Here's chapter twoooo! i REALLY HAVE TO SAY YOU GUYS, i'M SO ECSTATIC on the amount of feedback I got from the first chapter, it really means a lot to me. This chapter is kind of a filler, but it leads to drama, I promise.
The first thing I noticed was that the encroaching gloom surrounding me lacked the empty space feeling an unoccupied room should have. On the contrary, the darkness seemed cramped, like there was someone lurking just inside the shadows fighting for space. Second, was that no sound was escaping the prehistoric television that polluted the back wall of the "game" room. In fact, everything around me felt frozen.
Only until that someone lurking in the shadows turned on the lights and I was momentarily stunned and blinded by the sudden brightness. Standing there in front of me- platinum blond hair tied in a bun, oversized t-shirt billowing in the breeze from the air conditioning face fuming- was a tall, skinny, attractive women that goes by the name of Celine Herondale. To us prisoners encased in this nutshell, she is the only humane guard we have at this mental institution.
"Where have you been?" she demanded without a moments' hesitation, "You were supposed to be home half an hour ago. Do you realize how worried I've been?"
Right then I uncovered just how traumatizing this experience must be for her. She, unlike everyone else, is actually concerned for my well being. Three years ago, two years after my parents dumped me in this rat hole, a child named Brandon Bates was abducted from the streets while walking to the Home from a night club at three in the morning.
Two weeks later, they found his dismembered body stuffed into a suitcase and discarded in the dumpster behind a McDonalds. The psycho that kidnapped him was a middle aged man with a bald spot that had escaped from The San Francisco Hospital for the Mentally Insane a year before. He was sentenced to life in solitary confinement. After six weeks he tried to commit suicide so they put him in a padded cell. His name was Michael Fischer.
Brandon's murder had hit Celine the hardest because she was his assigned care taker. Ever since she's been a little overbearingly protective. The Home blamed her for Brandon's death, so she now works twice as hard to make sure none of her children were ever harmed in anyway.
The memory of Brandon's demise made remorse flood over me.
"I'm sorry Celine," I responded in an almost pleading fashion. She had to believe how wretched I felt for worrying her. Even I could hear the genuine truth to my own words. "Simon and I," I had to pause for a second because the memory of Simon's expression when he saw me and Eli, and then the set of his shoulders as he strode away was over powering. I had to swallow a lump in my throat before continuing.
"Simon and I," I tried again with more success, "got caught up in the Battle of Hastings." Luckily at the last second I remembered I had told Celine we were going to the library to study for our history exams next week. "The way the author described the blood bath made it seem like it was happening right in front of us. The subject itself was riveting. We got lost in the middle ages. So sorry we had you worrying."
Celine's rigid posture relaxed and her face soften, and my sigh of relief accompanied it nicely. I was in the clear. One of my many talents was the gift of quick thinking. It had saved me from punishment on more than one occasion.
"Okay sweetie I'm glad you're finally taking an interest in your courses. Why don't you go on up to bed and get yourself a good night's sleep? You have to be up by five in order to make up for the chores you missed this evening in your eagerness to learn."
"That sounds like a great idea Celie," Yes! I thought. She bought it! You'd think that my caregiver for five years would know by now that I will never have an interest in any of my classes, besides maybe Art. But I was in no position to object to this minor detail. When lying, keep it simple and if the person you're lying to believes an impossible event, let them.
I briskly walked passed her and started the tedious ascent to my room. Just as I reached the first floor landing, I turned and watched Celine walk off to her quarters in the back of the house. A mischievous smile slowly spread across my face, then was swept away with the wind.
I was proud of my gift and of my skill at using it believably, but I rued having to use it on pour Celine. She was so unwittingly trusting and so easily swayed. She always had confidence in "her little misfits" that we would make the right choices. Too bad that most of us made the wrong ones without a second thought.
Sighing heavily for the second time tonight, I turned towards my original path, and tramped up the remaining fifty eight stairs to the room I shared with Maya.
At exactly four forty- five the next morning, I was up and ready to take on the day, and the long list of chores I'd neglected to take care of yesterday before going to Escapes. I found my To Do list taped neatly to my bedroom door bright and early. First on the list was, you guessed it, cleaning toilets! At the sight of number one on my list, I suppressed an internal grown. I trudged unenthusiastically to the broom cupboard where we keep the cleaning supplies, then set to work scrubbing away two weeks' worth of male discharge. Edna, the house cook, had fed us beans three nights in a row.
An excruciating amount of time later, I moved on to number two on my list. Getting down on my hands and knees, I began scrubbing at the rotten wooden floorboards and wondered, not for the first time, if the floor would give out one of these days and we'd all fall right through the huge gaping hole in the floor. I thought this all too pleasant thought every time I was assigned the arduous task of cleaning the floors. So basically every week.
After thoroughly cleaning the grit from in between the floor boards, I moved onto washing windows, dusting the shelves in the library, replacing the library books back on their proper shelves, and waking up the kids that had broken their alarm clocks in a fit of sleep deprived rage. Home sweet home.
By six twenty, I was dressed and ready to start the mile walk to school. Ben and Michael – fourteen year old identical twins – joined me silently on the curb and we headed off in the direction of St. Xavier's High School.
The humid late spring air was causing our t-shirts to stick to our sweat drenched skin, and there was no breeze to cool us off. We had arrived at school a half an hour early, even after stopping at Taki's to buy breakfast and running by Starbuck's for coffee. The three of us were discovered sitting on the front steps to the school - using homework assignment to fan ourselves – by the assistant principal Ms. Varenge.
Ms. Sophia Varenge is a young woman in her mid -to -late twenties with large green eyes and full lips. She started working for the school at the beginning of the year and had a nasty premature heart attack when on the first day of school; saw a rag tag group of three kids who were practically wearing rags sitting on the front steps of the school. It took an entire twenty minutes for someone to explain to her that we were students at Jefferson and that it was natural for Home kids to arrive at school at unusual times in the morning.
Since that little incident we have made a habit of dressing like well brought up children, not homeless children looking for a place to sleep. Celine was mortified when we told her about what had happened on our first day of high school. The next three hours after she found out were spent shopping at old navy for "appropriate clothing for young ladies' and gentlemen."
Now Ms. V. is used to us arriving at school before the staff, and is usually the one that lets us into school in the morning, as she was doing now. We silently picked up our bags and slung them over our shoulders like every other day, and followed her through the wide double doors.
After stepping into the marble halls at the entrance to the school, we all went our separate ways. Ms. V. went to the administration office. Michael headed to the bio lab to work on an experiment. Ben, always heading in the opposite direction as Michael in the mornings', headed to first period, which was algebra for the two of us. I went to an entirely different place than everyone. A place that had been long forgotten by the staff, and was only a legend to the students.
Stealthily, I tiptoed down the hall to the janitors' closet and slipped inside. Once inside the familiar sent of cleaning supplies welcomed me to the place I called home. Six months ago, I found the pungent odor repulsive and overwhelming. Nowadays, the sent was calming and it gave me a sense of security that I usually only have in the presence of Simon. Carefully, I climbed the ladder that always resides in the corner of the room.
Knowingly, I slipped my hand along the center of the ceiling, feeling the rough surface scratch at my bare skin, until I felt the slight dip in the plaster that was just deep enough to fit the tips of my fingers into. I pulled down the trick in the tile and quickly heaved myself up through the opening. With a practiced skill, I used my arms to pull the lower half of my body through the gap and planted my feet firmly on the concrete that resides on top of the school.
I had first discovered the long forgotten secret garden in September earlier that year while trying to get away from the herds of administrators that were looking for me. On a whim I flung myself into the janitors' closet hoping to lose them. Then I heard the pounding of pursuing foot steps down the hall and knew I was toast. Until I remembered the legend of the rooftop garden.
The legend of the rooftop garden is that the founder, Sir Edward Blanche, had explored the school for many months, because before it was a school, it was a mental asylum. He had seen every nook and cranny in the building; had inspected every inch of plaster, until he came to his last inspection. The janitors' closet on the first floor. Sir Edward, being the surprisingly picky person he was, insisted on looking at every inch of the closet, including the ceiling.
Much to Sir Edward's dismay, he found a small indentation in the very center of the ceiling. Naturally, he pulled down on the dent, and nearly fainted as the entire ceiling tile swung down revealing a beautiful rooftop garden above. He was delighted with his discovery, and to bring the garden back to what he perceived as its former glory, he planted exotic plants of bright colors that made tears come to your eyes when you saw them.
When the school opened in 1989, Blanche told the headmaster about the garden, and the story spread like wild fire. It was so terribly abused though, that after two years the administration was forced to seal the entrance and put a stop to the rumors of the garden that took your breath away at first glance. Over the years the tales faded into the back ground, and the story came to what it is today. A mere memory to those blessed enough to have marveled at the beauty.
I swiftly followed in the footsteps of Sir Edward as the tale instructed, and found myself in the glorious lost garden. Ever since that day, I have disappeared from school for hours at a time. Most of my teachers expect to see my chair empty. Expect to hear silence when my name is called for attendance. They never do figure out how I get my homework in and get straight A's.
The only teacher that has any reason to anticipate my participation in class is my Art teacher, Mr. Garroway. I'd known Luke my entire life, in and out of the group home I currently resided in. He and my mom were best friends in school, growing up together, only a few blocks away from each other. Over the course of the years, he fell madly in love with her.
Of course, since life 'tis not a fairytale, she did not reciprocate his feelings, and there is not a day in my life that I wish she had. I could only picture in my head the kind of family we would have been; happy, carefree, loving. All of the things my family never was. All of things I always hoped for.
Luke knew about the garden; of course he did, he's like my friggin dad. He also knows why I go up there. When I'm in the garden, it's like I enter this dream state. I'm captivated by the view, the city's skyline rising tall against the backdrop of cloudy gray sky. I feel compelled in the most scintillating of ways to draw everything I see. It's like a fire, an animalistic need to put pencil to paper and create the images pushing at my mind.
I spend almost every second of school hours up here. Teachers and faculty have grown used to it, learned to accept it, and expected it. They expected to hear silence when my name is called for role. They expect to see my "seat," the one a picked on the first day of school and never used again, empty. They expected all of my homework on their desks bright and early the day its due. I take tests during lunch hour. The few times I have shown up, I nearly gave poor Mr. Gaskarth a heart attack. 'This is why I stay on the roof.'
So on the roof is where I was when I heard the chatter of hundreds of St. Xavier high teenagers walking through the front door heading for first period. I ran to the edge of the garden, where the concrete comes to a stop with a foot thick barrier that reaches up to my waist. I fling myself into it and peer down at the group of students I'd gone to school with since fifth grade, and are complete strangers to me. Face after face of no one, until I spotted the familiar face of my best friend in the world. To my dismay, he wasn't alone. There was Simon, walking to school alongside Isabelle Lightwood, of all people.
AAAAAAAAAnd cut! That's a wrap! that sounded so stupid...ah well. Hope you guys liked it, it kinda sets the scene for something else. 5 reviews and ill update next week...I might even through in a little bit of Storm? 10 reviews for some storm action!