The two sit facing Mr. Baldwin in his dark, wood-panelled office on the first floor of Shrewsbury Grove High. The window faces westwards, to the rolling hills and greying skies miles away. They’re miles away now, but Ramona knows that later the storm will come crashing down on the town in a battle of thunder and rain as the lightning marks the purple sky. It’s a Thursday. The storm often gathers on a Thursday.
“You children are really not the classic type we like to have at Shrewsbury Grove, are you?”
The question is rhetorical. Rory plays with the fabric of his leggings. He hasn’t changed since class as Mr Baldwin promptly escorted them back to school and posted a sign on his door: “Meeting in progress. Do not disturb.”
“I-” Ramona begins.
Her eyes have switched from the darkening view in the window to the gross, hanging cheeks of the Head Master. His skin is a sickly, faded green, his teeth uneven. Whenever he licks his lips, Ramona notices with increasing disgust the indented teeth marks on the tip of his tongue. That’s what happens when you have a tongue too big for your mouth, Ramona thinks. You use it almost as a challenge to all others, and even when you suppress it, it still presses against the end of your mouth, driving into your teeth, leaving permanent dents.
“My school is founded on the principles of equality,” Baldwin’s gruff voice rebounds from the walls and hits Rory and Ramona’s ears. Rory darts a nervous glance around the room, looking for an escape. Ramona places a hand on his smooth shoulder.
“These principles dictate that every student learns something so that they can benefit this great world once they graduate. I believe that system is key. Girls learn the arts and the languages; boys learn computers and the sciences. Everyone has something to learn and achieve. Efficiency!” Baldwin breathes deeply, as if the exertion of speaking demands recovery. “The dancing and driving school founded by Mr. Daniels and run in-part by Miss Stephan goes against my regulations, yet as a separate entity has the right to existence in this town. However, school hours are school hours and must not be missed. Understand? Rory, if you are the man I want to believe you are, you will talk sense into your sister.”
Ramona stands up, extending no regard for Rory’s silent protest as he catches her angry eyes with his pleading ones.
“Monsieur Baldwin,” she enunciates. Ramona loves playing with the fury of those who think themselves more powerful. “I was taking a lesson during my free period, free carrying the simple and undebatable meaning of the ability to do whatever one wishes.”
She sees Mr. Baldwin’s face crowd with blue veins and his forehead begin to throb in agitation.
“You are my student!” He almost shrieks and she catches another glimpse of the dented tongue. “You follow my rules, capisce?”
It is too easy. He is hers.
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