Sometimes when I head over to the Towers, I find the others laughing and joking in the halls, darting in and out of each other’s rooms.
I want that, too.
Then again, I’m here on a scholarship, so I don’t complain. Instead, I wash my worries away in the shower, dress in some pjs, and sit down on my bed to start studying for tomorrow’s statistics test. Everything seems fine until I hear the doorknob jiggle with the sound of a lock.
There’s always been the worry that the Harpies would steal or replicate one of the master staff keys and get in, so we installed a bar lock, a chain, and I still have those cameras from last year. If someone does break in, tough on them. I’ll have video proof.
“Who is it?” I ask, heading over to the door to look through the peephole. There’s nothing but black. Someone must be holding their hand over it, or else it’s been covered with tape or something. Taking a few steps back, I head for the emergency landline phone to call one of the staff members.
I don’t like the way this is going, and even with the extra locks, I don’t feel safe.
Too bad it’s only Thursday, or else I’d have my cell with me.
I pick up the handset and glance at the list of numbers that are laminated and stuck to the wall. Just before I start dialing up Mrs. Amberton, I notice that there’s no ringtone. Frowning, I hit the button on the wall unit several times, trying to get it to start up.
There’s nothing.
And that is when I notice that the cord to the handset is no longer attached to the wall.
“Fuck,” I curse as I turn around and see that the door’s already been unlocked and pushed in as far as possible. Someone is using a thick envelope to pop the bar lock, while, presumably, another person uses a string that goes from the chain lock over the top of the door. It slides right off and the door falls open, even as I’m charging forward and slamming my body into it.
Several other people push from the outside, and I end up losing my footing, stumbling back as all nine girls slip into my room, and Mayleen shuts the door behind them, redoing all the locks.
“Hello Marnye,” Becky says, sneering at me. They’re all still dressed in their uniforms, all of them pretty, done up with makeup and fancy wigs to cover their bald heads.
“Hello Becky,” I reply, my heart racing. At least the boys aren’t here, right? This is … well, I might die, but at least I won’t get raped first.
Crap, my life has gotten dark fast.
I watch them all carefully as they surround me, and then I reach down and snatch the baseball bat that’s leaning next to my bed, bringing it up in a sharp swing that takes Becky Platter right in the side of her hip.
No violence is a good rule.
But it doesn’t apply in self-defense. I’ll hit every one of these girls with the baseball bat if it means keeping my life.
Becky screams and stumbles, and I use the moment of confusion to race past her, grabbing at the locks on the door. Unfortunately, the mechanisms that were supposed to keep me safe backfire. There are too many locks and not enough time.
Somebody grabs me by the short hair on the top of my head and drags me back while another girl goes for the baseball bat. Too late. I’m wildly swinging it in my own defense, and I hear a feminine grunt as the weapon takes Anna Kirkpatrick right in the stomach.
“You fucking bitch,” Kiara screams, grabbing the bat and yanking so hard that it flies out of my hand and smashes into the clean China teapot that Windsor left on the kitchen counter. It shatters to pieces as I’m thrown onto the bed by the force of so many hands.
One or two girls, I could fend off. But nine?
I’m so screwed.
“Let’s hurry up before one of her boy toys shows up,” Ileana Taittinger says, opening my wardrobe and pulling out the iron. Every student has one in their dorm. Ms. Felton loves to give marks out for wrinkled uniforms. I’ve seen Creed and Zayd get plenty. Tristan, he’d rather die that have a single crease that wasn’t ironed.
“Do you have the buzzer?” Ebony Peterson asks, and Abigail Fanning tosses something her way. Ebony catches it, and then flicks on a switch