Change Of Season (8 page)

“That’s what your parents pay the big bucks for,” Emma replied lightly.  “I’ll see you next week.”

The walls seemed to shift inward, the bookshelf looming over her, threatening to spill out onto her head.  It was impossible, but even the shadows cast upon the ground distorted.  With a whimper, Autumn snatched up her belongings and rushed from the room, slamming the door viciously behind her.  Her feet carried her briskly down the corridor, bag slapping her thigh abruptly, as she ordered herself to breathe. 
In and out and in and out and shit and out and in and hell!
  She was scarcely aware of the receptionist wishing her a good day, her sights locked on the overcast day just beyond the ornate double doors.  She nearly tripped as she threw the door open, dragging a breath deep into her lungs, pressing her ribs out to make space, to engulf every last molecule of oxygen in her wake.

Better.  Quieter. 

Chest heaving, she closed her eyes, picturing the beach near her home.  The boardwalk, rickety and uneven, a source of stubbed toes in sandaled feet for years… The water, waves lashing the white sand…  The alcove, the shaded area of rocks overlooking the lake.  She missed it, missed the ebb and flow of life. 
Ninety days… except Thanksgiving
.  It seemed a lifetime away.

***

The afternoon left Autumn struggling to focus on the class discussion in Creative Writing, the gears grinding as she plotted how to protect her secrets.  No one would understand, not even Emma.  It was her burden to bear, and she would carry it dutifully.  The noisy din of students drifted in and out of her consciousness as
he
began talking, as
she
ominously spoke up as well.  Words and sentences fused into fragments of a new language – the language of her racing heart.

You have to listen to me.  There’s – “...
a correlation between character development and establishing setting
.”
WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? WHY ARE YOU – “...
writing me a scene observed this weekend, approximately 500 words in which
–“ Boys are worthless bastards, anyway, so why care?  Autumn, you don’t look well – be silent – I heard he’s dying of cancer and she will – “
S
ee you on Monday
.”

A rustling of papers and sliding chairs jarred Autumn from her torment, and she sighed, kicking her own shin. 
Lost time. 
How much had she lost?  Glancing down at her barren page, she knew the entire class had fallen into the vapour.  Packing up her books, she meekly approached the front of the class, where Professor St. James stood, arms akimbo.  His eyes narrowed, boring a hole in her skull, and she felt naked, exposed as she had been in Emma’s office.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked softly.

Autumn shook her head.  “I have a headache.” The bile rose in her throat, the taste of the lie lingering upon her guilty tongue.  “Could you go over the homework assignment again?  I kinda drifted off.”

“Of course.  500 words describing a scene you observe this weekend.  It can be anything you want, even a family dinner, as long as you capture both the characters and the scene itself.”

“I stay on campus,” she mumbled.

“Then I suggest watching, perhaps, as the locals depart, or return,” the professor offered, smiling.  “I’m sure something will catch your eye.  And next time you feel ill, just let me know.  You could have gone to the nurse instead of suffering here.”

Autumn flushed, embarrassed and indignant.  “Your class is never torture.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.  You’ve already mastered feeding the professor’s ego.”  St. James chuckled, winking as he gathered his papers and books.  “Us writers are needy, after all.  Precious, even.”

“Better be careful:  if you were full of any more hot air, you’d float away,” Autumn joked weakly.

“I knew I bought these cement insoles for my shoes for a reason!”  With a nod, he headed for the door, holding it open for her.  Quietly, he said, “If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”

Autumn nodded, her voice lodged beneath the lump in her throat, before rushing out into the hallway.  More talking.  More people wanting to listen. 
Why, damn it?  I’m not important!  I’m not here.  Ignore me!
  Stomping down the stairs and out into the courtyard, she pushed through a loitering group of students – sixth graders at best – and wandered down the side streettowards the main figure-eight of campus road.  The leaves of the maples trees lining the sidewalks were just starting to turn, hints of crimson streaking across the lush emerald.  Her breaths were measured in footsteps, ballet flats slapping in a staccato.

I need control.  I need to find it again
. 

The junior dormitories sprung into view, throngs of students milling about the main entryway to what the simple sign declared was MacDonald Hall.  Several students fired Super Soakers, marring the once pristine and pressed blouses of several female students, all of them blossoming into early puberty. and none minding the attention.

Mating season has begun
, Autumn thought in exasperation.

Drawing closer, her gaze fell upon a lanky girl, curled up beneath an oak tree perhaps twenty feet away.  In her hands was a book – hardcover, no jacket – but as avid a reader as she might have been, it was not what she concerned herself with.

The girl was staring, longingly, at the water fight, peering over the tilted tome in her palms.  Her fingertips grazed her scant bosom as she watched her classmates laugh and squeal, her body trembling as if she were swallowing tears.  It reminded Autumn of her early teens, back when Heather had sprung a B cup by eleven, becoming the object of every boy’s lusty affections.  Although Autumn had eventually caught up and found herself a solid C cup by fifteen, she was still that insecure twelve year-old, standing on the sidelines, waiting to be asked to dance.

Her hands fumbled wildly in her bag as she continued to study the lonely girl beneath the oak, a triumphant hum slipping through her pursed lips as she found her journal and pen.  Eyes flashing wildly, Autumn found a bench five feet away, wrought iron and stained wood awaiting her as she threw down her bag and sat cross-legged.  Tying back her red locks into a messy bun, she scribbled wildly, colours and sounds colliding in a mess of metaphor and half-assed ink sketches on a page.

Finally, peace.

***

It was minutes past midnight when Autumn, weary of streaming old TV shows on Netflix, decided it was time for her first exploration of her secret passage beneath the Theatre and Media Studies building.  Between bursts of writing and drumming along with her playlist of 90s Grunge bands, a good three quarters of the students in her dorm had bailed for the weekend, some heading home and some tagging along as invited guests.  Veronica had knocked on her door before departing, somewhat puzzled by Autumn remaining on campus, but mercifully, she didn’t pry.  It was one of Veronica’s best attributes: she knew when to abandon a subject.  Her hug goodbye, full of warmth and a faint citrus scent, had stunned Autumn, but it was her own tight return embrace that was more startling.  She’d known this girl a week.  Why did she care so much already?

Maybe she’d contemplate it over the joint Veronica had left behind.  “Your welcome wagon gift from Casteel!” Veronica had giggled, slipping the candy box into Autumn’s desk drawer.  It was now buried beneath several layers of photos and tucked amongst her incense burner oils – a trick she’d learned from Miraj.

Autumn bit her lip as she zipped her hoodie, tucking a small flashlight into the pocket.  She missed Miraj terribly.  She was always the one who knew what to do.  She would know how to handle Dr. Stieg, or even Veronica’s persistent friendship.  She’d also enjoy Veronica’s little gift.  Her emails had gone unanswered, but this was nothing new. Miraj’s parents took away her internet access on a regular basis, usually as punishment for the mischief the two of them had indulged in all summer.

The hallway was shadowed, pale yellow safety lights scarcely illuminating the doors dotting the walls.  Thankful for the WD-40 she’d snagged from a friendly maintenance man, claiming her door was ‘sticking’, she swung it open soundlessly, gently closing it behind her with the faintest
click
.  Her heart pounded as she spun each way, listening for a dorm monitor or nosy students, but the only sound was the faint droning of classical music from the room across the hall.  Holding her key steady, she secured her room and tiptoed steadily towards the stairwell ten feet away, blessing her worn sneakers for their smooth, quiet soles. 

Success.

She took the steps quickly but gently, planting only her toes as she killed the six short flights in haste.  Her manic energy had engaged now, months of scant sleep having taken their toll on any patience she once possessed.  The silence comforted her – she was almost free, almost outside.  With a gentle push, she slipped out into the darkness, her eyes squinting in the faint light of a waning moon as she located the convenient stone she’d found earlier that week.  Although she had her FOB with her just in case, it was traceable, and its use after hours would surely arouse the suspicions of Headmistress Logan, the almighty bitch of Casteel.  The steel door lay nearly flush with it in place, and Autumn thanked the genius student who’d discovered it.

Now, the hard part
.

There was no way she could cross the quad and not risk exposure: there were few trees, and far too many lights cast beams along the lush grass.  On one hand, it spoke to a desire for campus safety; on the other hand, it was a pain in Autumn’s ass.  She’d have to take a long route to avoid streetlamps, hugging the trees between Ashbury and the Senior Academics building and from there, looping around behind the Dining hall and then scurrying in a mad dash towards the service entryway.  A three-minute jog in daylight was now a ten-minute skulking mission, but it was worth it.  At least, Autumn hoped it would be.

Aside from a burst of laughter startling her as she dashed from the Dining hall to the theatre, her trek was uneventful and a complete success.  With so many students returning home on weekends, it seemed that the staff relaxed their stranglehold on routines on Fridays, not willing to be troubled on a night off.  When her limbs twitched and flailed on restless nights, she would have an escape, just like home.  She would just have to be vigilant.

Her fingers closed around the handle of the door just as a firm hand gripped her shoulder.  A scream lodged in her throat as she was spun around, her eyes widening in recognition.

“M-Miraj?”

A pale finger pressed to ruby red lips as the statuesque teen nodded, winking playfully.  Her jet black hair, cut in a sharply angled bob, was streaked green, her white halter top and skinny jeans accenting what Miraj called her favourite weapons.  Stunned, Autumn shook her head to clear it. 
She isn’t here.  How can she be here?!
  Her friend rolled her eyes, gesturing to the door.

“Well?” she whispered.

“Shit!” Autumn mumbled, tugging it open.

They slipped inside, the door falling closed completely before Autumn dared flip the switch on her light.  When she did, she found her friend chuckling silently, shaking her head.

“Miraj!  How in the hell-”

“You emailed me, dumb ass.   Remember?  I figured if you were locked down, I’d slip in for a conjugal visit.”  Miraj grinned, leaning against the wall.  “Surprise!”

“How did you get here?  Aren’t your parents pissed?”

Miraj shrugged. “I got fed up.  I ran away a few days ago.  Found a job at this tiny diner in Mississauga already.”

Autumn frowned.  “But where will you stay?  And what about school?”

Miraj rolled her eyes.  “It’s covered, Red.  Now, can we get moving?  I didn’t come all the way out here to stare at five stairs and a grungy door.  What’s in here, anyway?”

“Best I can tell, a service corridor that will take us up into the theatre.  That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Autumn explained, descending gingerly.  “How’d you find me?”

“Good timing. I was looking for a place to squat for the night, figuring I’d ask around in the morning and find you.  Your hair is pretty vibrant in moonlight.”

“Fuck,” Autumn spat, pulling open the door before them.  “Should have worn the hood up.”

“Yep.  Good thing I’m here to refresh your memory on the tricks of our trade, huh?” Miraj teased.  Stepping into the tunnels, she whistled low.  “Well!  This is going to be an adventure.”

“I can’t sleep.  I have time.” 

“She never sleeps,” Miraj hissed, winking at her reference to
The Ring
.

“Shut up before I make you watch my favourite home movie.”

Autumn swung the light each way, studying the tunnels.  The right tunnel seemed to extend at least fifty feet down, its walls lined with pipes and what was most definitely mildew.  The left tunnel, also fairly disgusting, seemed to have a right turn shortly ahead – which would take them further beneath the theatre.
Evil goes left, again
.

“This way?” Autumn asked softly.

“Agreed,” Miraj replied, marching forward fearlessly. 

Autumn’s eyes adjusted quickly to the dimly lit surroundings, taking in pipes misted in condensation, a series of wires that might be telephone-related, and a door marked as an electrical closet.  The right turn led to a series of short and branching tunnels, some sort of grid pattern she couldn’t decipher.  Her light moved side to side, her steps growing more hesitant.