St. Văduva's School for Prestigious Girls

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊

The day flew by without any further incidents. She grabbed some lunch after her classes were finished for the day, sitting on the wire bench she saw the mysterious man on just days ago. The feeling of the beginning of autumn rolled through the leaves of the trees, creeping up her skirt. She held a notebook in her hand, a pen lodged behind her ear as she munched on her sandwich. She had written out her encounter this morning in full detail, looking back over previous entries and feeling sickened by the way her handwriting was beginning to slip. It went from a slanted, bubbly sort of font to something akin to chicken scratch. She was tempted to rip up the page she just wrote but held off.

Some other girls ran around the courtyard, instructed by the coach, the same man from the nurse's office with the Calvin-Klein-esque vibe and the shaved head. He watched the girls as they ran, holding a stopwatch in his hand, thumb positioned over the stop button. When the girls made another lap, he hit the button so quickly that it was barely discernable.

"Time!" he called. He looked at his watch, then to the girl at the very front, with her hands on her knees as she inhaled air greedily. "Everheart, seventy seconds. Good job. The rest of you, great work, but I think we can speed it up just a little." He dismissed them with a wave before he caught Temperance's eye. "I'll see you all next week. Don't forget to stretch before you come to practice."

She nodded to him in acknowledgment and averted her eyes, ready to write more. But sure enough, movement caught in her peripheral as he started moving toward her. She sighed and shut her notebook as she readied herself for a conversation, likely about her health. She hated talking about this.

"How are we today?" he asked, standing before her with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Fine," she muttered, staring at the ground, the grass glistening with vitality.

He was quiet for a moment, and she could feel the burning of his orbs on her as he analyzed her deeply. "You are not being babied, you know."

"It feels like I am."

"It is okay to have a moment of weakness. Everyone has them. Even Mircea."

She furrowed her brow, confused. Her gaze left the grass and she finally locked eyes with him. "Mircea?"

"The man who saved you when you nearly fell headfirst down the staircase. Don't tell me you don't remember—"

"I remember him," she snapped without meaning to. She quickly drew back the attitude, before speaking levelly. "I remember him. I just didn't know his name. It wasn't like we stopped to chat and get coffee while I was passing out."

The man nodded thoughtfully. "I think you owe him some thanks."

"I would if I knew where he was. I don't make a habit of searching for strange men."

He smiled at that, his teeth straight and white. "Maybe that's a good thing. He can be as prickly as you."

Temperance bristled. "Hey, I am not—"

He waved her off. "Got to start the next class, but I hope to have you in my gym one of these days, Miss MacKenzie. Sign up with me next semester — look for Daughtry Mahon in the system when you're registering. I have a feeling you'll be a fun one to teach. Butting heads with your students is the only way to teach properly, in my opinion."

Temperance tried to fight it, but ended up cracking a grin as she watched him leave. He seemed fun — and she always got on well with her coaches in the past, albeit being the least athletic person on planet Earth. Connie said it was because she cussed like a sailor and was a loud, confident person.

But then the smile melted from her features as she thought about this objectively. She was never going to have him for a class. As she sat there, her weight diminishing and her face hallowing by the second, there was no more loudness, no more vibrance or vigor. Just a husk.