Seven Point Eight The First Chronicle - By Marie A. Harbon Page 0,52
After a few rings, Carol answered.
“It’s me, Tahra,” she almost whispered, as if it were some covert operation.
“Oh, great, Malcolm’s just here, I’ll pass you over.”
She heard chatter in the background, then Malcolm spoke.
“Hey there, how you doing?”
“I’m good. Did you like my pictures?”
“You look absolutely fantastic, a star in the making. I feel confident I could get you a modelling contract.”
The news rendered her silent for a moment. This could change everything. Yes, she did have commitments to The Institute but maybe she could work this around the testing days.
“Really? That’s….amazing!”
“There’s a shoot coming up next week, here in London. You know, I bet I could get you on the catwalk within a year, if not sooner. You’ll get noticed real quick.”
The implications of this began to excite her.
“What do I need to do?”
“Meet me here at the studio next Wednesday, I’ll take you over. 10:00am sound good?”
Quickly, she ran through her testing schedule and the shoot didn’t clash.
“I’ll be there.”
Replacing the receiver, she released a little squeal, clenching her fists.
I’m going to be famous! Wow, I’ll get to travel to some fantastic destinations…for real, without remote viewing!
On the walk back, she used her abilities to check the hallway and office, letting herself in carefully.
The stakes had risen, and the situation became more precarious. Could she pull this off, and keep Miss Tynedale in the dark? Furthermore, when Max finally returned, would she be able to conceal it from him? What a perilous game she needed to play.
***
Wednesday arrived and with sweaty palms, she stole the spare key from the office again. Leaving the door ajar as she’d found it, she paused in the hallway, heart pounding away in her chest. The first floor landing creaked, as it often did and Tahra froze, wondering if Miss Tynedale would descend the stairs. She didn’t dare breathe in case it gave her away.
After a long minute in which she stood like a statue, Tahra realised everyone was too busy in Room 7. As she’d left the radio on in her room, they’d think she was just relaxing and reading, as usual.
Turning the handle with caution, she quickly glanced upstairs, breathing a sigh of relief that no one saw her exit. Tahra hurried down the street, a rush of adrenaline overwhelming her. She’d escaped again. Bye-bye Institute.
When she reached Malcolm’s studio, they grabbed some kit and bundled everything into his car. It took over half an hour to reach the shoot, and immediately, Tahra felt the eyes of the other girls bear down on her. They looked at her in disdain, her milk chocolate skin contrasting against a sea of white.
Just like my childhood, she thought.
However, the photographers loved her.
“You did great,” Malcolm praised.
When he dropped her off at the studio, she seemed exhilarated and discussed the shoot with enthusiasm.
“You’re going to explode with delight at the piece of news I’m going to deliver,” Malcolm declared.
“Why? What piece of news?”
“Hold onto your hat, but a couple of American agents want to meet you. I’ve arranged a meal at a restaurant next Tuesday evening. Can you make it?”
Tahra did indeed want to spontaneously combust with excitement. However, giving Miss Tynedale the slip during the evening would prove difficult. Malcolm detected her reticence.
“Is that okay?”
Tahra forced a smile and replied, “Yes, that’s absolutely fantastic.”
How the hell was she going to attend the meal without arousing suspicion?
***
The night before, Tahra paced her room, desperate to figure out how to exit The Institute while everyone enjoyed their early evening meal in the dining area. Because the tables stood in front of the bay window, they’d witness her walking down the street in a demure dress, made up like a Hollywood starlet. She’d ordered a taxi, requesting a pick up at the end of the street so she just needed to slip out of the door undetected.
On the evening itself, Tahra tried to calm her nerves as she applied mascara. If anyone were to knock on her door now, she’d have some explaining to do, standing there in her red dress with the paisley swirl.
Now for the crunch.
A few hours ago, she’d given an excuse regarding dinner so nobody expected her downstairs. However, it left her with a challenge which sat on a par with The Great Escape. While she couldn’t use the door or tunnel out P.O.W. style, it left one option. She’d have to climb out a window, childhood style.
Being familiar with most of the rooms in the place, Tahra ventured down to the first