Miss Mabel's School for Girls (The Network Series #1)(9)

A gasp of shock came from my left, and I turned to see a student raising her hand on the other side of the room. The girl next to her tried to grab her arm and pull it down, but she fought her off, resolute.

I couldn’t help but notice how her hand trembled.

“What is Elana doing?” Camille asked. “She’s lost her mind! Second-years can’t volunteer.”

The room exploded in similar exclamations of surprise. Leda came out of her book to watch, and even Miss Scarlett’s mouth dropped open.

“Elana,” Miss Scarlett finally snapped, recovering. “What are you doing?”

“I-I’m volunteering, Miss Scarlett.” Elana stood up, her small shoulders squared. Priscilla, Jade, and Stephany clumped into conversation together. I could hear their mocking laughter.

“No, you’re not,” Miss Scarlett said. “You’re too young.”

“With all due respect–”

“I said no.”

“But Miss Scarlett–”

“You’re a second-year, Elana. Third-years are the only ones who may enter. I won’t accept you. It’s against the rules.”

Elana’s voice shook.

“Excuse me, but second-years are not excluded from entering. I checked the book.”

She nudged an old tome splayed open on the table with her hand. At Miss Scarlett’s silent nod of command, Miss Celia bustled to Elana’s side and read over her shoulder, turned a few pages, then looked up.

“She’s right,” Miss Celia said. “There’s no specific rule that it only be a third-year.”

Miss Scarlett’s eyes constricted, reminding me of a hawk.

“Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“Y-yes, Miss Scarlett. I attended school here last year. I spoke to the Competitors then. I’ve prepared myself all summer.”

An unreleased denial lingered in Miss Scarlett’s voice. “You really want to do this?”

Elana didn’t falter. “Yes.”

The room seemed to hold its collective breath, waiting for Miss Scarlett to grant or deny permission. My heart pounded beneath my ribcage on Elana’s behalf.

“Very well,” Miss Scarlett said with a tone that clearly said she washed her hands of the consequences. “Enter at your own risk, but know that I don’t like it. Miss Mabel will not change the challenges to make them safe for a second-year.”

Miss Bernadette hesitated, her hand lingering over the parchment. Miss Scarlett nodded to her, and Miss Bernadette slowly started to write, casting a worried glance back to Elana.

Elana lowered herself to her seat and placed her hand on her stomach, her face ashen.

“Anyone else?” Miss Scarlett looked over the third-years.

My father’s voice returned with a less-than-reassuring reminder as to why I was really here.

Mabel does no favors. Be careful, B.

With a deep breath, I raised my hand.





A Bit Mad

A ripple of astonishment moved through the room. Miss Scarlett appeared at my side in what seemed like an instant.

“Follow me.” She yanked me to my feet. “Now.”

We went to the library next door, a warm room filled with shelves and yellowing maps on the wall. Volumes of old books occupied every available slot, tumbling over each other in piles on the floor near a few study tables. Sheets and rolls of parchment were scattered across a few tabletops, along with jars of ink and skinny feathers.

Miss Scarlett pushed me into a dusty chair. It faced a wall with two windows and a low fire that burned in the grate.

Miss Bernadette entered not far behind, closing the door after her. Miss Scarlett circled me like a slow vulture, her back ramrod straight.

“Are you a fool, Bianca Monroe?” Her voice came out in an annoyed burst, each word punctuated with emphasis. “You can’t volunteer for the Competition within your first hour of arriving. It isn’t done.”

Well, it is now.

I remained quiet, certain that anything I had to say would only make her angrier. She continued. Stay calm, I told myself. Miss Mabel is always watching for weakness.

“It’s not safe. It takes years to prepare for something like this. Years! You’re insulting Miss Mabel and the third-years. I hope you know that.”

Her raised eyebrows indicated that she wanted a response. Despite my determination to see this through, I couldn’t help the slight tremor in my voice.

“I-I mean no insult, Miss Scarlett.”

“You couldn’t even know what you’re up against. This Competition is too much for some of our third-years. And now you expect to join. A first-year!”

Miss Bernadette stepped forward.

“Bianca,” she said. “Miss Scarlett is right. You have some explaining to do.”

Yes, but I wouldn’t explain anything, not really. I’d practiced this conversation over and over in my head for months now and knew exactly what I wanted to say.

“What would you like me to explain, Miss Bernadette?”

My hands hurt from clenching and I forced them to relax, grateful to speak with Miss Bernadette instead. Her calm voice had a soothing effect, sweeping over me with a warm breeze that brushed against my cheek.

“Why do you want to compete?”

Keep to the facts. They rarely lie.