School of Secrets (The Perkins School for Self Improvement #1)

Chapter 29

There's another assembly on Friday.

Somehow, this one seems even more somber than the last, and as the whole school gathers in the stuffy room, it's like we're holding our breath.

It's 'the headgirl and headmaster onstage again, back for round two. This time, despite the aid of the auditorium lighting, I can tell that the headmaster looks awful. His face is way too pale, and the circles are prominent beneath his green eyes.

"Good afternoon." he greets, even managing to sound as listless as he looks.

This time, no one repeats the greeting.

"I'm here to talk to you about important safety precautions," Headmaster Perkins begins, holding tightly to the wireless microphone like it'll somehow keep him grounded, "I believe, in light of recent events, we need to take steps to make sure our students are more secure at all times."

He pauses before hurrying on.

"Whenever students leave campus for any reason, and are not accompanied by an adult," he declares, "you must travel in groups of at least three, and you must stay together at all times."

A junior in the third row raises her hand.

"Yes?" Headmaster Perkins says, a hint of shock flickering through his expression. I guess he'd expected everyone to stay silent through the entire speech.

"Amber died here, sir," the girl speaks up, "Ethan, yeah he died off campus, but Amber died right under our noses. You can do whatever you want about off-campus rules, but what about the precautions for around here? You can't watch us all, and you can't protect all of us can you?"

To his credit, Perkins plays it cool.

"Our staff," he says, "are doing their best. They're watching out for danger, and I expect you to do the same. Try to travel in groups, always tell someone where you're going, and be on the lookout for anything strange."

"Talk about stranger danger," a freshman snorts from behind me, "I knew I should've left this place when Dad offered me the chance."

The headmaster keeps speaking, and a sense of dread fills me at his words.

"I have my suspicions about who is behind this," he says, "and I do plan to take action on these suspicions. If you know something that could confirm what I already suspect, or you've been threatened in any way, please make an appointment to see me and I will hear what you have to say."

He keeps speaking, going on to talk about the upcoming fall break, and how we should all be proud of our accomplishments, however small, up until this point in the year.

"Yeah," the same freshman remarks from over my shoulder, "I'm real proud. I can go home and tell my parents 'Mom, Dad. I didn't die. I lived to see midterms, aren't you proud of me?'."

His friends snicker, unable to contain the laughter.

Headmaster Perkins continues, rambling on for a few more minutes before handing the microphone over to the headgirl.

"And now," he says, passing it along, "Iris is here with some exciting news. The council and I have reached a decision on who will be filling Amber's ... who will be filling the vacancy on the council. Please give the headgirl your full attention."

The headgirl makes her way off the stage, carrying something too small to see in her left hand. The microphone shakes in her right, and she looks as though what she's about to do makes everything that much more final for her.

I wonder if Amber ever thinks about this crap, about what'll happen to her scholarship or her prefect position while she's gone?

Does she remember those things, or does she only see the darkness?

Hell, I decide, if I were Amber I really wouldn't be concerned with any of that right now. I'd be terrified of what's going on, lost in the mess of chaos and trying to ...

"Creighton Hastings."

I've managed to miss the headgirl's speech, though for some reason Creighton's name registers with me.

The headgirl is looking around, walking in our general direction while looking tortured.

Creighton's sitting next to me, looking entirely too pale.

I catch her whisper something along the lines of "she's going to hate me for this."

I glance at her, shaking my head.

"No, she won't."

The headgirl finally reaches our row, her expression unreadable as she starts speaking again.

"The Perkins School's newest prefect, everybody." she sounds as though she's repeating herself.

She hands Creighton the object that was clasped in her left hand, and now I recognize it as the golden letter P, the prefects' pin that marks them as who they are.

Amber was wearing hers when she died, I remember morbidly. Is this one hers, or a different one?

That's unreasonable, I decide. It's a different one, it has to be.

I still can't help the shiver, getting a sudden picture of Creighton ending up in the same position as Amber. I don't think I could handle that.

I snap out of my stupor just in time to catch the applause, and to see the figure in the second row scrambling to her feet.

It's Yumi.

I'm expecting the Japanese girl to, as usual, have something to say, but one look at her face has me thrown for a loop.

Tears are streaming down Yumi Tanaka's cheeks as she sprints for the auditorium entrance at an all-out run.

No one stops her. No one even tries.

Marco remains seated, as disinterested in his girlfriend's behavior as I've ever seen him.

Yumi keeps on running, and she's about twenty feet from the doors when she trips on her untied shoelace. This draws a few rounds of laughter amidst the applause, but Yumi doesn't seem to care. She jumps to her feet, shoe still untied, and races out of the auditorium without a backward glance.

"Damn," Derek mutters from next to me, "that was dramatic, even for her."

The headgirl hands the microphone back to the headmaster, who puts on a smile that's clearly forced.

It looks like he's in physical pain, practically grimacing at us all.

"Thank you," he says, each word seeming to take some effort, "you're dismissed."

Everyone takes off.

Derek, Creighton and I make our way out of the auditorium with the rest of the masses. Some of the students all but pounce on Creighton, congratulating her so many times that I'm sure she'll be tired of hearing it by the time we get out of the building.

Some others are talking about Yumi, their heads close together as they try to keep their inquisitive voices at the volume of a whisper.

I've resolved to give into temptation, to ask Derek what he makes of it, when I spot her again.

We've just stepped out of the classroom building when I notice the lone figure curled up on one of the stone benches, her back to all of us and a cell phone pressed to her ear. Naturally, everyone who's caught sight of her advances curiously, encroaching on her space until a senior near the front of the group declares the obvious.

"It's her."

Fascinated, I travel forward, finally recognizing Yumi's relatively small form. I can't hear her over the rest of the nearby students, but I'm finally close enough to see her face. She keeps her phone to her ear, apparently repeating the same couple words over and over.

"I'm sorry, Grandfather. I'm sorry."

When she notices that we're watching her, she turns her head to glare at us. It's not as forceful as it usually is, but the look does what it's meant to.

The students at the head of the group scatter, freeing a path for the rest of us to continue on with our days.