Where the Drowned Girls Go(Wayward Children #7)(27)

“What do I get out of it?” asked Rowena.

“We leave,” said Cora.

Rowena thought for a moment. Then she nodded. “All right,” she said. “What do I have to do?”





11?WHERE THE LOST ONES GO


WHEN THE BELL RANG for breakfast, the girls walked into the cafeteria single file, with Rowena and the nameless girl at the front, followed by Stephanie and Emily, and finally, at the rear, Sumi and Cora. Silence fell over the room, silence so deep and so unbreakable that even the sound of the oatmeal bubbling in its tureen seemed almost offensively loud.

Cora ignored the way people stared as she moved, with quick precision, to take her place in the breakfast line. Her uniform was meticulous, her tie knotted perfectly enough to make a wardrobe master weep. Her hair, sleek and shining and filled with rainbows, was pulled back with two barrettes, keeping it away from her face. There was nothing loose or fluid about her movements; she walked like she had a purpose, and like she was going to accomplish it, come hell or high water.

One of the matrons was the first to recover. She smiled at Cora—the first smile many of the girls had seen on her face—and said, “Good morning, Miss Miller. You’re looking well today.”

“I feel well today, thank you, matron,” said Cora, and even her voice was level and calm. It was the voice of someone who had considered all their options, and come to the conclusion that an early bedtime, a balanced diet, and flossing were the true keys to happiness. “I appreciate your consideration.”

The matron nodded, surprise and pleasure still written plainly on her face. “It’s always wonderful to witness some one successfully breaking through their troubles. I think you deserve a little reward, to acknowledge such a lovely morning. You may have a spoonful of brown sugar, if you’d like.”

Her expression remained pleasant, even mild. The same couldn’t be said of the other matrons in the room, whose eyes hardened as they watched Cora to see what her response was going to be.

Cora shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, I really do, but my stomach is still queasy from my past few days of being unwell; it’s best if I stick with bland food for the moment.” She ladled a healthy portion of oatmeal into a bowl and placed it on her tray, offering the matron a polite smile. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

She walked to the table she shared with her dormmates, back straight and shoulders squared, and pretended not to notice the approving glances being sent in her direction, or the way some of the students were starting to whisper behind their hands.

The other girls joined her at the table, each with their bland, approved breakfast. Sumi ate her turkey bacon and eggs with small, precise bites, not looking at the plates of waffles in front of the Logic girls, or at the strawberries on Emily’s plate. Cora ate as if she thought oatmeal was the most desirable thing in the entire world, worthy of being slowly savored. When she was done, she bused her own dishes, placing them in the appropriate basins, before moving to wait by the door for the rest of the girls in her dorm to finish.

Regan watched all this out of the corner of her eye, a look of profound regret on her face. She’d known Sumi would go to solitary for the crime of hitting her, and she’d understood Sumi was taking the blame on her own shoulders to spare Regan; of the two of them, it had seemed obvious that Regan was the more fragile. She hadn’t expected them to punish Cora as well, or as harshly.

Just before the group walked out of the room, in a moment when the matrons were focused on the students who seemed more in need of their guidance and attention, Cora met Regan’s eye and winked. It was a small gesture. By the time Regan processed what it might actually mean, the girls were gone, heading for their first class.

Regan sat alone, surrounded by the girls who should have been her friends, who still had nothing to say to her after the debacle of her near-graduation, and wondered what the hell was going on.

When Cora’s group reached their assigned classroom, the matron waiting for them was one of the ones who had been responsible for Cora during her recent stay in solitary. Cora offered her the politest, blandest of smiles and sat at the front of the room, folding her hands atop the desk and looking attentively to the chalkboard, where a series of equations had been written for them to study.

“Are you well, Miss Miller?” asked the matron.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Cora. “May I answer problem two?”

The matron allowed that she could.

The class progressed according to the structure of such things, with questions being asked and answers being offered. None of the girls acted up, not even Sumi, who kept her head down and participated without causing a disruption, treating the math with the seriousness it deserved. History progressed in much the same way, as did biology.

Midway through the group’s grammar lesson, the door opened and the headmaster stepped inside. All conversation immediately stopped. Even the matron looked startled by his presence, lowering the pointer she’d been using to indicate verb conjugations on the chalkboard.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he said, a smile on his pleasant, forgettable face. “I’m here to borrow Miss Miller, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, Headmaster,” said the matron. “Miss Miller?”

But Cora was already standing, crisp and quiet and mannerly, looking at the headmaster with the vague air of someone who was sure something interesting was about to happen, and was prepared to pay proper attention to it. She walked to his side without a word, and didn’t flinch or pull away when he settled his hand on her shoulder.