To The Grave

Chapter Seven

The last thing I wanted on my first day back at Blackheath was to be late to my first lesson.

If anything, today was going to be a good day – despite, well, the dead guy.

I was going to be on time to all my classes, smile back at every teacher, and do the damn work to get Harris off my back. And yet here I am, despite all my good intentions, standing meters away from the already-filled history class.

The hall is empty around me, silence reverberating across the lockers. The smell of freshly rolled paint makes my nose crinkle, and I bite my lip as I try to ignore all the worst-case scenarios rushing through my mind; like how, for example, I might not even be allowed inside the class, that whoever's teaching in there might send me straight back to Harris' office, running with my tail between my legs.

And wouldn't that put a cherry on top of an already shitty day?

And God, the register must already be done, because they're talking about something to do with World War II and the sound of chalk scraping against a blackboard begins. As conversation rises inside the classroom, I think: will Mum really disown me if I get expelled on the first day? Like, I know she mentioned something along those lines last week during an argument, but she wouldn't actually send me to a reform school, right?

I take a deep breath, trying to forget my promise to Atlas, a promise that still lingers on my lips. Instead, I try to to fill the empty space between my lungs, but even that doesn't sooth me as I take a step into the doorway, the classroom coming into sight like a pair of headlights speeding towards me.

I take another step, smiling meekly, almost wishing Mom had sent me to military school, because at least then the students wouldn't look at me like I was a two-headed alien. And man, I feel like a two-headed alien as the teacher, noticing the sudden lull in conversation, follows the class' gaze and turns to me, eyes widening at what must be a pathetic sight.

'Lea!' he exclaims awkwardly, the high-pitched tone in his voice doing a terrible job at concealing his surprise. 'I thought you were supposed to be here, but when you didn't show, I assumed you'd moved class.'

I grit my teeth at the familiarity he uses, how he says my nickname like he already knows me, even though I've never seen this guy in my life.

The absence of wrinkles beneath his eyes suggests he must be the new history teacher, because nobody looks thatyoung at Blackheath High and lives to tell the tale. I'm just wondering what sort of tragedy led him to working here when smothered giggles echo around the class, making me realise he's asked a question I didn't hear. My cheeks burn, but I swallow the lump in my throat and refuse to let my nerves show.

'Sorry, what did you say?' I ask in the nicest tone I can muster.

'I asked how your morning's been,' he replies with too much patience for me to trust. 'But it's alright. I'm Mr. Davies, but don't call me that 'cause you'll just make me feel old.'

I smile tightly, almost finding it physically painful to play along with his game. I've never liked teachers who try to be friends with their students, and this guy is no exception.

'What should I call you, then?'

'Davies is fine.' He turns away, nodding to a corner in the class. 'Why don't you head to the spare seat over there? The one next to Lyra. I'm sure she'll appreciate having someone to work with for once.'

I turn around, trying to remember to breathe.

I find Lyra easily because she's the only girl sitting on her own. Her bright, golden hair is tied back into a casual braid and her eyes are cautious as they watch me. Lyra must be a new student that Cora conveniently forgot mention, because I don't remember seeing her face in the halls and our year is small enough for me to remember someone like her.