A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, places, objects, etc. of the Wayward Children series and its world, which is the property of its author Seanan McGuire.
Spoiler warning: If you haven't read Beneath the Sugar Sky, you probably won't be familiar with Cora, who is the main character of this fic, however, I will try to flag any chapters that contain active spoilers as we go along.
Trigger warning: trig·ger warn·ing noun:
a statement at the start of a piece of writing, video, etc., alerting the reader or viewer to the fact that it contains potentially distressing material.
This chapter, and indeed many others will have words, themes, and phrases that some may find distressing or difficult to read including but not limited to: Bullying, suicide attempts, mental and emotional abuse, self-harm and sexual assault.
Chapter 1: The Thunderdome
The sound of laughter echoed through the parking lot, making a knot of anxiety in her stomach. It was the first day of her junior year in high school. Cora had gone to school with most of these students for years. She closed her eyes and tried to fight nausea racking her body. First days were always hard. Everyone seemed to come back from their summer vacations slim and tanned and full of stories from their adventures. Cora came back pretty much the same as she had been at the end of sophomore year. She was still short and fat and there was nothing that would make today easier. In the distance the first bell rang, bringing an end to her stolen moment of peace. Unable to wait any longer lest she become not just 'the fat girl', but 'the fat girl who can't get to class on time', she climbed out of her steadfast used car, shouldered her bag and made her way into the school.
West Valley High was the same as any other school establishment. The halls were always crowded, the atriums held knots of cliques and groups and the ground behind the building was littered with cigarette butts regardless of how many times the administration proclaimed that there was to be no smoking on the grounds. Cora drew in a deep breath as she pulled open one of the doors and stepped inside the Thunderdome that was high school.
Freak!
Slut!
Homo!
The insults flew through the air of the halls, an invisible disease that infected everyone it touched, sparking a new wave of insults that flew back and forth, never counting the casualties.
White Trash!
Bug Eyes!
Poser!
Cora tucked her hands into the pouch of her hoodie and kept her eyes resolutely ahead as she wove through the students and tried to ignore the insults aimed at her. She made a mental note to pick up a new pair of earbuds before heading home. Better to drown out the curses and shame shouted through the halls. Her mousy brown hair was long enough that she could cover her ears and keep the few teachers who cared from taking them.
Lard Ass!
Loser!
Short bus!
The insults didn't get any more creative as the years went by. The ones flying through the halls now were variations on the same ones that had been hurled since grade school, many of them hurled by the same people. Outside Cora appeared utterly unfazed as she navigated her way through, deftly avoiding contact with anyone while digging her nails into her palms in her hoodie's pocket. The pain was sharp and provided a point to focus on until she finally reached her first-period classroom and stepped inside.
It is a fact universally acknowledged that the average high school desk is designed to be both uncomfortable and impractical regardless of the fact that students use these chairs for several hours per day. It is also known that there is usually at least one chair in any given classroom that is slightly less hellish than the others. This desk is prized by all, and usually only attained by being among the first to enter the class. Cora was not in the first wave of students, or even the second, in fact, she arrived in AP English mere seconds before the final bell rang. A quick glance revealed slim options, so she chose the lesser of those, sliding into a desk near the door. There were no cracks in the seat and the wire basket underneath was intact, so she pulled out a notebook and pencil and shoved her bag into it before squeezing into the seat.
"Good morning everyone, and welcome to AP English literature. If you're supposed to be in Regular English literature, you're in the wrong place and should leave now. No, I don't know where you are supposed to be, and I suggest you ask the counselors office."
The teacher was a woman in her mid-fifties with her hair chopped severely at chin length and dyed blond no doubt to hide the hints of gray that were showing at the roots. She looked like she'd fail you as soon as look at you and stepped behind her desk to retrieve a roster of students. A pair of atrocious reading glasses were pulled out and perched on her beak-like nose. If this was any indication of how the rest of the day would go, Cora thought, she'd rather have stayed home.
The rest of the day was not in fact as bad as Cora had been dreading. In fact, it passed uneventfully enough, compared to what she had anticipated. Classes were normal, her locker opened and shut smoothly, and while her classes were not all nearby, she was able to get to each on time. Lunch was the same hell that it was for everyone who weighed more than society said they should, or who looked like they weighed more than they should. Cora breezed through the lunch line, ignoring jeers as she picked up a wrap sandwich and a bottled tea. She had learned long ago not to bother with a tray, as it just provided people with a target to knock out of her hands. She had just paid and was tucking sandwich and tea into her bag when on the other side of the cafeteria a freshman demonstrated why trays were evil, as an upperclassman slapped the tray to the floor in a spray of food and juice.
She shook her head and turned, heading away from the cafeteria. A teacher who was supposed to be supervising would come over to investigate, but by the time they got there, the upperclassmen would be long gone, the damage done. This was high school.
Cora ate her lunch in the dark and narrow hall that ran behind the drama rooms and auditorium. This particular hiding place had been discovered in her freshman year after a series of bullying that still made her cringe internally. The hall was only really utilized during productions and concerts and was abandoned the rest of the time. There was a single light that buzzed in that obnoxious way only fluorescents can, but that didn't matter to Cora, who never bothered with the light.
The fear of darkness and night had fascinated Cora since she was a little girl, primarily because she didn't have it and when she was young, it seemed all of her friends did to one degree or another. Even now that she was in high school, when the power went out and a classroom was plunged into darkness, while some students might panic or pull their phones out for light, she felt calm, like darkness was somehow safer than light. She had seen horror movies of course, and there were things that scared her. The dark just wasn't one of them.
Lunch always seemed to either last entirely too long or felt entirely too short, there was no middle ground. Today fell into the latter category and was followed by afternoon classes that all followed the same format. Introductions, class syllabi, expectations, materials, assignments, dismissal. Between two of these, Cora took a side trip to another classroom and waited as the last of its students trickled out before stepping inside.
"Hey, coach." She said into the now student-less room.
The teacher on the other side of the room was standing and wiping notes off the board. He looked over the rims of his classes and smiled when he saw her.
"Afternoon Cora, good day so far?"
"It's high school, but it could be worse. Practice still starting this week?"
He nodded, finished wiping the board and headed to his desk, flipping open a folder and running a finger down one of the pages. "Yep, same old same old. We're trying to get the college locked down for the semester, but we may have to use the community center a few times."
Cora winced as the bell rang loudly above her. She'd have to hurry to get to her next class. Waving farewell, she took to the hallway again and joined the weaving race of students heading for their classes.
Wide load coming through!
When the final bell rang and students poured out of the building, Cora was amongst the first to escape. She took refuge in her car, allowing herself a moment to bask in the quiet and solitude before turning the key and pulling into the line of cars crawling their way out of the school parking lot ahead of the still loading buses. It had taken three summers of taking odd jobs to save up enough for the down payment on the little-used sedan. It was several years older than many students would consider fashionable but it ran, made decent mileage and she could afford it.
There is an unavoidably pervasive smell that accompanies chlorine treated pools. This is especially true of sports facilities. West Valley had been using the local community college's pool off and on for years. It was less crowded than the local YMCA and could host multiple teams at once making it ideal for swim meets. Cora left her backpack in the car, shouldered her workout bag and headed for the locker room, the smell of the pool hitting her before she even reached the door. It was the smell of home.
Several girls on the team were already suiting up in the locker room and Cora gave them a wave as she headed for the stalls. She'd joined the team in her freshman year, come back sophomore year and was now in her third season with the team. While she didn't have any particular friends, she was tolerated if not liked well enough by her teammates. The girls didn't view her as a threat and the guys didn't seem to view her at all which suited her just fine.
Cora's parents had been surprised when she had announced that she was joining the swim team, her mother, ever trying to be helpful and failing, offered to sign her up for weight watchers so that she could fit in better with the team. After a series of long debates and arguments, the subject was dropped and her mother drove her to the various shops that sold speedo gear until they found suits that both fit her and fit with the team requirements for practice and meet suits. Swimsuits are a nightmare for most people, but for Cora, they were worse. She was curvy, fluffy, voluptuous, whatever adjective you like...she was a fat girl who had to try to squeeze all her curves into a stubborn suit of spandex and polyester that seldom wanted to cooperate and cost twice what "normal" sizes did.
Once she finished suiting up, Cora stepped out of the stall, resolutely ignoring the mirrors as she found a free locker, shoved her bag in and snapped a lock on the door. The aroma of sweat and chlorine hit in full force as she walked from the locker room into the pool room. There were three areas within, the far end was the diving well with its towering platforms that made anyone who was afraid of heights deeply uncomfortable. In the center was a set of lanes twenty-five meter long and seven lanes wide in which her team was standing next to. Three lanes were already occupied by swimmers from a club, set into their intervals and going through their workout, their own coach walking along the side. The last section of the room was the shallows, a gradient going from three feet to six now currently filled with elderly people doing water aerobics. Cora smiled kindly at them as she passed, and fell into step with her team in time to hear the coach announce sets. He had traded his khaki slacks and button down for a sun-stained tee shirt, a pair of shorts and crocs. The team didn't stand still as they listened, they donned caps, fixed goggle straps and fiddled with equipment until at last the whistle was blown and they made for the lanes.
Cora went to her lane along with the other four she would share it with today and stepped into the water, letting gravity pull her down to the bottom of the twelve-foot deep pool. She stood suspended for a moment on the floor of the pool before pushing off and gliding back up to the surface. The lane leader repeated the set, gave the interval and then took off. One by one the swimmers fell into line, talking finished as they turned their attention to the interval. This was what Cora had needed all day. Every minute she spent outside of the water, listening to hatred and curses she longed for it. She longed for the quiet peace of the water, the feeling of the ripples against her skin from the swimmer in front of her and the steady rhythm of her arms and legs propelling her through the water one stroke at a time.