5

Alice spent the night in Tarrant's dorm after a few cans of Firefly Tonic on the floor with a few extra blankets and one of Tarrant's pillows to the hum of Tarrant's machine. She finds him the next morning, fast asleep on the floor with three tiny hats set beside him —the one with blue and white feathers, a pink wide brimmed one tied round with a red sash accented by white buttons, and a black fedora patterned with white and gold music notes. He does wonderful work; maybe Alice will ask him to make her one when he's less busy. Bayard is still fast asleep, but a quick glance at the clock tells her that they should be down for breakfast soon. After balling up the blankets and setting them aside on top of the pillow, she leans over and shakes Tarrant awake.

Tarrant pops up with a jolt, his hat askew. "It's not ready yet!" he yelps. He looks around, his head jerking with each turn, before apparently realizing where he is. "Oh." His eyes focus on Alice. "What time is it?"

"7:25."

"Bollocks!" He leaps up, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes. "I'll see you at the Cibus, Alice. Thanks for waking me."

"No problem."

The shirt goes flying, landing on his bed, and he goes into his dresser for another one. "Talk to Mirana." His hat comes off for a second for him to put on a yellow polka dot long sleeved shirt, then goes back on immediately. He grabs the remaining pillow off his bed and chucks it at Bayard. "Oi, Bayard! Get up, we slept late again!"

A groggy grumble. "Five more minutes." Bayard mumbles.

"Five more minutes and McTwisp will be banging on our door! Get up!"

"You're worse than Bielle."

"Up!"

At this point, Alice decides she'd better leave. She runs back to her dorm, only to find Mirana already gone. Deciding that she only needs to change her shirt, she throws on a white cassette tape graphic tee, runs her fingers through her hair to make it seem presentable, and pulls her jacket on.

7:30.

Alice grabs her bag and throws a few other things in, including the Religious Studies assignment she'd forgotten to do last night. Damn. Maybe she could complete it during History. The professor didn't seem to care what his students did when she'd met him. She opens the door just as McTwisp has his fist raised to knock.

He purses his lips and clicks his pocket watch open. "B-barely on t-t-time. You'd b-better run. Be g-glad I won't w-write you up for this."

Alice mumbles a "thanks" she knows he doesn't deserve, and jogs down the hallway before slowing to a walk when she's sure McTwisp can't see her anymore. That kid goes by the minute. Alice can't imagine living that way.

She rounds the corner into the dining hall and spots Mirana in another white skirt and a lacy white blouse about to enter the Cicero. She strides over to her and grabs a plate on the way in.

Mirana starts at Alice's sudden appearance at her side. "Alice, hello!"

"Can we talk?"

Mirana tenses. "Can it wait —?"

"No."

"Okay." She glances at Alice's empty plate. "At least put something on your plate first?"

Alice looks at the spread before taking a few sausage links, two pancakes and a syrup packet. They walk to the Cibus in complete silence. Thackery attempts to flag Alice down but Alice dismisses him with an apologetic smile. They make their way over to a less crowded area and sit down.

"So…" Mirana says, seemingly at a loss.

"I wanted to talk about last night."

"You mean when you ran out on me." Mirana says, a tight smile gracing her features that makes the statement seem more positive than it actually is.

"Yeah, um, sorry about that."

Alice shifts her eyes, pushing her sausage links around with a fork, trying to buy some thinking time. Does she tell her how she feels? Or does she pretend that it was a mistake? Her eyes meet Mirana's for a second, and in them she sees a burning anticipation. No, she's got to be honest. No more games.

"I was dreaming about you, and in it, I kissed you." God, this is hard, not to mention all sorts of embarrassing. "I left because I didn't want to deal with your reaction, because I think I like you, and I have no idea how you feel."

Alice peers up at her, feeling smaller than usual at her confession. Mirana's expression is unreadable. Her eyes are wide, her lips pressed into a neutral line, as if processing, and her chin is sitting on her hands, fingers laced together. Finally, she sits up a little straighter and nods.

"Well, thank you for telling me, Alice." She rises, plate in hand. "I'm sorry that I can't tell you I feel the same."

Defeat is evident in Alice's eyes, but she tries not to let it show. "Can we still be friends?"

"Of course." Mirana's tone is hollow, emotionless. "I just need a moment to myself, alright?"

"Okay. I'll see you in Astronomy?"

"Yes."

Mirana walks away, gliding off like an angel from a dream, graceful and ethereal. The dull ache Alice hadn't been aware of before comes full force now as she watches her walk away. She feels more disappointed than she thought she would. Well, what did she expect her to say? That she likes her too? That she'd risk losing the scholarship for her, and to hell with her parents?

She should have lied.

After a bit more wallowing that she feels stupid for spending time on, she picks up her plate and finds Tarrant. Thackery bellows his usual greeting and Alice does her best to smile back at him. Mally scoots over so she can sit.

"How did it go?" Tarrant asks. Alice shoots him a look, and he backs off considerably. "Not well, then."

"What is he talking about, Alice?" Mally asks.

"Course change." Alice lies, stabbing into her sausage.

Mally makes a noise of understanding. "Don't worry, love. It's your last year, you'll make it just fine."

"Thanks, Mally."

Alice doesn't see Mirana again until her second class, History. She tries to focus on working on the Religious Studies assignment, but she can't seem to stop herself from glancing over at Mirana every now and then while the professor drones on about his family life, having run out of introductory material to discuss. Mirana's eyes never lift from her notebook, concentrating intently on whatever it is she's writing. She can't be taking notes, unless she genuinely believes that the professor's reenactment of his son's valedictorian speech will be on the next test. Mally has even resorted to reading a graphic novel, not even attempting to conceal it behind their actual textbook, which they have yet to open. Mirana turns a page for what seems like the seventh time. What can she possibly be writing in there?

Tarrant's hand on her shoulder jerks her out of her thoughts. "Alice, stop."

"What?"

"You know what."

"Sorry." Alice reluctantly returns her eyes back to her paper.

"Listen, I know this isn't easy. Rejection can be a terrible thing, but staring at her is not going to help at all. It only makes things worse."

He's right. Alice sighs and attempts to distract herself, filling out another question, trying not to rip the paper in two at the outright biased nature of it. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"I am."

"Oh."

"You'll move on from it, eventually." He glances at her paper. "You're actually filling that out? I was going to see if I could drop the class."

"You can't." Mally says, turning a page idly. "I've already tried. I've taken to protesting with some choice words."

Tarrant chuckles. "You're going to get yourself expelled that way."

Mally scoffs. "I don't give a rat's arse anymore. They can't flat out just dismiss other branches of faith and expect to get away with it. It's supposed to be Religious Studies, not the Catholic Monarchy."

"Amen." Alice says.

Mally giggles. "Tell me you didn't hear the irony in that, I dare you."

Tarrant rolls his eyes. "You're insufferable, Mally."

"Love you too, love." She returns back to her book.

Alice stares hard at the worksheet. She can do this.

Two minutes later her eyes are shifting across the room again.

"Stop it, Alice."

Mirana closes her journal. There, that should quell those feelings for now.

Writing hasn't really been helping lately. In fact, she's been getting worse. Before, she would only have to write one or two pages. Ever since Alice Kingsleigh had entered her life, she's gotten closer to writing ten with each passing day. Today marks her first seven page entry. She rereads one line that thrills her, yet terrifies her at the same time.

I wish she would kiss me again.

How can she think such a thing, let alone put it into writing? Proper young ladies don't think about other ladies this way. Her mother says that any such lady that thinks such improprieties must be insane and should check herself into the nearest asylum.

Has she gone mad?

She doesn't want to show the Reverend what she's written today. It is far more vivid than the rest of her entries, and the required prayer at the end had been added as a mere afterthought.

She thinks back on that night, when she'd wandered into their shared dorm. Alice had been lying on her back, looking more peaceful than Mirana had ever seen her, wild blonde hair splayed out, limbs sprawled across the bed.

And then she had said her name.

She had merely been concerned for Alice's well-being. That's why she had knelt at her bedside and called for her, right? Of course!

That was when Alice had pulled her down by her turtleneck and pressed her thin, pink lips to hers, leaning up into her. Mirana had been paralyzed by shock at the sudden action. She had wanted to respond and kiss her back, oh, yes, she most certainly had, but she couldn't believe her own body's reaction to this kiss in particular —a warm, fiery sensation that made her toes curl— when others before had failed to excite her, and so she froze. Up until then, she had always believed that a kiss should not cause this much excitement. By the time she considered giving in, Alice had already pulled away, a faint impression of Mirana's lipstick left as the only reminder that that indeed had just happened.

And then she was gone, disappearing out the door.

I wish she would kiss me again.

No, she shouldn't. She can't. It's improper.

The images persist —that cheeky grin, the way her fingers wrapped around her wrist, gently guiding her hand across the canvas, how she continued to hold her hand even after she'd helped her up. The kiss that had made her feel more alive than she had ever felt before.

The way she had looked at her today, with so much hope in her eyes after revealing her true feelings, a hope that almost made her drop everything she'd ever believe in and just say yes, yes, she feels the same, and it's about time you said something about it you silly— Panicking at that thought, she hurries to stop it in its tracks and flips to the back of her journal. This is all her fault. If only she had simply ignored that unconventional girl instead of allowing herself to be intrigued by her. Now look at the utter mess she's in. She flips faster, getting slightly frustrated at the pages that stuck together but careful not to let it show on her face. To any observer, she would only appear to be searching through her notes, rather than on the verge of a breakdown.

A sigh of relief escapes her. It's still there, a white business card bordered with an elegant black pattern that her mother had given her for emergencies like this. She never thought she'd have to use it, but better now before she's too far gone.

Dr. Angus Bumby

Rutledge Asylum

777 Salvation Avenue

LIVERDON

EC2A

+44 (0) 151 496 0057

Perhaps she'll give him a call.