Winter's Tale Read Free Page B

class.”
    December refrained from pointing out that if
she decided to ditch, no force on earth could compel her
differently. “That’s . . . decent of you,” she said, surprised that
she meant it.
    “ Decent is my middle name,” Miss
Westin said dryly.
    Her tone was odd, as if she didn’t like this
quality in herself.
    “Well,” December said, not knowing how to
respond. “Thank you for understanding.”
    Miss Westin waved her away and returned to
her papers. Knowing she was dismissed, December began to leave. At
the last moment, she turned back impulsively. “Miss Westin?”
    “Yes?” the woman said, swiveling back to
her.
    “Do you know much about the graveyard behind
the school?”
    “The graveyard.” Miss Westin’s face settled
into pinched disapproval.
    “It seems . . . very colorful. And the
statuary is interesting.”
    Miss Westin leaned back in her chair,
steepling her hands as if December had amused her. Skinny or not,
as she crossed her legs at the knee, December noted her calves were
world class.
    “So,” the teacher said, her lips curved in a
faint smile. “You’re going to be one of those.”
    “One of those?”
    “The girls who fall for our naked statue.
He’s quite the rock star around here.”
    December’s cheeks felt hotter than normal.
“Do you know who he is?” she asked stubbornly.
    Miss Westin didn’t quite pull off her Gallic
shrug. “As far as I’m aware, no one knows anything about him. Lots
of girls call him Hans, but whether that’s actually his name, I
couldn’t say.”
    December was abruptly certain the teacher
could. She could tell if adults were lying almost as easily as she
knew when her peers were. “Are there histories of the school I
could check?”
    Miss Westin’s eyes iced over. “Mrs. Blake
would know. She’s the librarian.”
    December nodded and left for the second time.
As she stepped into the hall, her knees didn’t want to move
smoothly. She realized she must have locked them against
shaking.
    They’d steadied by the time she took a seat
at the back of her first class. This was a prep course for college
qualifying tests. Parents probably liked that Rackham offered it,
but she didn’t see the point. Minds were meant to think . If
all a school trained students in was how to take exams, it might as
well close up shop.
    Nina and her crew seemed to view the class’s
mission as life and death. They clustered in the front row, knees
pressed prissily together as they peppered the young instructor
with questions. No doubt they hoped to trade this humiliating
educational backwater for a spot in the Ivy League.
    December had no clue what her scholarly
future held—or even if she had one. She suspected she could go Ivy
if she wanted, despite her inability to last in one place. As long
as the school was prestigious, her parents would pony up. And
teachers seemed to enjoy bemoaning the gap between her potential
and performance. If you’d just apply yourself, they’d say, you
could be something . They didn’t
understand that until December knew what she wanted, applying
herself to things that didn’t naturally interest her was
impossible.
    Her head now weighing a ton with boredom, she
laid it on the desk. If she didn’t decide on a career path, she
could try being a cat burglar. She’d steal evil corporate secrets
and sell them to the media. She bet her father hid a few skeletons
at the family conglomerate. Or maybe she’d concentrate on
reclaiming conflict diamonds. She’d fund scholarships for too-smart
smartasses with the proceeds she didn’t need. None of her mother’s
friends would have a bauble left. Smiling at that idea and too
tired to fight the urge, she let herself doze off.
    She snapped into the dream like a stretched
rubber band contracting, without warning or transition.
    She stood in a forest a recent snowfall had
frosted. White thickly heaped the branches, but she thought the
woods were the same that circled the school’s graveyard.