Title: Seven, A Life in a Week
Author: Shylace
Rating: PG -13
Summary: In boarding school, there are seven things that Susan wishes for, but only one she gets.
On Monday morning, Susan is stuck between a rock and a hard place, but the boy does not care and only presses her harder against the wall. She sighs and thinks of an animal digging for food as Julian claws at the buttons of her shirt. To laugh out loud would damage the silly boy's ego so she whispers "Forget that" and guides his hand to the crevice between thigh and torso.
"I assume you can do a zipper?" she asks mockingly.
His only response is to dispose of her skirt, and perhaps they would've gone farther except that Julian freezes into a useless mannequin and hisses, "Someone's coming."
In a scramble, they reach for their discarded clothing, and when Peter steps through the bushes, he finds his sister explaining the Enlightenment to a pink-faced boy.
"Oh Peter," Susan greets him pleasantly. "Is breakfast still being served?"
He ignores her question and stares grimly at Julian. Flustered, the boy thanks Susan for an excellent tutoring period and slips away. Susan too, prepares to escape, but her brother clamps a vice grip on her arm and angrily reproaches her, "Damn it Susan, what did you think you were doing?"
Her blue eyes are without guilt, and she replies airily, "I find that males are much more vigorous in the mornings."
On Mondays, Susan prays to be pure again.
Too often on Tuesdays, Susan fails. Cooking class occurs on Tuesdays, and she tells herself that it should be the easiest thing really. After all, her mother did it, as did both of her aunts. Generations of women cooked. Women, Susan thinks to herself, have been cooking since the age of the primordial caveman, making dinosaur stew. And yet, she fails to cook, bake, fry, or even boil a kettle of tea. On Tuesday, Susan nervously ties on the flowery apron and groans in defeat when her cake comes out sagging and her roast overcooked.
"Ms. Pevensie," the instructor cries out in exasperation. "How can you ever expect to run a household one day if you cannot cook?"
Susan tries to bite her tongue and swallow the retort, but it seeps out anyway.
"I won't need to cook," Susan answers, untying the apron. "I'll marry some ridiculously rich man and hire loads and loads of servants to cook for me. I'll live like a queen."
Vengefully, she throws the apron into the trash bin in front of the instructor before storming out of the class.
On Tuesdays, Susan longs to be a queen again.
Waking on Wednesday, Susan lies in bed, sleepy eyes tracing cracks in the ceiling for twenty minutes before she gets up. The process of dressing has become tiresome and tedious with its many layers. She stands before her mirror and pulls at her bra. It's too tight, she notices, but she can't ask her mother for money now. Pulling blazer over blouse, Susan glances at her desk and realizes that she hasn't returned Sally's book. Picking up Mrs. Dalloway, Susan decides that she rather likes this one. Reading the story feels the same as looking closely at a painting and focusing in on a single brushstroke, a minute yet remarkable detail.
She sits down on the bed and considers skipping breakfast. Sometimes, she wants the world to slow down so she can gaze, uninterrupted, at the mesmerizing color of a flower. She wants to finish the book now, but there's too much to do.
On Wednesdays, Susan wants life to be simple again.
During Thursday twilight, Susan goes with Peter for a walk by the lake. They discuss everything: how to get Lucy new shoes, the English teacher's incompetence, and his desire to join the war.
Her heart staggers. "This isn't Narnia, Peter. Soldiers use guns, not swords."
He selects a stone, grey and smooth, and chucks it across the water. His stone seems to bounce forever, ripples spreading along its path.
"A man can fight anywhere," Peter says firmly. "But Mother's chaining me here. Or else I would go and enlist now."
Bending, Susan chooses a stone herself. Hers sinks almost immediately, and she frowns as Peter laughs.
"At least you have a future," Susan murmurs. "You'll go on to university and have a career. But what am I doing here?"
He falls silent so she continues, "This place is a farce, a pretense of giving girls an education when all we're really going to do is get married and have babies."
"You could become a teacher," he insists.
"Women don't stay teachers if they get married," she fires back. "This century, this time holds nothing for me, no possibility."
He's baffled, not the man he claims to be, but just a boy, hands in pockets and awkward at his sister's unraveling. Slowly, Peter takes a step closer and raises her hand to his lips, kisses her hair too. He wishes he had Edmund's gift with words. Strangely, Peter feels uncomfortable, his skin too hot, as if this time is different from all the other times he has comforted her.
On Thursdays, Susan seeks for purpose.
Friday is fair; the boys are out cooling in the lake with a ring of girls watching. With undisguised scorn, Lucy and Susan scoff at the passive observers before removing their jackets and wading in to the water to play with their brothers. When the headmistress arrives, Susan reluctantly leaves the water. The boys are all staring so the girls are all staring, and Susan stands in her soaked, transparent shirt, waiting for a reprimand.
When the headmistress makes her inquiry, Susan declares, "Us Pevensies are made of stronger stuff."
Edmund positions himself beside her, and with a cajoling tone, soothes the administration's frazzled nerves and convinces them that a swim in one's uniform is harmless and refreshing on such a hot day.
On Fridays, Susan dreams of glistening seas, great woods, radiant suns, and clear skies.
At supper on Saturdays, the girls are all lined up to receive a meal of mush and tea. Her tray of food abandoned, Susan is braiding Lucy's hair when Beatrice Flume stalks forward and says loudly, "I heard you slept with Julian."
The cafeteria falls silent, and all eyes turn toward them in anticipation.
"He doesn't like you." Beatrice's voice climbs in intensity. "You're just a girl who will open her legs to him."
In the corner of her vision, Susan sees Edmund and Peter approaching. Calmly, she warns Beatrice, "Not here, not now. My sister is too young to hear these things."
"I'll say what I like!" Beatrice screams suddenly. Her enraged face turns to Lucy. "You better hope that you don't end up a slut like your sister!"
And when Beatrice Flume spits at Lucy, Susan rises and punches the girl without a second thought. Blood streams out of Beatrice's nose, and the girl is sobbing and cursing, and Susan wants to hit her again, but Peter pulls her back, restrains her. Teachers rush toward them. Orders are issued, Beatrice is carted away, and the headmistress descends with a cane.
On Saturday, Susan wishes that she were gentle again.
Between sunrise and sunset on Sunday, Susan remains outside of the headmistress's office while her fate is decided. How odd, she reflects on the situation, that so many people, everyone but herself, should be included in the verdict. The walls are thin, and Susan presses her ear against the door to hear:
"She should be expelled!" Mrs. Flume shrieks.
"Please calm down."
"Calm down? This prestigious academy has no place for nasty little savages like her!"
"Don't talk about my sister – " Lucy begins, her voice almost a plea.
"Hush Lucy, let adults handle this," their mother says, but repeats, "Don't talk about my daughter like that. It was not she who started this conflict. It was your daughter who spitefully insulted mine and spat at my younger as well."
"My daughter was just stating the truth. Your demonic brat is a slut!"
"Ladies please!"
The bickering halts.
"Now, Mrs. Flume, could you please step out for a moment and allow Mrs. Pevensie and I to speak alone?"
The door opens, and Mrs. Flume flies out. Susan wants to sink into the wallpaper as the furious purple face glares at her, but at last, the woman leaves. Within the office, her mother and the headmistress are talking again.
"Susan is not a bad girl, Headmistress. She loves Lucy very much so of course, she leapt to her sister's defense."
"Yes, I understand that, but we've had other problems with Susan. There's the general problem of Susan. She's not a bad girl, but she's stuck somewhere between a girl and a woman. Sometimes, she's still the carefree child with her siblings. And then other times, students have reported that Susan acts inappropriately with the opposite sex. Susan is bright, very smart, but mostly, that's not what people look for in girls. She's unsatisfied and unsure, but eventually, she will have to adapt to this society's standards. She will have to be practical."
On Sundays, Susan searches for another option.
On Monday, Susan returns Mrs. Dalloway to Sally before heading behind the bushes where Peter waits.
"Hello Su," he greets her and takes both of her hands to pull her in for a kiss.
On Mondays, Susan knows she is loved and asks for nothing more.
After all, she tells herself, she is doomed anyway.