she wanted a moment’s distraction, and without thinking, she flicked her eyes right. Beneath the curly-haired boy’s arm: APR. The rest was obscured. “Bless you,” said the angel. Someone tittered. “Quiet,” said Charlotte.
She couldn’t think of a food that started with APR. She was mentally stuck on APPLE. Could he have written APP? If she couldn’t think of an APR food in five seconds, she was going with APPLE. Charlotte opened her mouth. Emily scrawled: APRICOT.
“Answers, please.”
She glanced right.
Yes.
Charlotte began to walk the desks. “Yes. Yes. Yes.” By the time she reached Emily, Emily had noticed a problem. The boy had APRICOTS. She was short an S. Charlotte paused. Emily said nothing.
Come on
, she thought.
Apricot, apricots, what’s the difference?
“Yes,” said Charlotte.
She glowed. This was what she should have done from the beginning. This was how she’d accomplished everything in her whole life: by skirting the rules. She should not have forgotten that.
“Yes. Yes. No.” Charlotte walked to the front and turned off the TV. “Thank you. This concludes the first examination. Please enjoy the rest of the day.” People began to talk, rising from their desks. “Gertie, remain behind, please.”
Emily looked at the ten-year-old. The kid looked miserable, so Emily leaned over. “It’s just a stupid test.” She’d been wrong about this girl’s age. Gertie wasn’t even ten. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Emily Ruff,” said Charlotte. “You may go.”
“You’re just too young,” Emily said. “I was here a couple years back and failed everything. Next year, you’ll smash it.”
Gertie looked at her hopefully.
“
Thank
you, Emily,” said Charlotte.
She gave Gertie a wink on the way out, the kind that tickled people on the pier.
• • •
“Thought you were history,” said the curly-haired boy. She had been passing by his room but now she stopped. He was splayed on his bed. The angel girl was in there, leaning against the stone wall.
“Just warming up.” She went to move on, but the girl peeled herself from the wall.
“Hey. I want your opinion. Why do the teachers here have fake names?”
Emily looked at her, confused.
“Charlotte Brontë. There’s a teacher named Robert Lowell and a Paul Auster, too. Did you see the main board in the lobby? It says before Brontë, the headmistress was Margaret Atwood.” She raised her eyebrows.
“And . . . ?” said Emily.
“They’re famous poets,” said the boy. “Dead famous poets, mostly.” He looked at the angel girl, amused. “She didn’t know.”
“Like I sit around memorizing
poets
,” Emily said. “This is why I’m going to destroy you in the tests, because everything you know is useless.”
The boy grinned. The girl said, “It’s okay,” in a tone that made Emily want to hit her.
“And the school has no name. They just call it the Academy. Kind of weird, yes?”
“You’re kind of weird,” she said.
• • •
Gertie didn’t come back. “The tests are eliminations,” said the curly-haired boy, through a mouthful of rye bread. This was at lunch. He had taken Gertie’s seat. “Fail one, that’s it. Pack your bags.”
She paused midway through buttering a roll. “Who told you that?”
“No one. I figured it out. It’s obvious, don’t you think?” He chewed and chewed.
• • •
Charlotte came in during lunch and looked at Emily in a way Emily didn’t like. Then she left. Emily continued eating, but her stomach formed a hard ball. Afterward, Charlotte and another teacher were waiting for her in the corridor. It reminded Emily of San Francisco, where you’d step in the front door of your squat and there’d be two skinny bitches there, hips jutting, lips like cats’ asses, trembling with righteous outrage about something or other. Some debt, or thing you did. Charlotte beckoned. “Emily. If you please.” Her heels clacked down the hall.
In her office, Charlotte
She couldn’t think of a food that started with APR. She was mentally stuck on APPLE. Could he have written APP? If she couldn’t think of an APR food in five seconds, she was going with APPLE. Charlotte opened her mouth. Emily scrawled: APRICOT.
“Answers, please.”
She glanced right.
Yes.
Charlotte began to walk the desks. “Yes. Yes. Yes.” By the time she reached Emily, Emily had noticed a problem. The boy had APRICOTS. She was short an S. Charlotte paused. Emily said nothing.
Come on
, she thought.
Apricot, apricots, what’s the difference?
“Yes,” said Charlotte.
She glowed. This was what she should have done from the beginning. This was how she’d accomplished everything in her whole life: by skirting the rules. She should not have forgotten that.
“Yes. Yes. No.” Charlotte walked to the front and turned off the TV. “Thank you. This concludes the first examination. Please enjoy the rest of the day.” People began to talk, rising from their desks. “Gertie, remain behind, please.”
Emily looked at the ten-year-old. The kid looked miserable, so Emily leaned over. “It’s just a stupid test.” She’d been wrong about this girl’s age. Gertie wasn’t even ten. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Emily Ruff,” said Charlotte. “You may go.”
“You’re just too young,” Emily said. “I was here a couple years back and failed everything. Next year, you’ll smash it.”
Gertie looked at her hopefully.
“
Thank
you, Emily,” said Charlotte.
She gave Gertie a wink on the way out, the kind that tickled people on the pier.
• • •
“Thought you were history,” said the curly-haired boy. She had been passing by his room but now she stopped. He was splayed on his bed. The angel girl was in there, leaning against the stone wall.
“Just warming up.” She went to move on, but the girl peeled herself from the wall.
“Hey. I want your opinion. Why do the teachers here have fake names?”
Emily looked at her, confused.
“Charlotte Brontë. There’s a teacher named Robert Lowell and a Paul Auster, too. Did you see the main board in the lobby? It says before Brontë, the headmistress was Margaret Atwood.” She raised her eyebrows.
“And . . . ?” said Emily.
“They’re famous poets,” said the boy. “Dead famous poets, mostly.” He looked at the angel girl, amused. “She didn’t know.”
“Like I sit around memorizing
poets
,” Emily said. “This is why I’m going to destroy you in the tests, because everything you know is useless.”
The boy grinned. The girl said, “It’s okay,” in a tone that made Emily want to hit her.
“And the school has no name. They just call it the Academy. Kind of weird, yes?”
“You’re kind of weird,” she said.
• • •
Gertie didn’t come back. “The tests are eliminations,” said the curly-haired boy, through a mouthful of rye bread. This was at lunch. He had taken Gertie’s seat. “Fail one, that’s it. Pack your bags.”
She paused midway through buttering a roll. “Who told you that?”
“No one. I figured it out. It’s obvious, don’t you think?” He chewed and chewed.
• • •
Charlotte came in during lunch and looked at Emily in a way Emily didn’t like. Then she left. Emily continued eating, but her stomach formed a hard ball. Afterward, Charlotte and another teacher were waiting for her in the corridor. It reminded Emily of San Francisco, where you’d step in the front door of your squat and there’d be two skinny bitches there, hips jutting, lips like cats’ asses, trembling with righteous outrage about something or other. Some debt, or thing you did. Charlotte beckoned. “Emily. If you please.” Her heels clacked down the hall.
In her office, Charlotte
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