Change Of Season (5 page)

“Jesus
what
?” Autumn whispered.

“I’ll explain later,” Veronica replied hurriedly.

Autumn’s gaze took in the timid man shuffling papers at the front of the room, studying the inexpensive navy suit, the haphazard matching tie, and the thick lenses of his glasses.  His deep brown hair was cut rather boyish, with a cowlick that he seemed to push back every thirty seconds, which only accented his lanky build.  He logged into the computer projection system quickly, the mouse clicking rapidly through a series of folders and loading his lecture slides. 

Computer geek
.  Autumn was pretty sure he played some sort of MMORPG online, probably
World of Warcraft
.  She was willing to bet his character was a seductive female.

“Good morning,” he said, with a light accent that was possibly Welsh.  “I am Professor Ross, and I will be guiding you through your grade eleven Mathematics studies.  If you would be so kind as to draw your attention to the syllabus that will be passed around, we’ll review class expectations and the units of study.”

As he pulled a stack of photocopies from his briefcase, Autumn spotted it:  a Bible.  Suddenly, Veronica’s snarky nickname made perfect sense.  She couldn’t resist a giggle as she passed a syllabus to Veronica.

“You saw it?” Veronica winked.  “Check his first name.  It runs in the family.”

Intrigued, Autumn glanced down at the header and promptly forced her palm to her mouth to stifle laughter. 
Matthew Ross
!  Undoubtedly named after the Bible’s own Matthew. 
Wait:  Math-yew?
  It was becoming increasing difficult not to fall out of her seat.

“It even sounds-”

Veronica nodded, adding conspiratorially, “He probably thinks it was his calling.”

A brief gasp of laughter escaped Autumn’s throat and she immediately faked a cough as several pairs of eyes were drawn to her, including those of the chosen disciple of Mathematics.  She murmured an apology and flashed an appropriately contrite look before staring down at her syllabus with feigned focus. 

Beside her, Veronica murmured, “Honey, you’re gonna have to learn to laugh on the inside around me, because I am one funny bitch.”

By the time lunch rolled around, it was apparent that there was no way Autumn would be able to shake Veronica.  The curvaceous blonde immediately sprung up at the end of class and offered to show the way to the dining hall, and from there, she was quickly tucked under her wing.  Between the salad bar, hot food line, and en route to the table at which they were now seated, Veronica had introduced Autumn to at least twenty people – mostly Drama students, although a few “Filmies” were in the mix, as well as a fellow Writing student.  Sarah, who had been in the Creative Writing program for three years, had assured Autumn that Professor St. James was a fun instructor before sliding off with her boyfriend to another table.  It was all too much attention, and Autumn found herself in negotiations with her heart to please
not
make her a teenage cardiac arrest victim, and kindly remove itself from her throat and return to its rightful home in her ribcage. 

Thankfully, Veronica had led them to a tiny table suited for two near the far corner, plunking down her poutine and yogurt parfait before rummaging in her bag and retrieving a Fresca.  Autumn had opted for a chicken Caesar salad and a matching parfait, her stomach too knotted to handle anything heavier.  She was ecstatic to discover that the hall stocked Vitamin Water, and had snatched up the dragon fruit one she enjoyed most.

“You don’t sit with your friends at lunch?” Autumn asked, forcing herself to be social.

“I love my friends,” Veronica began. “But it’s too much noise to sit together.  I need a little less chatter when eating.  Plus, I figured it would be overwhelming for you.  I know on my first day, it was hell.  I got dragged to a table with eight people, and felt like I was going to hurl all over their lunch trays.”

Autumn’s eyes narrowed.  “Are you some sort of alien species?”

Veronica laughed, stabbing into her poutine with a plastic fork.  “Not that I know of.”

Autumn persisted.  “Did the school pay you to socialize me or something?  Seriously, what’s the deal?”

Veronica shrugged, tossing her hair back and twisting it loosely.  “I’m an actress.  I study people.  My favourite movies are the kind that delve deep into the psychological aspects of the characters.  It’s why I’m successful in this program, far more so than some of the bimbos that try it.  I get into a character and become her.”

“You’d be the Nina Sayers of
Black Swan
, if you were in ballet,” Autumn mused.

“Yes!  Oh God, I can only pray to work with Aronofsky someday.  His films are such mindfucks – but speaking of, he would never get into my pants.  But you understand what I mean:  if I were a ballerina, I would go mad playing the lead in that ballet, because I would
be
the swan.”  Taking another bite, Veronica’s brow furrowed.  “Why would you think the school would assign you a friend?  I mean, Casteel can be very
special
at times, but I’ve yet to see that.”

Autumn blushed furiously.  “I don’t know.” 
I thought you were sent to model sanity for the crazy girl, Veronica.  My bad
.

“Well, I’m here of my own volition, so you’re stuck with me until you tell me to fuck off.”  With a wave towards a passing behemoth of a guy, Veronica asked, “So, where are you from?”

“Toronto.  Do you know the city at all?”

Veronica grinned.  “Um, yeah!  I live in Mississauga, but I go downtown a lot.  I’m a theatre junkie, after all.  Whereabouts do you live?”

“The Beach.  We’re super close to Woodbine Beach actually, which is awesome for writing,” Autumn said.  “You know, for all of the money they get for tuition, why haven’t they built a beach into the campus?”

“Sadly, Head Bitch is allergic to shellfish.  She’s afraid we’ll breed an army of prawns,” Veronica replied, feigning sorrow.  “But we do have a wonderful pool, and a swim team full of hotties in Speedos.”

“So I’m not the only one who’s wondering who pisses perpetually in her Special K?” Autumn quipped.

“Ugh, not at all.  I don’t know anyone who will speak positively of her, aside from the alumni board.  The Drama coordinator, Ms. Hurst, cannot
stand
her.  One of the highlights of my week is when she goes on a rant about Logan.  She’s British and blunt; it’s a wonder to behold.  You should come to a practice sometime and help get her started.”

“I’ll think about it,” Autumn acquiesced, busying herself with her salad.

Veronica was growing on her faster than Lindsay Lohan racked up criminal charges.  Glancing around the dining hall, admiring the exposed brick walls and overhead beams, a pang of homesickness struck. 
Who am I kidding?  If I try and go through school alone – without even Miraj to spend time with – I’m going to lose it completely
. 
The voices will have free reign, beyond the darkness
.  The danger she faced remained beyond the gates of Casteel.  If she kept her friendships behind those same gates, no one would ever know she had people to lose…

“You okay?”

Autumn shook her head to clear it, smiling back at Veronica.  “Sorry.  It’s a little disorienting knowing after class I won’t be going home.”

“It takes a couple weeks to get used to.  I remember I used to cry and try and bail for the gates when I first started here.  Of course, I was only twelve, the prime age for running away without a plan.  I didn’t get far.”  Veronica polished off her poutine, moaning in satisfaction.  “My mom’s always worried that I’ll end up with an eating disorder like her because of being in Drama, but there is no way in hell I will
ever
give up my cheese curds and gravy on my fries.  Besides, I
like
having tits and ass, thank you!  Kate Winslet’s not a bone rack and she’s incredibly hot
and
successful.”

Autumn chuckled, shaking her head.  “I love Kate.  I have to ask, though:  do you have ADHD?”

Veronica groaned. “I’m sorry.  I tend to babble when I meet people.  It’s like… I want to get past the getting to know you basics, and just sink into the meat of a friendship.  Hopes, fears, dreams…  Does that make sense?”

Autumn smiled.  “Absolutely.  I always hated that part of school.  My friend Heather, she was like my social butterfly tour guide.  She’d break the ice for me, smooth things out, and I would just kind of fall into whatever group we were with.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this:  Casteel’s like any other school, only we all have money.  That means a greater quota of absolute shitheads.  But you’ve got me to steer you now.  In boarding school, it’s better to have a tight circle than a mob of friends.  At least, as best I can tell.”  Veronica was now digging into her parfait between sips of Fresca.  “Dig out your schedule. I wanna see if we have any other classes together.”

Autumn pulled the timetable from her bag, abandoning the scraps of salad remaining for the fruit and granola atop the parfait.  “Um… I have Social Studies with Kearney and Creative Writing with St. James.”

“Damn!  I’ve got Drama after lunch and finish up with Intro Law.  At least we have Math with Jesus Calculus.”

Autumn giggled.  “You fucking suck, by the way, for making me laugh like an asshole!”

“I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to learn to swallow it down.  I could make jokes about him all day.  I had him last year and he used to read the damn Bible during our tests.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Sadly no,” Veronica continued.  “He once pissed Grant off by babbling about water being a miraculous substance or some crap when covering one of his grade nine Science classes for a sick day.  He’s a nice guy and a fair marker, but he is way too in love with his faith for a secular school.”

“If he starts trying to sell me on algebra being a gift from God, I’m going to tell him where to shove his Bible,” Autumn grumbled.

“Not a fan of the x’s and y’s?  Maybe you’re perfect for boarding school,” Veronica teased, her eyes twinkling.

“I already told my dad to join PFLAG,” Autumn countered.

“Well if you play your cards right, I could be persuaded to be bi-curious for a night,” Veronica replied coyly.

Tossing her hair, Autumn blew Veronica a kiss. 

“I love you,” Veronica declared.  “Meet me for dinner?  You know you want to.”

Autumn winked.  “It’s a date.”

Veronica wove quickly through the dining hall, slamming her garbage and recycling into receptacle as she joined the growing throng of students making their way back to the student grindstone.  With a last mouthful of yogurt, Autumn packed up her belongings and followed suit. 
I can have a friend on campus
, she told herself. 
But we can never be together off campus.  Never.
  She would never be able to live with herself if
he
-

Stop it
.

Autumn sighed then stumbled out into the warmth of midday.  Eventually, Emma was going to try and pry out the secrets of the last year.  Human interaction was too damn exhausting now.  So many stories to keep locked away; so many reasons to curl up and hide.  Toronto was only 50 kilometres away.  She was still caught in the crosshairs. 
Run, little rabbit, run
, she thought bitterly.  She would always be on the run.

***

The afternoon sailed by, likely because both instructors were entertaining and demonstrated signs of humanity.  Professor Kearney, her Social Studies instructor, had quickly covered the course outline before launching into a series of videos that were actually engaging.  One in particular, a talk by Chimimanda Adichie about the danger of creating a single story for a cultural group, was so powerful that half of the first class was spent in passionate discussion.  Adichie, an author from Nigeria, had struck a chord with Autumn as she recounted meeting a reader of her novel who declared it a shame that all African fathers were physically abusive, to which she countered that it was a shame that all young American males were serial killers, as she’d read in
American Psycho
.  It reminded her of a recent debate over a Wall Street Journal Article, in which the columnist had argued that Young Adult fiction was too dark, and in turn, encouraged the teens reading it to cut themselves and so on.  Maureen Johnson, an author from the genre, had rebuked her thoroughly for it, much to Autumn’s delight.  One of the few things she clung to these days was dark literature, because it offered hope.  In stories, the abuser was punished, or the abused found a way to feel joy once more. 

It was this train of thought she carried into Creative Writing, settling into the back of the room as Professor St. James sorted his papers at the front of the room.  Immediately, Autumn liked him:  he wore no tie, his top buttons open on his black dress shirt and his khakis dusted with chalk near his pockets.  With his unkempt mahogany hair and full beard, he resembled a mad scientist of sorts.  Barely within earshot, she heard another student comment that he had eleven short story collections published, and that one was recently optioned by Miramax for a film.