Chương 33: Chapter 32 - Treating the Burn

The head chef was a lovely, energetic, middle-aged woman who couldn't have been more excited to find another female hanging around the place. When she heard my voice, she stopped what she was doing, even though she and her assistants were slaving away to make sure dinner was ready on time, and came over to greet me. The boys' presence was accepted without comment, despite the fact they weren't supposed to be there. Was there anything she could do for me? Anything at all, love?

I started out by thanking her for all the hard work she put into the food. That cemented our eternal bond of sisterhood. Then I asked if she had a first-aid kit I could use. She did, and she didn't ask why I came to her instead of Norris. She took us to the staff room off the main kitchen and pointed out the first-aid kit. There was a sink in the room she said I could use to wash up. I thanked her. The boys thanked her.

"And may I say," Wes declared, "your apple crumble is always a treat."

"Oh!" Her eyes went to me.

"We have a charmer here, don't we?"

"I'm afraid it's a pretty bad case," I admitted.

"We think it's terminal," Scott added. The cook returned to work. I had Eric take off his shirt and start running some cool water over the burn. Wes dragged over a chair so Eric could kneel on the seat rather than stand the whole time. I put the first-aid kit down on the table in the center of the room and opened it. It was fully stocked, and it even had some hydrogel pads.

"Nice!" I said, pulling out the largest one. Scott was beside me, poking around the kit.

"How come you know so much about treating burns?" he asked. His question ran a hand over the still water of my emotions. Ripples washed up against old wounds, making them vibrate. How old had I been? Six? Seven? I had no idea. I tried so hard to forget those years, the only memories left were scraps. I remembered how large the pot looked in my small hands, humming and talking to myself in the empty apartment, struggling with the weight of the water.

It didn't help that I tried to put off cooking until I was almost faint from hunger. I remembered being slightly afraid of the kitchen. That made sense, considering how often I managed to hurt myself there.

"I cooked a lot as a child." I tried to make it sound offhand.

"I've had more than my fair share of burns." After ten minutes of rinsing the burn, Eric said he was done—no, he wouldn't do twenty minutes, I could glare all I wanted. I wondered what real doctors did with stubborn patients. Since I wasn't a real doctor, I decided not to fight him. I patted the burn dry and read the instructions printed on the back of the hydrogel's package.

"Thank you for stopping the fight," Wes said. I glanced up. He was probably trying to look casual, but his crossed arms were a little too stiff, and he wouldn't look at me.

"I thought that you psychics could get away with anything," I teased. My attempt to lighten the mood didn't merely fail—it backfired. Wes frowned and turned away. Scott shook his head, and Dustin's normally stoic expression took on an edge of frustration and sadness. My eyes moved between them, trying to figure out what was wrong. Eric said, "It's me." His voice was hard and loud, like he was trying to sound tough.

"They aren't saying it, but it's me. I'm the one that would have gotten in trouble."

"You think Wuller would have kicked you out?" I asked.

"I would have been sent back to the institution." I thought I knew, but I asked anyway: "What kind of institution?"

"A borstal. It's—it's a prison. For kids."

"Ah." I positioned the moist side of the pad over the burn and gently pressed it against Eric's skin. He didn't even wince. I hummed, then said, "You strike me as a fighter. Am I right? They'll call it assault, of course." I removed the top liner and picked up a roll of cohesive wrap to cover the pad. When I turned back, Eric was watching me, a slight smile on his face.

"Yeah," he said.

"Those people you beat up—did they deserve it?" His smile disappeared.

"Some of them. The rest of them were other fighters."

"That's okay. I know how that goes."

"You ' know how that goes?'" Scott echoed. Being intent on my work meant my answer came slow.

"Sometimes life makes you want to scream, and kick, and fight. When you meet other fighters, you fight." I stopped long enough to wink at Eric.

"It's as natural as falling in love." Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. He let out a huff of laughter.

"That's it. Exactly."

"Were you in a gang, or were you freelance?"

"Eric? In a gang?" Scott smiled.

"Who'd put up with him?"

"He's in our gang, isn't he?" Dustin said, adding his smile to the collection. Eric put his hand to his head.

"Oh god. I've joined the lamest gang in the world." Wes dropped a hand on his shoulder.

"And you'll never escape."

"Emerra," Scott said, "you don't seem all that…" He moved his hands around, trying to shape the right word.

"…surprised. Did you know?"

"Come on, guys. Give me some credit." I finished wrapping the pad, snipped off the roll, and mushed the end against the rest of the bandage.

"Ivers called him a last-chance boy, and I've been warned that some of the students here have interesting backgrounds."

"Only some of us?" Wes said.

"I thought it was most of us," Eric said as he put his shirt back on. I started packing up the kit and gathering up the scraps.

"I take it an institution sent you here?"

"If I stay out of trouble and keep my grades up, they'll count my time here as part of my sentence. After a review, I'll be free when I'm eighteen."

"How's that going?"

"It'd be easier without Ivers around." I shut the kit, straightened up, and put my hand on his arm.

"You did good, Eric. I was watching. I saw you holding back. That was impressive—especially considering what Ivers did."

"I shouldn't have lost my temper with Allen."

"That's fair. But losing your temper is one of those forgivable mistakes." We returned the first-aid kit to the cook with another helping of gratitude, then headed to the dorms. The boys needed to change before dinner. Eric walked beside me. As we passed through the dining room, he said, "Are you a fighter?" I scoffed.

"Not me. I'm more of a crier. But I've known a few fighters. They were kind enough to explain it to me."

"It sounds like you had some interesting friends," Scott observed. Were we really talking about my past twice in one day? I felt like I was in the cross-hairs of a long-range weapon. Maybe if I didn't move… But that never worked. I shrugged.

"I went to a bunch of different schools, so I met a lot of people. You start chatting to the person in the seat beside you, and the next thing you know, you've learned everything you ever wanted to know about worm farms." Scott bumped against Wes.

"She's a school hopper! Just like you!"

"I'm not—" Wes sighed.

"I'm not a school hopper."

"You had four different secondary schools," Eric said.

"Is that like a high school?" I asked Dustin.

"It's hard to compare them," he said.

"Our system's more complex, and it's worse with Wes because he went to several different kinds of schools for his secondary years."

"That's right!" Scott pointed at Wes.

"You started out at a public school, didn't you?" He said it so accusingly, I felt myself grow defensive.

"I went to a public school," I said. Scott, Wes, and Eric turned to look at me. Their expressions were a weird mix of awe, surprise, and confusion. Dustin chuckled.

"What am I missing?" I asked.

"You've got it wrong." Dustin nodded to his friends.

"When they say 'public,' you need to think 'private.'" To them, he said, "Public schools in America are the state-funded schools that most kids go to." I turned to Wes, "You went to one of those fancy schools?"

"It wasn't fancy," Wes said.

"It was one of the new ones. It was supposed to turn out brilliant mathematicians and scientists, and I only got in because of my dad's connections."

"And how long did that last?" Dustin said with a smirk.

"I was asked to leave after two terms. They thought I would be 'happier elsewhere.'" Wes sounded almost proud of the fact.

"You flunked out, didn't you?" I said.

"That's a very American way of putting it, but yes. After that, my old man kept moving me from one boarding school to another, trying to find one where I wouldn't fail every class. He threatened to send me here if I didn't get my act together."

"And here you are," I said, my voice full of admiration.

"Never bend in a battle of wills!"

"Did your father teach you that?"

"He did, actually." Wes grinned.

"You'd think a man as smart as him would have seen the problem with teaching that to his son."

"But I thought you said you liked it here."

"I do, and we must never, under any circumstances, let my dad know." I looked around Wes so I could see Scott.

"What about you?" The cutie brushed his nose with his finger and murmured, "Uh, I'm here for my mum."

"How so?"

"She's single, so she works a lot, and I needed a little extra help preparing for my exams—""Only a little?" Wes teased. Scott said, "I'd take that from anyone but you." He turned back to me.

"She thought a boarding school might help."

"Did it?" I asked. His face morphed through a few expressions before settling on a mix between pleased and puzzled.

"I guess? It used to be, when I got home from school, I'd jump online and do nothing but play games. You can't do that here. It freed up a lot of time for studying." He added a skip to his next step.

"I got my GCSEs! Thank you, Dustin!" Dustin's cheek pulled back in a slight smile, but he didn't say anything.

"What about you, Dustin?" I asked. Eric's, Wes's, and Scott's footsteps slowed. Their expressions grew serious. Dustin shrugged. I said, "Weren't you at one of those fancy schools that teach Greek and Latin?"

"I was." His voice was quiet.

"I couldn't handle it." My head flinched back as I tried to process that idea.

"You mean the studying?"

"Those schools are a lot of pressure," Scott said.

"They'll crush you," Wes added.

"Everyone has to be the best." My eyes moved from them, to Dustin. Based on how quickly and forcefully they'd spoken, and how red Dustin's cheeks were, I assumed there was more to the story, but he didn't want to talk about it. I could one hundred percent empathize with that feeling.

"Okay," I said.

"How did you wind up at Setlan on Lee?"

"My parents wanted me to try it."

"Do you like it better here?" He shrugged again.

"You love it here," Wes insisted. Scott threw his skinny arms around Dustin's entire chest, capturing at least one arm in the process.

"You have to love it here! What would we do without you?"

"All right! I love it here! God, just— stop." He had to pry Scott's arms off, but he smiled as he did. Eric laughed. We reached the great hall. The boys were headed for the back wing, and since I was up the stairs, that meant we'd have to part ways until dinner. I turned to wave goodbye but froze as my eyes were drawn down the hall. The clouds outside were thick enough, I could see a dim reflection in the huge window at the far end of the hall. I started toward the window. The boys must have followed me.

I heard their voices behind me, but I didn't look away from the window to check.

"Is she allowed to be here?" Scott asked.

"You think I know?" Eric said. The darkness. The two lines of doors broken up by the repeating stone arches. Wes said over my shoulder, "Um, Emerra, these are the dorms."

"I know this hall," I said, walking faster. There were rugs, but the floor under them was the same.

"Is she going to have another panic attack?" Scott asked.

"Shut up, Scott," Eric grumbled.

"Are you sure you know this hall?" Wes asked.

"It's not like I'd ever say anything, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be here." I was close enough now, I could see her. My pace slowed. I kept my head high as I finished walking toward the window. I stopped seven feet away and stared. There was a woman in the window. Me. My reflection. It was different from the woman I had seen before—she had hair, and I was wearing clothes—but our imperfect reflections had enough in common, I recognized the scene. This was the window from my dream.

This was the exact same hall.

"Emerra?" Dustin said.

"What is going on here?" I whispered.