Hi! I'm really sorry about the long wait (Two WEEKS! Aughgh!). Suffice to say that my computer died. To make up for it this chappie is pretty long.

For the partially illustrated version, search 'THSOND' on Deviantart.

The High School of Notre Dame
Chapter Six
A Window In Your Heart

Esmeralda did not come in the next day. It was a Friday, the final day of her suspension, and to Quasimodo, the school seemed hollow without her. He ended up eating lunch in the cafeteria with a handful of people from his art class, and he tried to be pleasant and enjoy it, but being in the cafeteria made him antsy and he found himself missing her. He wondered how he'd gotten by without her for fifteen years.

That afternoon, however, she sent him an email.

Hi Quasi! :D

Sorry I wasn't in today, but I figured if Frollo came in there today he could come tomorrow and I'd be in deep shit. so, yeah, I decided to stay home since it's the last day of the suspension anyway. i'll be in on monday, ok? And do you think you could pretty please mail me my homework? I owe you a huge favour or something.

Oh, BTW, if you ever wanna join the Miracle Workers, here's what you'll need:

"Begin at the north of a starry night. Turn towards Hell-child's doom at the first opportunity. Where the numbers turn Prestissimo, hail Cesar, but go round the back to the door as blue as Elphaba."

Ok, I gotta go. I told my parents I missed the bus so they're making me do housework, which just sucks. Seeya monday! XD -Esme

Quasimodo was perplexed by the email, particularly by the bolded set of instructions, but he replied,

Hello, Esmeralda,

I understand, don't worry. I've been living with him for more than fifteen years and he still scares me. We missed you, though. No favours accepted on the homework score, since I still owe you my soul- Basically, we took a note and did an assignment in history, and your math class is starting chapter two in the textbook. If you need some help, come over anytime, so long as there isn't a black car in the driveway, if you catch my drift.

Oh, and that guy you mentioned a few days ago, Phoebus, asked me to tell you something- he says you were right about those two guys and he's kicked them off the football team, and also he wasn't trying to threaten you when he talked to you before.

...If the two guys bit means what I think it does, then I owe you my soul in triplicate.

Who are the Miracle Workers? And why are they so... Poetic... and... Mysterious? I should probably know this already but you must remember that I've spent most of my life in a box.
My sympathies about the housework. I'll see you.

-Quasi (I like that nickname.)

He checked it over three times, frowning over some of the phrasing, then attached a scanned copy of the History note and assignment, and sent it to her. Not long after, he received a reply from her.

Hi again!

Thankyou so freaking much. You have no idea how much i needed that. You can have your soul back :P Thanks for giving me the message from Phoebus, and yeah, it kinda was about that, but if he tries to talk to me again I'm gonna tell him to sod off and stop trying to impress me. Freakin' pretty-boy.

The Miracle Workers is this Gypsy club Clopin started up. Trust me, he's less of a dumbass normally than when you saw him. Basically, we just hang out watching movies and complaining about authority and stuff like that. Generally, lots of pizza is involved. It's really fun. The poem is kind of a joke-test-thing that Clopin set up. You'll need it if you ever feel like joining, and I'm sort of not supposed to tell you any more about it. XP anyway, byebye.

Quasimodo knew Frollo would disown him completely if he ever found out he was in such a club, and wondered why they would invite the white son of a bigot into a Gypsy group anyway. He decided he'd worry about the Miracle Workers some other time.

As he read her reply, Victor, whom he had not heard entering the room, appeared above his shoulder. "What's this?" he asked. "Emails from someone called Esmeralda; now that's an exotic name. Tell me, who is she?"

Quasimodo groaned, and in an instant Hugo, who seemed to go everywhere Victor went (why two such obvious opposites voluntarily spent time together, no-one knew) was beside them, leaning over the back of an old leather sofa so that he could peer over Quasimodo's shoulder at the screen. "Getting pretty intimate, eh? 'You have no idea how much I needed that? Hm, sounds kinky."

Quasimodo knew Hugo was intentionally misinterpreting things, but he had to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought. "No. God, no, Hugo, she's just a friend at school."

"Well," said Victor, grinning, "She's a girl… and a friend, right?"

"Yes," said Quasimodo. And then, "No. Shut up."

Hugo draped an arm across Quasimodo's shoulder, smiling like a friendly drunk. "He's too modest, Vic, we can't trust him. So, this girl of yours. Pretty?"

Quasimodo tossed Hugo's arm to the side, rolling his eyes and grinning. "That would hardly be my main concern if she were 'my girl'."

"You haven't answered the question," said Hugo, "I bet she's a babe."

"You think anything with legs is a babe," said Quasimodo. "She's very pretty, as it happens. She looks like an angel." It was odd to think that she was the one Hugo had rather rudely admired as they drove home from church less than a week ago, although Hugo admired so many girls that he would probably not have remembered it.

Hugo looked impressed. "Way to go."

"She's not my girl," said Quasimodo, tersely, turning slightly red.

"Not yet, maybe," said Victor.

The conversation had stopped being funny. "Let's examine the facts, guys," said Quasimodo, his tone slightly bitter. "Sheis brave, sweet, talented, and one of the most beautiful girls in Notre Dame. If not in Quebec. If not in Canada. I am-" Words failed him, and he gestured at himself, from his hunched back, to the mound over his eye, to his distorted tombstone nose, crooked mouth and skewed chin, and he laughed grimly. "I doubt I'm her type."

Victor and Hugo exchanged glances. Quasimodo only saw it out of the corner of one eye, and he suspected he hadn't been supposed to. There was concern evident in their faces, and he was not sure whether he was grateful or annoyed. "I wouldn't pass judgement just yet," said Hugo, with unusual sobriety, "You're a pretty great guy. Just wait 'till she gets to know you."

Quasimodo realized that their attempts to cheer him up were really quite sweet. They'd never been above teasing him about his looks, when he'd known it was just a joke, but when they thought he needed it they tried very hard to be supportive. "You guys are a terrible influence on me," he said, smiling. "Just when I was turning into a healthy pragmatist, you start with the idealism. It's only going to cause me trouble in later life."

"We try," said Victor.

"Thanks," said Quasimodo.

"Anytime."

Quasimodo knew it was fruitless, but he decided to humour them. "She did kiss me on the cheek yesterday. That was something."

***

Claude Frollo stared at the cross beside his bed, and then at the tiny, black-and-white photograph in his hand. It was the only one left. He'd destroyed all the others.

After a while, it felt as if it were burning into his hand, and he threw it to the ground in sudden rage.

The Gypsy girl- the defiant little bitch who had thrown insults at him in front of the whole school. He'd heard her voice today. Singing. He had tried to follow it, but he had been called away and when at last he could investigate, he had found nothing. She had been there, when he had told her not to set foot in the school, and the thought drove him mad. She had disobeyed his threat and gotten away with it. She was taunting him, leaving herself open for attack and then ducking away just in time, and she was getting away with it. He could feel her presence in the school, feel himself being watched by green eyes ringed with thick lashes, and every time he walked through the hallways, he saw a flash of dark hair disappearing around a corner, or the heel of a long, graceful leg, stocking-less and dark...

He would not allow it.

Every day he could sense that he was getting closer to his prey- but time was running out. On Monday, her suspension would be over, and he would be forced to watch her walk in the hallways and bend over assignments and live out her day like any of the other teenagers, and she would be beyond his grasp. He would soon see her dancing on the stage again, her dark lips quirked into a taunting smile, and he would be forced to do nothing.

But no, he would not let her get away so easily. She had cheated him out of his prize, but if he was clever...

Frollo ran a hand through his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp.

He could make good his threat, and have her arrested. The police would take his side. She was a Gypsy- a liar, a cheat, a thief, just like the rest of them. They would take her away, and he would never have to see her again.

But even so... the idea of Esmeralda in a prison was a frightening one. It would destroy her; spoil her flawless looks and her beautiful body, extinguish her fire. Her defiance would be crushed. And she wouldn't be Esmeralda any more.

So he would give her a choice. He wasn't a monster. If she could... persuade him to let her stay at Notre Dame, he would be receptive. And maybe it would feel like everything was back the way it used to be, so many years ago, when he had believed that she still needed him.

They were so similar, the two of them, both dark Gypsy beauties with sharp tongues and cruel spirits. His wife had burned with the very same fire that filled Esmeralda.

But unlike her, this Gypsy would be faithful. She would not betray him for some young charmer with red hair and blue-green eyes. Because if she did, she would find herself in a cell.

Esmeralda would be his, or he would destroy her.

***

When Esmeralda returned on Monday, the school felt... different. Something had changed, for the worse, and it did not take her long to figure out what.

The other Romany were all saying the same thing. Frollo had gone crazy.

He seemed to be everywhere; around every corner, in every stairwell and hallway, peering through every classroom door. He drifted through the crowds of the atrium like a shark through the shoal, and every time she was within his sight she could feel him watching her.

Before going to his office, she had never had more than the vaguest, briefest of ideas about his racism. Now it seemed obvious; not just to her, but to all the other Romany students and even some of the rest. He swept down upon even the slightest of transgressions from any student with olive skin and black hair, and paid absolutely no heed to the crimes of any other. And the way he watched her, the way he always seemed to be near her and ready to pounce, made it clear to her that it was not merely an attack on her people, but an attack aimed at her.

She never would have freely admitted it, but she was scared.

Frollo's threats were still fresh in her mind. She knew what he could do. She knew that he was waiting for her to slip up, to make some kind of punishable mistake. Worse still, she could not bring herself to tell anyone- Not Quasimodo, who, despite disliking him, clearly felt some small loyalty to his adoptive father that she knew would have been cruel to destroy; and not Clopin, who would incite rebellion amongst the Romany without heed as to whether or not it helped her at all, or how much destruction it caused.

And so she kept her head down. She spoke to almost no-one, hurrying from class to class with fervor to make sure that she was never late, focusing on her coursework in case he planned to use her low marks against her. She wore her uniform as it was supposed to be worn, and removed all trace of jewelry except for a single golden hoop earring; she refused to take it off, no matter how frightened she was. She kept away from the arts department, in general. Frollo had begun to expect her there, and he seemed to have some idea of her secret stays there, because he had begun to pressure the teachers, threatening them with everything his authority permitted him to do. She trusted them not to say anything, but hanging around their classes would only make things worse for them.

Soon, he would catch her on something, and no matter how tiny, she would never see Notre Dame, Clopin, Quasimodo, or any of them again.

At the very end of her eighth school day since the suspension, Esmeralda witnessed something that changed things- perhaps only minutely, but to her, it felt tremendous.

She had just escaped from french class, and she felt miserable. Her teacher had asked her for a private word, saying that judging by her work, she'd gotten on track recently. It should have made her happy, but all she could think of was how she had been coerced into it.

She packed her bag quickly, anxious to get home where she felt at least temporarily safe. She left through the gym hallway, which was not nearly as crowded as the others at the end of the day. Everything seemed quiet, as if the whole school were holding its breath.

She rounded a corner, and when she looked down the length of the hall she saw Frollo at its far end. His eyes met hers immediately, and even at a distance, she could see the spark of madness in them.

Down the hall from Frollo, two Romany students, a boy and a girl, exited a classroom and walked side-by-side, oblivious to his presence.
The girl gave the boy a small smile, and he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

Esmeralda felt it coming like a man tied to a train track feels the vibrations of an oncoming train. It was physically painful; to know what was about to happen and not be able to do anything about it.

Frollo looked at her, his eyes meeting hers again. Then he turned, approaching the couple, his face contorted in disgust.

A complete hush fell over every student in the hall. The boy, seeing him, pulled away from the girl and started to walk away, but Frollo seized his arm to prevent him from leaving. She could not hear his words; only the tone of his voice as it echoed through the hall; but the expressions on the faces of his victims told her all she needed to know.

There was a brief moment in which it looked like the hand that Frollo was not using to grab the boy was touching the girl's jacket, and Esmeralda was not sure if she had imagined it.

And then, as she watched, a tall blond boy with an athletic build and a neat little beard appeared approached the Vice Principal, speaking to him in a firm, challenging voice. His expression was cool, but she could see his arms held stiffly at his sides, his hands balled into fists.

Esmeralda's brain supplied her with a name. "Phoebus?" she whispered under her breath, moving closer to hear what he was saying.

"-Is ridiculous! It wasn't even on the lips, sir, and this wouldn't be the first PDA here! There are dozens of white couples doing it every day and they get a verbal reprimand, or ignored altogether. They don't get suspended." Phoebus spoke with a cool determination, and while his voice was not loud, everyone in the hallway was listening by now. "And this isn't the first time you've picked on the Romany kids for no real know what I think? I think you're a racist."

Frollo responded to Phoebus with the same tightly controlled fury; it twisted at the lines of his mouth and turned his eyes into hard pits. He let go of the boy's arm, turning to Phoebus. "You are an insolent boy with no respect for his superiors, and you will wish you had not said that very soon."

Phoebus stood his ground, and did not look frightened. Esmeralda, who knew the full extend of Frollo's madness, felt her breath catch.

"Sir, I respect my fellow students. And for their sake, somebody has to stand up to you."

He was a great loss to the drama department, Esmeralda thought. His words were measured and timed perfectly, for maximum effect, and each one fell like a hammer blow upon its audience.

There were too few students nearby to risk cheering; Frollo could have picked them all out. But Esmeralda could feel the undercurrent of support. They were on his side, even if no-one present would have willingly stepped into his shoes.

Frollo stepped closer, standing half a head taller than Phoebus. "We will discuss this in the office. Immediately."

Phoebus followed Frollo to the office, willingly and with a calm, stoic determination. Neither the Vice Principal nor the Football Captain said another word, at least until they were long gone.

Esmeralda looked at her watch, and decided she would catch a city bus home later. When Frollo and Phoebus had gone far enough not to notice her, she followed them at a distance and waited just beyond the stairwell door, where she could see anyone coming out of the office but they would not be immediately able to see her.

She didn't have long to wait. Perhaps ten minutes later, the office door opened and Phoebus emerged, looking angrier than she'd seen him look and crumpling a slip of paper in one hand.

Esmeralda ducked out of her hiding place. "Hi," she said immediately, drawing his attention away from the form he was destroying.

Phoebus looked up, and his expression changed from fury to mild surprise, and then he smiled. "Esme- No, hang on, I know it- Esmeralda. Hi."

"I saw that," said Esmeralda, gesturing in the direction of the hallway they'd both just come from. "That was- really, very brave."

"I don't think I'm the first to have done it," said Phoebus, "You probably have."

Esmeralda swallowed, knowing that he almost certainly was the first. If he'd known how frightened she had let herself become over the last two weeks, he would never have said that. "No," she said, "I haven't. I've been too much of a coward- if I get into trouble again-"

"I understand," said Phoebus. "Tell the truth, I was following your example." He smiled again, a wide smile that was open and pleasant as well as handsome. "You've caused me enough trouble; I should have learned something."

Esmeralda smiled, stepping a little closer. "Sorry for spazzing at you earlier. I believe I misjudged you."

He held up his hands. "Understandable. Don't worry. You were right about those guys, like I told Quasimodo- Did he tell you about that?"

"Yes," said Esmeralda.

Phoebus's smile became slightly sardonic. "You two do look out for each other."

Esmeralda, fiercely protective of Quasimodo, was on the verge of taking offence, but she wasn't sure what he had meant by the comment, so she held it in check.

She looked at the remains of the paper in his hand. "He suspend you too?"

"Two weeks," said Phoebus, looking disgusted. "My parents will tear me to shreds. And he won't let me get my assignments from my teachers or anything. It's like he didn't even listen to a word I was saying."

Esmeralda knew the feeling too well. She had never witnessed real injustice until Frollo, and it had been a bitter shock. "Well, for what it's worth," she said, looking up at him through her bangs, "You did get that couple out of trouble. I bet they're grateful for that."

Phoebus looked at her, and smiled again. It made his velvet-brown eyes crinkle charmingly. He was gorgeous, but not boringly so- his face had life in it. "That's a good point."

"And," added Esmeralda, loving him being grateful to her, "I think I know someone who can get you your homework."

***

If Claude Frollo had ever made a list of people who irritated him most in this world, Clopin Trouillefou would have occupied the coveted top slot. The Gypsy boy had a way of effortlessly causing trouble without ever getting into it. Frollo knew he was up to something when he saw him lurking about the Atrium after classes with a clipboard and pencil, speaking to every student in turn and taking down rapid notes. There were only a few students still here, waiting to be picked up after extracurricular activities, and when Trouillefou had spoken to them all he slouched on a picnic table, jotting down further notes.

Frollo approached him, looking down on the half-sitting boy from an imposing height. Trouillefou was slightly taller than him when he stood straight, but unless he was onstage, he generally didn't. "I've seen you bother everyone present," said Frollo, "What have you been doing?"

Trouillefou looked up from his clipboard, and gave Frollo a huge grin. "Why, sir, I've just been doing a little- ah, how do you say it? Survey, I think. For my Political Science course."

Frollo found neither the explanation nor the broken English believable. And this boy was supposed to be a drama student... "Let's see your notes," he said.

"Avec pleasir," said Trouillefou, handing over the clipboard.

Frollo did not know what he had hoped to find, but he was disappointed. The Gypsy's handwriting was completely incomprehensible.

"I hope you don't call that penmanship," said Frollo, with a slight sneer. He found himself unable to summon up any more vehemence than that. The incident earlier that afternoon involving Phoebus Chataupers had drained him, and when Esmeralda was not present it hardly seemed worth it even with this little slug.

"No, sir," said Trouillefou, airily, his Quebec accent making him slightly difficult to understand, "I would never 'and that in. I am practicing for the University, when speed is very important in taking of notes."

Frollo wished he could have punished the boy for pretending to be excessively French. He also wished he could have punished the boy for having a stupid little beard and an even stupider earring, but he couldn't. "I'd work on your grammar first," he said, disgusted, dropping the clipboard onto the table and turning away. God Above, if he could find out where the Miracle Workers met, taking down that twittering clown would be deeply satisfying.

He took a final trip down the arts wing hallways, making sure everything was in order. Faint sounds of brass and drums emanated from the music room as the jazz band rehearsed. People were talking loudly inside the drama room, which was normal, and he was about to walk past when he thought he heard the word 'Esmeralda'.

Maybe he had imagined it, but he didn't care. Quickly, half-guiltily, he drew up to the door and pressed his ear to the crack. There was a magnet stuck between the door and the frame, to keep it from automatically locking, and he could hear everyone inside fairly clearly.

"-He's, like, her new best friend. She hung out with him all the time when she was suspended."

Frollo clenched his teeth. If they were really talking about her, he wanted to get his hands around the throat of whatever pimply little twit was hanging around Esmeralda.

"How unfair is that?"

"Don't be a jerk. She says he's actually really cool."

Frollo was inclined to side with the jerk.

"I just dunno if I could stand having to look at him all the time. I mean..."

"Oh, you get used to it, trust me. I saw that movie The Elephant Man and by the end it was just like, totally normal."

Frollo moved away from the door, fury twisting at the lines of his face. Within the past week, he had forgotten almost completely about the boy. It had never occurred to him that Quasimodo might make an alliance with someone like her. He'd been kind enough to let that naive little monster go to school and now-

But perhaps he could turn this situation to his own use.

He left the school immediately, smiling like a snake.

M'kay, nobody's claimed that prize. I'm just gonna tell you.

It's...

(Drum roll)

Paul Simon! 'Graceland' has to be the single best pop album ever.

Thanks as always to Attaloi and my Ma.

-Mostly Harmless