Page 40 of Hateful
It would certainly stop anyone else from unwittingly putting themselves in my position.
I walk past a few older students, guys I haven’t met but recognize from the dining hall or courtyard. They avert their eyes as I avert mine. Do they recognize me as The Brotherhood’s bitch? Do they recognize me at all, or am I just being paranoid? I don’t know.
The ibuprofen still hasn’t quite kicked in, so I end up limping a little as I mosey along the hallways. I’m aching for a place to sit down. But I’m stubborn; I want to at least find the damn place first. Today isn’t the right time to do the whole thing, to break in and steal shit, but I can work on getting my bearings later.
An older student pauses and frowns at me as my hurt knee buckles a bit beneath me, causing me to stumble.
“You okay?” he asks in a deep voice, turning back to look me over concernedly once he’s a few steps away.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Really.”
I’m about to hastily shuffle away when an idea occurs to me. I stop and turn back just in time to catch sight of the older boy before he turns down the hall. If he really didn’t recognize me, then there’s no hurt in just … well … asking, is there?”
“Hey, wait!” I call after him. I wait until he stops and glances back, my words suddenly running into each other in my nervousness. “I—uh—do you know where the student records room is?”
I wait with bated breath, knowing it’s a long shot.
A long shot that pays off, apparently.
“Sure. Around that corner to the left, just past the dean’s office. Did you need anything in there?”
“Uh—” I avoid looking him directly in the eyes, but we’re not close enough together for him to notice. At least I hope so.
“The nurse sent me,” I finally manage. As far as lies go, it’s not my best, but I’m working on very little brainpower right now.
“Well, good luck getting in. It’s always locked.” The guy shrugs and turns the corner, out of sight.
Always locked. That’s just my luck. Determined to see it with my own eyes, I follow the upperclassman’s directions, rounding the bend and walking briefly down the hall. There are only a few closed doors. It’s not hard to find the dean’s office—it’s the only open one. Light tumbles out of it and forms a bright square on the hallway floor.
And just past that door, almost right next to it, is a plain wooden door with a small brass plaque that says “RECORDS”.
There it is.
It’s so simple, I don’t know how Headmistress Robin herself has never noticed.
She must spend most of her time prowling the rest of the school, looking for vulnerable girls to exploit.
Me? I’ve never been back here. I want to examine it closer, see if maybe it’s not lockedallthe time? Maybe it’s easy to pick … not that I know how to pick locks. But then maybe the key is somewhere easy to find? Stuck under a table or over a doorway or something.
I edge closer, unwilling to let myself walk across the pool of light in front of the dean’s office. I don’t want him asking me any questions that I can’t give good answers to. I stick to the wall and creep right up next to the doorway, waiting only a second to suck in a quiet breath before I chance a peek inside.
Dean Withers is in there, staring blankly at a computer screen. I can hear him clicking the mouse occasionally. Would he notice if I bolted across the doorway? Am I even allowed to be back here? I haven’t seen any other students aside from the one I passed further back.
My best bet is to be calm about it.
I walk casually past his office and sure enough, his eyes flick up to me and then straight back to his computer.
I allow myself a brief pause to listen for any sign of him getting up from his chair, and hearing nothing, carefully reach out to touch the doorknob to the records room.
I’m here. It’s right here.
And it’s locked.
A small sense of relief washes over me. Rather than stick around and get caught, I hurry off down the hallway feeling like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. So much for high-quality reconnaissance; but at least I know where the damn thing is now.
Next, just to find a way inside.
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