Page 64 of Hateful
The keys clink together as I shuffle them, reading the tiny labels on each one;storage,kitchen,entranceway. A couple of them only have abbreviations on them. Could one of those be the right key?
I pick out three likely keys: a gold one readingrecords; a little silver one that saysR.R.; and a plain-looking one not unlike my house key that saysS.R.R.in block letters, the only one with a printed label instead of handwritten.
Nervously, I hold the entire keyring in my shaking hands as I exit the dean’s office and go to the wooden door next to it. I tryrecordsfirst, but no dice.R.R.also doesn’t fit.S.R.R., though, fits neatly into the lock, and when I twist it, the knob turns.
I pause to consider what I’m doing, just for a second.
If I get caught here, I’ll surely be expelled no matter what Headmistress Robin or anyone else has to say.
Still, it’s my only option right now. I have to take the risk—so I push open the door to the student records room.
My heart beating quickly, I step in. It’s a large room, but it’s cramped with file cabinets that make it feel much smaller than it is. Beneath me is a tasteless teal carpet that looks like it’s from the 80s. All the cabinets are labeled in German, but I don’t have to read them. I know where I have to go.
“In the back left-hand corner,” the headmistress told me that day so long ago, when I first stupidly agreed to this, “there’s a very short file cabinet. It only has two drawers. It’s one of the darker ones, more brown than grey.”
I walk through the rows of cabinets and tall, bookshelf-like cubbyholes filled with folders and binders, moving quickly. My feet make no sound on the ugly carpet. I turn left to find a squat brown file cabinet shoved into the back corner. My heart skips a beat as I rush toward it.
“In the top drawer,” she’d said. “Thetopone. Open it. There will be a fat brown folder. It’s just labeled B. I don’t know where in the drawer it is—but I’m guessing it’ll be shoved to the back.”
I didn’t ask her how she knew all this.
I didn’t even ask her what was in it, why she really needed it. I should have.
But I knew I wouldn’t get any answers. Not truthful ones, anyway.
I slide open the top drawer as quickly as I can and start rustling through the folders. Most of them are labeled with words and names I don’t recognize, but just as the headmistress said, shoved at the back, there’s a fat brown folder labeled simply with a capital letter B.
I grab it and tug it out. It’s brimming with papers and emits a musty smell. Dust puffs out of it with each tiny motion, and I sneeze so hard I think my brain might shoot out through my nose.
I slide the drawer shut and hurry out of the records room, pulling the door shut behind me. I fumble with the unwieldy B Folder for a second as I use the key to lock the door behind me, then rush back into the dean’s office.
I plop the keyring back into his drawer and push it shut with my knee. Am I really going to get away with this? My heart thumps against my chest, sure that any second he or someone else is going to come back and I’m going to get caught.
But doesn’t. No one does.
They’re still too busy out at the track doing whatever else the two schools have planned after my little mishap.
Little mishap. I just exposed myself—both literally and figuratively—to the entire student bodies of both schools. I’d barely call that “little”.
I clutch the folder to me and dart out of the dean’s office, still not believing I just actually did it. Believing less still that I appear to have gotten away with it.
I stand frozen at the mouth of the hallway. What should I do first? Find the headmistress? Get dressed? The sound of footsteps distracts me. It sounds like the crowd is coming back inside the school.
I can’t linger here. Someone could turn the corner at any second, and I’d still look all too suspicious. It’s hard to blend in when you’re not wearing any pants.
So without anywhere better in mind, I dart off toward the dorm. It’s a reflex. I’m used to running back there—the only safe place in a school filled with students all too happy to report directly back to the fraternity that’s marked me this last year.
Well, a school of students whousedto be all too happy.
I keep myself ahead of the cresting wave of students, trying to dodge out of sight when I can, clutching the big folder to my chest, desperate not to let any of the papers slip out.
I burst into my own dorm and slam the door shut behind me, locking it. I don’t care if Rafael needs to get in. Not even he can help me now. I strip off my clothes and throw on the most nondescript things I can find. I’m sweaty and gross, but there’s no time to shower … so I’m sure I smell awful.
I grab the folder and shove it underneath my oversized hoodie, listening to the sounds of people moving around outside the dorm.
“Did yousee? That Trevellian kid?” someone says loudly as they walk by.
I don’t hear what he says after that, but I understand the inflection in his voice. Glee. Spite. Incredulity.
