same hushed voice, which was quickly turning frantic. “I’m teased enough about my weight and being short and having to wear these dumb glasses— do you
really think I need another reason to be tortured?”
Geraldine’s words hit home base right with Esmé, and she shook her head. Although Geraldine wasn’t overweight, she was a little chubby, and Esmé supposed that was a good enough reason for being so insecure about oneself. It made her want to rethink what she did behind closed bathroom doors. But she couldn’t bear the thought of gaining any weight while she was away, only to return home and be mocked relentlessly by her guardian.
Esmé helped Geraldine put the items back inside the box, and afterward left the administrative office with her. There were a group of boys standing up against the wall outside, but before Esmé could get a good look at them, Geraldine steered her in the opposite direction.
“Take my advice,” she said in a hushed voice, “and don’t make eye contact.”
“Who are they?” Esmé whispered back.
“The tall, redheaded one is Bruce Spats— he’s a second-year like me, and I’ve known him since my days as a Snow Scout. He’s always been the school bully and goes out of his way to pick on
everyone. But he does it to me the most, since I’m such an easy target. The two others with him are Charles and Phil, but I’ve never seen either of them tease anyone. I think the whole reason they hang around Bruce is because they’re just afraid of being teased themselves.”
The two girls walked briskly past the three boys, only to halt seconds later as the one with the red hair called after them.
“Got a hall pass, girls?”
It was obvious by the way the boy spoke that he struggled with a lisp, and Esmé wondered if this had anything to do with his reputation as a bully. It would certainly make sense, as being cruel to others will often cause them to fear you rather than tease you.
“Just keep walking,” Geraldine whispered. “He’ll shut up if he thinks we’re ignoring him.”
Esmé picked up her pace a bit, noticeable of the way Geraldine wound her hand around Esmé’s wrist tightly.
They were halfway to the stairs when Bruce’s voice rang out loudly from behind them:
“’Geraldine Julienne and Montgomery Montgomery Forever’. Aww— how utterly adorable! The science geek and the journalist dork. What a
charming couple the two of you would make.”
Esmé— who had grown well accustomed to sarcasm over the years —was the first to turn around. She wasn’t surprised to see that Bruce Spats had apparently been reading from Geraldine’s notebook, which he was holding up in front of his face. Esmé turned to see Geraldine’s face fall and her eyes widen, which caused her appearance to become even more like an owl’s.
“That’s my notebook!” Geraldine exclaimed. Dropping her book-bag and allowing it to fall to the floor with a thump, she lunged forward. “I
demand that you give it back to me this instant!”
Bruce chuckled cruelly, holding the notebook high above his head so that Geraldine couldn’t possibly reach it. Charles and Phil simply chose to stand by, watching the girl make one desperate attempt after the next to retrieve what rightfully belonged to her.
Watching Geraldine reminded Esmé of the way Olaf would often hold a piece of meat in front of her, after having denied her food for one or more days. When she went to grab it, he would snatch it back, laughing cruelly as he held it just out of her reach.
It was at this moment that something inside of Esmé Gigi Genevieve Salinger snapped. For the first time in sixteen years, she did not feel sorrow or disappointment, but
anger. The situation unfolding before her caused a flood of rage to surge through her mind, through her veins, all aimed at the one man responsible for her survival and self-loathing.
Esmé sprung forward, the heels of her pumps squealing ear-shatteringly across the floor. She seized Bruce by the collar and rammed him against the wall headfirst. His head slammed hard against the glass frame of a bulletin board behind him. There was a loud shatter, followed by a scream— Esmé couldn’t be sure if it was Geraldine or Bruce, but it wasn’t important. All Esmé cared about was getting revenge.
“You bastard!” she snarled in a voice that wasn’t her own. “You horrible, abusive monster—
I hate you! Do you hear me?
I PATATOEING HATE YOU!!!”Esmé rammed the head of the boy she had known for no more than two minutes over and over against the glass. She was blind to the fact that his face was not the face of her guardian. She was blind to the fact that the glass had sliced through the back of his head, and that there was blood trickling down the back of his neck. And she was
blind to the fact that she was making a very bad first impression as a first-time student of the V.F.D. Training School.
But none of this mattered to her.
Esmé was just about to slam the head of Bruce Spats against the glass for the fifth time when she felt her hands being pried out from around his shoulders. The next thing she knew, she was being escorted back down the hallway to the administrative office by two teachers.
It wasn’t until Esmé found herself sitting in the principal’s office that the realization of what had just happened finally hit her. And so, she did the only thing she could think of.
She burst into tears.
The principal was sitting at her desk, completely unmoved by the spectacle in front of her. Folding her hands together, she leaned forward and asked in a soft but stern voice: “Do you have any idea the harm you’ve caused that boy?”
Esmé opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a loud, agonized sob. The principal continued to remain impassive, but handed the teenager a box of tissues from the desk. Esmé took a handful and wiped her eyes, hardly noticing when her mascara left behind runny, black stains.
“I…” Esmé began. “I… I…” She hiccupped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—
I’m sorry!”“Bruce Spats had to be rushed to the hospital,” the principal went on. “And it appears you’ve managed to give him quite a severe concussion. When he was brought to the school infirmary, shards of glass had to be carefully removed from the back of his head. In all my years as head of the V.F.D. Training School, I’ve never seen such a violent display.” The principal paused, and Esmé could feel herself being observed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before, and I’ve met with every student in this school at least
once. Are you one of the new recruits?”
Esmé nodded.
“Well, if that’s the case, then what were you doing in the hallway? Weren’t you told to go immediately to the auditorium for orientation?”
Fearing that she would only get into more trouble if she lied, Esmé nodded her head once more.
“What’s your name?” asked the principal.
“Esmé Salinger,” she replied. She was forced to speak louder and more clearly than usual, just so the words would surpass the stuffiness and hoarseness of her voice.
“Well, Esmé. What were you doing wandering around the hallway?”
Esmé shrugged, and decided that perhaps she could get away with her next response being a lie, as long as it was believable. “I was looking for the bathroom,” she said.
“There are at least three bathrooms on every floor,” the principal explained. “And one in every dormitory. If you couldn’t fine one, then you should have
asked.”“I guess it just never occurred to me.”
The principal nodded scathingly. “Just like it never occurred to you that physically attacking another student wouldn’t get you one month’s suspension.”
Esmé’s jaw dropped.
“Considering that the most promising graduate of this school is paying your tuition,” the principal went on, “I’m willing to forgive you this one time. But if something like this happens again, then I can’t be held accountable for what will follow.”
Esmé felt a great weight as it was lifted off her shoulders, but the guilt she felt for so brutally injuring Bruce Spats had no intention of leaving her mind anytime soon.
“You’ll be required to spend your suspension in your dormitory. You will not be permitted to leave for any reason. Your meals will be brought to you by a cafeteria worker, and you will be tutored privately by your instructors. Do you have any questions?”
Esmé shook her head. “No, ma’am,” she said.
“Very well,” said the principal. “I’ll have someone escort you up to your dormitory.”
***
The dormitory in which Esmé would be spending all of her time for the next month was suitably furnished. On one side was a bunk-bed, along with a desk and chair. Across from the bunk-bed was a large wardrobe, and beside it was a dresser. The room had a built-on bathroom, which had a combination shower and bathtub.
Esmé spent the remainder of the afternoon contemplating her action and the result it had caused.
So much for first impressions.
Over the years, she had grown accustomed to being teased— first by the kids at school, then by Olaf. Now, she was probably going to spend the next three years being feared by students and administrative staff alike.
It was evening, and Esmé had just finished eating dinner. She was standing by the window when she heard the door creak open. She turned, surprised to see Beatrice Taylor— the girl she had met outside upon her arrival —enter the room.
Beatrice closed the door. Setting the messenger bag she was carrying down on a chair, she crossed over to the other side of the room.
Not knowing what to expect, Esmé refocused her attention on the window. She supposed they must be roommates, or else what other reason could Beatrice possibly have for entering without being summoned? Esmé could see Beatrice in the reflection as she drew nearer.
“I heard about what happened,” Beatrice said. “I’m not so sure I would call going up against Bruce Spats particularly wise, but I would definitely say it was brave. If you don’t mind my asking, what made you do it?”
Esmé shrugged, too ashamed of herself to look Beatrice in the eye. “I’m not sure,” Esmé replied, half-lying. “I guess it was just hard for me to watch someone else being teased.”
“There are many people in this school who are grateful to you, you know,” Beatrice went on. “People who’ve been getting picked on by Bruce Spats since as far back as elementary school. Believe it or not, you did a very heroic thing.”
Esmé felt a bit better knowing that her actions (no matter how violent they may have been) had benefitted so many people. But she was still disturbed by the reason behind
why she had done it in the first place.
Did she really
hate Olaf?
(“’I hate you! Do you hear me?
I PATATOEING HATE YOU!!!’”)The possibility that Esmé was even capable of hate was something that rarely crossed her mind. She supposed that she hated her parents to some extent, for awarding custody to someone whose idea of disciplining her was to use brutality.
Then again, Adelle and Joseph Salinger had always made their daughter feel loved and appreciated. Whereas Count Olaf never failed to make Esmé feel anything but worthless and humiliated. She couldn’t even recall a time in which he had told her that he loved her. There had been
plenty of times in which he had kissed her, but not once had she ever heard him utter the words “I love you”.
“Just be prepared for when your suspension is over,” Beatrice continued. “You’re going to have a lot of people following you around, asking for your autograph— particularly Geraldine Julienne. Out of everyone in this school, it’s pretty clear that she’s your number one fan. So don’t be surprised if she becomes president of the Esmé Salinger Fan Club.”
Esmé smiled uncomfortably. She felt almost
grateful at having been suspended, just so she wouldn’t have to worry about people she didn’t know asking her questions she’d rather not answer.
“I’ve got to go to the library and study for tomorrow’s note-taking exam,” Beatrice said. “I just came by to grab my scarf— it’s supposed to snow later. You’re probably exhausted, so tomorrow I’ll give you a hands-down of everything that goes on at this place.”
“That would be helpful,” replied Esmé, “seeing as I skipped out on orientation.”
Beatrice sauntered over to the dresser, which was big enough for her and Esmé to share. Beatrice opened one of the lower drawers and retrieved her scarf, which she wrapped around her neck.
“I’ll see you later,” she told Esmé. “I should be back around ten o’ clock. Don’t bother waiting up— I’ve got a key.”
Esmé nodded, and waved to Beatrice as she disappeared through the door once more. Esmé closed the door, and once more found herself all alone.
Remembering the rather heavy meal she had consumed just twenty minutes ago, she turned towards the bathroom. Why had she gone and eaten so much? Angry at having made such a pig of herself, she walked into the bathroom and shut the door. She squatted down and was in the process of sticking her finger down her throat, when there came a knock at the dormitory door.
Assuming that it was a cafeteria worker who had come to collect Esmé’s dinner tray, she stood up and went to go answer the door. She opened it, bewildered when all she saw was an empty hallway. She was just about to close the door and step back inside, when she looked down. Sitting there was a circular-shaped parcel wrapped in pink tissue paper and tied with a blue ribbon. Attached to the box was an envelope with her name written in curly, purple ink. Curious, Esmé picked up the parcel and slid back into her dorm.
She sat down on her bed and placed the parcel in her lap, removing the envelope. She opened it to find a letter written in the same purple ink on stationary bearing the name of the school. Below the text was printed the V.F.D. eye insignia. Curious, Esmé began to read through the contents of the letter.
Dear Esmé:
I am writing to thank you for all you did for me today. I have never seen anyone stand up to Bruce Spats the way you did, and you can bet that I’ll never, ever forget it. I was sorry to hear that you got suspended, but I’m delighted that you’ll be staying on as a student at this school. It would mean so much to me to become friends with someone as brave and beautiful as yourself.
To show my gratitude for defending me, I’m giving you a box of marzipan (which is a confection very popular in Europe) that my parents gave me for Christmas. As you can tell, I have no need for it, but I thought a skinny person such as yourself might appreciate it.
I considered dropping by earlier, but thought it would be better to ask your permission first. So, if you ever get bored during your days of incarceration, I’ll come by and visit if you like. Just leave a note for me outside your door and let me know.
Your Number One Fan,
Geraldine
P.S. You are the greatest!!!As she finished reading the letter, Esmé smiled to herself, unaware of the happy tears brimming at the corners her eyes. Not since her parents had anyone expressed such kindness to her in the form of a written word.
Esmé continued to sit and stare down at the letter in her hands, allowing her mind to absorb the information. She was eventually interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door. It was followed by the voice of the cafeteria worker, who had come to collect her tray. Esmé gave them permission to enter, surprised when she glanced at the clock on the nightstand and saw that nearly an hour had past.
Esmé then placed the box of marzipan and the note inside the drawer of her nightstand. She waited until the cafeteria worker had left, and then walked across the room to where the desk was. Settling herself down in the chair, she opened one of the top drawers. Inside she discovered a pile of the same stationary Geraldine had used to write her letter. Grabbing a piece of stationary and a pen from inside the desk, Esmé scribbled out a quick but legible response.
Dear Geraldine:
Thank you very much for your letter and the box of marzipan. Meet me in my dormitory tonight if you can.
Sincerely,
Esmé Gigi Genevieve SalingerNot wanting to waste any time looking for envelopes, Esmé simply folded the note over and wrote Geraldine’s name on the outside. Esmé then hurried over to the door and slid the note halfway underneath.
Afterward, she sat down on the bottom bunk to wait for Geraldine to arrive.
Exhausted from her morning of sitting for two long hours on a bus and from the fight with Bruce Spats, it wasn’t long before Esmé felt her eyelids begin to slide closed. Her head had only just hit the pillow when there came a knock at the door.
She was jolted awake in an instant, and raced across the room to the door. Remembering her punishment, she pulled the door forward slowly to discover Geraldine Julienne. She was dressed in a hideous green bathrobe and pink bunny slippers, grinning.
“Hi,” she said, and held up the note Esmé had written just minutes ago. “I got your letter.”
“Hi,” Esmé replied. “I’m so glad you got here when you did— I was just about to fall asleep.”
She stepped back, gesturing with her hand for Geraldine to come inside. She did, and Esmé closed the door behind them.
“I can’t stay long,” the journalist-in-training explained as they sat down together on the bottom bunk. “There’s a night watchmen who does bed checks every night at eleven. If I’m not in my room when he comes by, I could get into a
lot of trouble.”
“My roommate is coming back from the library at ten,” Esmé said. “But I don’t think she’ll mind it if you’re here.”
“Who’s your roommate?”
“A girl named Beatrice Taylor.”
Geraldine nodded. “I know her,” she said. “Well, not personally, but I’ve seen her around school many times. She’s one grade up from me, but we have a few classes together.”
“What do you know about her?” Esmé asked.
“Just that she’s fairly popular, and that her boyfriend is one of the Snicket triplets.”
Esmé’s brow knotted together in puzzlement. “You aren’t talking about
Jacques, are you? Isn’t he the one who’s supposed to be—”
“Yeah,” Geraldine concurred. “That’s the rumor, anyway. I thought of doing a story for the paper about it once, but I’d feel
terrible if it turned out not to be true. What I
should do is a story of how you beat the
snot out of Bruce Spats— now
that’s something worth writing about!”
“Are you sure that’s a very good idea, Geraldine?” asked Esmé. “I’d
hate for you to get into trouble with Bruce or either of his friends on account of
me.”“You don’t have to worry about that, Esmé. Now that you’re the hero— or heroine, I should say —of this school,
nobody has to worry about living in fear anymore.”
“Well, I still think it’s a decision you should consider carefully.”
“You’re probably right,” Geraldine agreed. “I mean, Bruce already got what he deserved, didn’t he? Why bother to feed the flame when there’s already enough firewood?”
***
The following morning when Esmé awoke, she walked into the bathroom and examined her reflection in the mirror. Aside from the dark circles under her eyes, Esmé was amazed to see how much larger they looked. Her cheeks seemed to have hollowed out, while her collarbone appeared to be piercing through her pale skin.
She knew the person staring back at her from the other side of the mirror, but that didn’t mean she recognized them.
For the first time in her life, Esmé Gigi Genevieve Salinger had no idea who she was.
***