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PAPER CONFINES. 13. / Liebestraum
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It happened in the dark. Nadya's small body was cramped in the cupboard of the school kitchens, awkwardly bent beside a tray of glass cruets and bowls for stew. Her arm throbbed where Theodore had cut her with his paring knife. Her sleeves chafed her wrists. She unbuttoned one with the room she had, and the next with her still-growing teeth, smothering the clicking sound in her mouth. One of the buttons pinked her gums. She winced, covering her face with her dirty sleeve. In the dark, she couldn't see the blood smear her shirt; she could only taste the sour metal and hope she hadn't been too loud.
The kitchen doors opened.
"I saw her," said Esther. Her voice sounded wrapped in plastic, soft with a lisp that slighted every S. "She turned that way, I saw it."
"She could be in the nurse's office?"
"She probably went to Mrs Pomeroy's room to hide."
Nadya held her breath as their footsteps passed. One of them was running down the old corridor—she could tell from the cheap wood creaking under their dress-shoes.
And then it was quiet.
Nadya slid the cupboard door open and peeked her head out. Her black hair was frizzy in her eyes, and she stopped to think how upset her mother would be that she'd ruined her curls. They'd taken all morning with how fussy Nadya got before school.
She slicked her hair down with her clammy palms and crawled out of the cupboard. The others were nowhere in sight, and Nadya hadn't a clue where all the teachers had gone. Theodore and the others must have sent them off with some sort of distraction while she was in the lavatory.
The linoleum was cold on her knees as she moved between the island and the counters. Her eyes narrowed. Between the kitchen doors, she could see the B-wing entryway that tapered into a white corridor. Mrs Pomeroy's classroom was open at the nearest end, her door decorated with a holly hearth and a golden crucifix. Theodore swung back-and-forth from the archway, whistling that song about silver bells Nadya had only ever heard from the carollers who visited her neighbourhood last December. She sunk further to the ground, hissing as the floor grazed her stomach. Even through her shirt, it felt like slithering on ice. Nadya knew why London was so cold, but she was sure she would hate it forever.
"Not here!" Esther cried. She was nine, a year younger than Nadya. Last spring, Theodore had pulled her by the ribbon in her hair across the entire gymnasium, and Esther came to school the next day with a rose from her mother's garden to give him. He'd thrown it in the pond, and Esther said that her mother said that boys like that were only mean to pretty girls. Nadya found plenty of girls pretty, but she'd never dragged one by the hair to prove it.
Theodore grumbled. "You better find her before she runs off."
"I locked the doors," said Henry.
"Then you better find her before the teachers get back!"
