Night School

She lifted a bag up onto the bed. Unzipping it, she began pulling things out and finding places to stow them. Books went onto the narrow bookshelf beside the desk. Clothes went into the dresser, but as she opened drawers she found many were already full of T-shirts, shorts and jumpers in white or midnight blue, with the Cimmeria crest above the heart.

Curious, she opened the wardrobe to find skirts, shirts and jackets, all in the uniform’s style. She rummaged through the back of the wardrobe until her fingers felt something light and filmy. Pulling out the hangers she found they held delicate frocks in various colours. Isabelle had mentioned balls, but she hadn’t said that the school would supply formal gowns. She held up a dress in dark blue velvet – it looked vintage, with a full, knee-length skirt and a sophisticated, beaded V-neck.

She stared at it, baffled. What was it doing there?

She’d never been to a real dance – it was not the kind of thing her former schools offered. The idea of wearing an expensive frock and going to a proper ball sent a thrill of nervousness through her. What would she do? She didn’t know how to dance.

Stroking the soft fabric, she tried to imagine herself nibbling canapés and making small talk. She gave a bitter laugh.

Not my world.

Allie returned the clothes to the wardrobe, shut the wooden door and sat at the small wooden desk in front of the window. From the chair, her view was of blue sky and the green tops of trees. The afternoon was cooling, and the air smelled of pine and summertime. She opened the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of paper. Isabelle hadn’t been joking about ‘too much’ information.

Inside was a map of the building, sketching out where the dormitories were in respect to classrooms, dining halls, and teachers’ quarters. The second sheet held her class schedule: English, history, biology, algebra, French – all the usual suspects.

Next in the stack was a black binder on which was written:





The Rules


Inside was sheet after sheet written by hand in a lovely old-fashioned script. Before she could read it though, someone knocked on her door.

The door swung open and a pretty girl in a Cimmeria uniform – white short-sleeved crested shirt, pleated dark blue knee-length skirt – walked in. She had a serious face, Allie thought. Her straight, white-blonde hair brushed the tops of her shoulders, and she wore pink Birkenstock sandals. Allie noticed that the girl’s pedicure matched her shoes perfectly and she instantly felt awkward and tomboyish.

When was the last time I painted my nails?

She got the feeling the girl was trying not to stare.

‘Allie?’ She had a husky voice that didn’t seem to match her appearance.

Allie nodded and stood up from the desk.

‘I’m Jules, the prefect for your class. Isabelle asked me to come and meet you.’

‘Um, thanks.’ Allie tugged anxiously at the hem of her top, wondering if she should have changed.

There was a pause. Jules raised an eyebrow enquiringly and tried again. ‘She thought you might have questions that I could help you with?’

Allie struggled to think of interesting questions. And failed. ‘So, are we supposed to wear a uniform every day? All the time?’

Jules nodded. ‘Whenever we’re anywhere on the grounds, we wear the uniform. There’s a whole section on it in the papers Isabelle left for you.’

‘I was just sort of reading them.’ Allie wished she would quit stumbling over her words. Jules seemed so confident. ‘But there’s a lot to read.’

‘It’s a lot to take in on your first day,’ Jules conceded. ‘I think my first day would have been awful but my brother was here already, so he helped. Lots of kids have relatives who went here – do you?’

Allie shook her head. ‘I’d never heard of the place until a few days ago.’

Jules seemed surprised by that, but said only, ‘Well then I better show you around the dorm, although there’s not much to it, to be honest.’

Allie took a step towards the door but Jules looked at her outfit meaningfully.

‘Why don’t you change into your uniform first?’

Flushing, Allie crossed her arms across her chest but Jules didn’t seem to notice.

‘I’ll wait outside,’ Jules said. Without waiting for a response she walked out the door.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Allie yanked open the wardrobe door and pulled out a white shirt and neat blue skirt like the ones Jules wore and threw the outfit on the bed.

Had Jules been making fun of her clothes? She couldn’t be certain, but she was so … perfect.

Of course she was making fun of me, Allie thought bitterly. That’s what girls like her do.

Girls with perfect pedicures … She unlaced her boots violently and kicked them under the bed.

Girls with perfect hair …

She launched herself at the wardrobe to find acceptable shoes, but unearthed only practical rubber-soled black Oxfords and prim, schoolgirl white socks. She made a face as she put them on.

Stupid perfect girls.

Checking herself in the mirror on the back of the door she felt self-conscious about her heavy makeup – Jules wore only lip gloss. But there was nothing to be done right now.