The Merciless II (5 page)

“I don't know. I'm here on scholarship,” I say. “If I get expelled—”

“You won't get expelled,” Leena cuts in. “They haven't expelled anyone in years.”

“That's right,” Sutton adds, flashing me a wolfish grin. She lowers her voice, making it sound creepy. “Once you're at St. Mary's, you
never
escape.”

“Really?” I laugh nervously. Wind creeps in through the open window, raising goose bumps on my arms. I shiver and Sutton's smile softens.

“Sofia, I'm kidding,” she says. “Seriously, don't look so freaked. This place is totally normal. No worse than any other crappy school I've been to.”

“Of course.” I force my lips into a smile, and push myself out of bed. “It's getting a little cold. Do you mind if I close this?”

I nod at the window. Sutton and Leena both shrug, so I cross the room and push aside the curtains. Something catches my eye.

Three long gouges claw across the windowsill. I frown and run a finger over them, feeling the grooves' sharp edges, the tiny splinters sticking out of the wood. They
look like they were made by fingernails. Like someone tried to claw her way out of this place.

• • •

I lay awake that night, Sutton's words running through my head.

Once you're at St. Mary's, you never escape
.

Goose bumps crawl up my skin. The claw marks on the windowsill flash through my head, and I roll onto my side, mattress springs creaking beneath me. If Mom were here, she'd tell me to stop obsessing. Sutton was joking. I'm letting fear control me.

A tear crawls down my cheek. I find my thumb in the dark and tug at a piece of skin near the nail. I can't keep doing this. I'll never fit in if my roommates wake up and hear me crying about my dead mom.

“Go to sleep,” I whisper to myself. Heathcliff hops back and forth, paws crunching on the shredded newspaper lining the bottom of his cage. I pull my pillow over my head to block him out. The faint scent of rabbit piss hangs in the air, making me feel sick.

Leena shifts in bed. Sutton releases a light snore and mutters something under her breath. They've both been asleep for hours. It's like they don't hear the bunny rustling around in its cage. They don't see the way its red eyes seem to glow in the dark.

I stare at the back of Leena's head. If anyone should
be kept awake by the bunny, it should be her. He's her little bun-bun, after all. But Leena fell asleep almost as soon as she crawled into bed. Right after her nightly phone call with her mom.

Jealousy is like a cancer in your bones,
I remind myself. I squeeze my eyes shut. Mom would tell me to find the silver lining. Don't let jealousy consume me.

A minute passes. Heathcliff starts drinking from his water dispenser. There's a tiny silver ball lodged in the spigot to keep the water from rushing out all at once. When Heathcliff licks it, the metal ball hits the side of the spigot, making a kind of wet, clicking sound.

Click click click
. Pause.
Click click click
.

It reminds me, strangely, of my grandmother's rosary beads clicking against her table. I think of her sunken face, her bloodshot eyes, and raspy voice.
Diablo,
she called me.
Devil
. But I'm not evil. Dr. Keller told me I'm not. Brooklyn was wrong.

Click click click.

The sound haunts my dreams long after I drift off to sleep.

I
wake the next morning to the sounds of someone shuffling around the room.

“Get up, sleepy,” Leena says. I roll over, groaning. Heathcliff kept me up most of the night. I'd be surprised if I got more than an hour of sleep.

Leena's piled her black hair on top of her head in a messy bun. She pulls on a fuzzy robe covered in giant yellow lemons. I stare at it and instantly hear my mother's voice.
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade
. I smile sadly. I always hated when she said that, but I'd give anything to hear her say it again.

“Mass is in a half an hour,” Leena says, filling Heathcliff's food bowl with tiny brown pellets.

“What time is it?” I mutter, pushing myself up. I didn't bother unpacking last night. I reach for the duffel bag and dig around for my toiletry case. Leena loads bottles of shampoo and body wash into a plastic shower caddy.

“Just after six,” she says. She picks up a can of raspberry-scented shaving cream, shakes it, then tosses it into the trash can next to her dresser. “Sutton's already in line for the shower. I told her we'd meet her. Hurry, hurry!”

Make lemonade,
I tell myself. I slip on a pair of brand-new flip-flops that I bought for the showers, grab my towel, and follow Leena out of our room. The line for the bathroom stretches all the way down the hall.

“You've got to get up early to get in a good shower,” Leena says as we take our place next to Sutton at the end of the line. “But Sutton was too busy sexting her boyfriend this morning and forgot to wake me up.” She shoots Sutton an annoyed look.

Sutton giggles. “What can I say? I've got to keep things interesting.”

“You have a cell phone?” I ask. Wanda told me that they weren't allowed and made me put mine in storage. Sutton presses a finger to her lips.

“A
secret
cell phone,” she whispers. “Shhh.”

I glance around, but the other girls aren't paying attention to us. I expected to hear talking and giggling as we wait in line, but the St. Mary's girls seem different. Strange, even. They're quiet, and the circles under their eyes tell me I'm not the only one who didn't get much sleep last night.

Father Marcus's voice echoes through my head.
We do not suffer defiance
.

I turn back to Sutton, careful to keep my voice low. “What did you send him?” I ask.

Sutton tightens the belt on her bathrobe. “Nothing crazy,” she says, eyes wide and innocent. “Just a shot of me and my two besties.”

I frown. “Are you talking about us?” I ask. Leena groans and pulls me closer.

“She's talking about her
boobs
,” she whispers into my ear.

Sutton bursts into laughter. “You're just jealous,” she says, pushing her cleavage together.

We're running late by the time we finally leave the dormitories and head through the wooded grounds to the chapel. Every girl in St. Mary's has on the same uniform: blue jacket, plaid skirt, white polo, and stiff saddle shoes. Leena dresses her outfit up with dangly beaded earrings, and Sutton folds her waistband over twice, leaving two inches of skin between the bottom of
her skirt and the top of her knees. As she races to the chapel, her skirt twists in the cool autumn wind and I notice that she has deep scratches crisscrossing her knees and thighs.

“It's not some crazy sex thing,” she says when she catches me looking. “I'm on the varsity field hockey team this year.” She winks. “Don't look so scandalized.”

Leena and Sutton hurry ahead of me, easily picking their way past rocks and gnarled tree roots. I move slower, stumbling over twigs and catching my heavy skirt on the bushes and branches that line the path. The grounds are beautiful but overgrown, the dirt paths crowded with weeds and pebbles. St. Mary's girls flit through the trees around me like strange exotic birds. I see them from the corners of my eyes—a bare leg, a lock of blonde hair, or a spot of blue plaid—but they're gone by the time I turn my head.

Sutton grabs my arm and tugs. She's strong for someone so tiny, and I stumble forward a few feet. “Come
on
. If we're late, we miss the altar boys and they're the best part.”

“You don't want to be late to your first Mass,” Leena adds ominously. She shakes her head for emphasis, and her dangly earrings knock against the sides of her face.

I force my feet to move faster, ignoring the sharp pebbles piercing the soles of my shoes, and the whip-thin
sticks slicing at my bare ankles. The chapel sits just ahead, its whitewashed walls slightly yellow in the early morning light. Church bells peal through the air. A crow leaps from a nearby tree, cawing.

Sutton, Leena, and I slip through the heavy doors. A second later, a cute guy wearing a white robe pulls the doors shut with a thud.

“Just made it,” Sutton whispers, smiling at the altar boy. Leena pushes her forward.

“You have a boyfriend,” she reminds her in a loud whisper.

“I might not be planning to buy, but that doesn't mean I can't check out the merchandise,” Sutton says, glancing over her shoulder. The boy keeps his gaze focused dead ahead, like he's some handsome Roman statue.

Most of the pews are already full, so we head to the front of the chapel. Sutton and Leena kneel next to the very first pew, cross themselves, and then slide down the row to make room for me. I copy their movements, even though it feels strange to cross myself. I can't shake the feeling that everyone's watching me, waiting for me to mess up.

Leena and Sutton kneel on the floor of the pew, resting their clenched hands on the back of the row in front of us. They close their eyes and bow their heads. I mimic them, but I keep my eyes open a slit so I can see
what's happening. I've never been to a service like this before—my mom hated church.

The room is small and bare. Wooden pews stretch across the floor, surrounded by empty white walls. A small oil painting of the Virgin Mary hangs from the wall behind the altar. The stained glass windows are the only other decorations.

An altar boy pulls the heavy curtains behind the altar open and ties them to the side with thick rope. Another boy wearing white robes walks into the chapel. He carries an ornate golden cross. Two more file in behind him, each holding a single lit candle. I study them until I notice that everyone else still has their eyes closed. I snap mine shut and clench my hands tighter.

I hear more movement at the front of the chapel, but I resist the urge to open my eyes. A heavy smell floats through the air, clouding my head with strange spices, vanilla, and smoke.

Silence fills the room. There must be a hundred other students in the chapel with us, but no one coughs or whispers or laughs. Beside me, Leena seems to be holding her breath.

“Peace be with you,” Father Marcus says in a deep, gravelly voice.

“And also with you,” the students around me recite, their voices merging into one.

Leena touches me on the shoulder and my eyes flicker open. Everyone else has already opened their eyes and taken their seats. Even Leena and Sutton have slid, silently, back into the pew. I'm the only one in the entire chapel still kneeling.

My palms sweaty, I take my seat on the pew next to Leena. It's like I'm in the middle of a complicated dance, only no one taught me the steps.

Father Marcus stands at the front of the room, surrounded by a small army of altar boys in white robes. Father Marcus wears a wine-colored robe, gold thread glinting from the hems of his sleeves. Another altar boy stands beside him, clutching a heavy, leather-bound Bible in his hands.

“And now, a reading,” Father Marcus announces. The altar boy hands Father Marcus the Bible. He's taller than the priest and he has to bend over to hand him the Bible. I wonder if he's a student from the boys' school. Or maybe he's Father Marcus's apprentice—like a priest in training?

“Please turn your Bibles to John, chapter two, verse fifteen,” Father Marcus says.

Everyone around me reaches for the Bibles hanging from the shelves on the back of the rows in front of us, but I'm distracted by the altar boy. He hovers just behind Father Marcus, his face all hard lines and sharp angles.
He looks like he was carved from stone. Shadows pool in the dips and curves of his skin, elongating his nose and chin, and making his eyes look deeper than they should. A small wooden cross hangs from a leather cord around his neck. He rubs it with his thumb while Father Marcus speaks.

“Sofia,” Leena whispers, poking me in the ribs. She has her Bible spread out between us, offering to share. I tear my eyes away from the altar boy and try to follow along.

“For everything in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life,”
Father Marcus reads,
“comes not from the Father, but from the world.”

Father Marcus looks up from his Bible and stares over our heads with a glassy, unfocused look. He lets the silence hang. Then he licks his thin lips and turns the page, the sound echoing off the walls.

“The lust of the eyes comes
not
from the Father, but from the
world
,” he repeats, louder this time. “Here, John is warning you about beauty and lust and
sex
—”

Sutton giggles. She tries to cover it with a cough, but she's too late. Father Marcus fixes his gaze on her, fury etched across his ancient face. Sutton stares at her knees, her face going pale. The energy in the room changes. Students shift in their pews. No one dares to make a noise.

Father Marcus clears his throat and tears his eyes away from Sutton. “John is warning you that these things were created not by God, but by the world. To
tempt
you. Desire is a temptation. Want of any kind is a temptation.
Do not love the world, or anything in the world
, John writes.
If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in them
.”

I glance away from Father Marcus at the same moment that the altar boy turns toward the audience. His eyes lock on mine.

Shaggy black hair hangs over his forehead and ears, just past needing a haircut. Two thick eyebrows arc over his eyes, giving him the look of someone who's always on the verge of laughing.

I don't realize I've stopped breathing until the air around me turns hazy. Sutton was right. The altar boys here are
hot.
The boy cocks one of his amazing eyebrows. It changes his entire face. Now he looks boy-next-door cute. The kind of guy who teases you when he likes you.

“Leena,” I whisper. She glances up from her Bible. I nod at the altar boy. “Who's that?”

“Oh.” Leena reddens and glances down at her lap, a smile twisting her lips. “That's Jude, the guy I was telling you about. I think I just caught him looking at me. Did you see?”