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She checked her watch again, foot tapping out some indecipherable form of Morse code on the cobblestones. It was 3:38, and her target was nowhere to be seen. The flood of black uniforms exiting the main doors to approach either the line of cars or gaggle of buses waiting for them didn’t show even a spot of pink.
Yor forced two swift but full breaths as she recentered her focus. There was no reason to suspect anything bad had happened– this was a premier school after all. The only place probably safer than here for Anya was with herself or Loid. Security had even been elevated in light of recent events.
All the same…
Relief dispelled the growing anxiety in her mind when a small but unmistakable figure walked through the arches, flanked by two slightly taller classmates, one with frilled pigtails and a confident gait, the other maintaining a bored frown but clearly want to stay close to the group. He stopped when they reached the top of the steps, chatting briefly and, from what Yor could see (and partially hear), appeared to yell something in response to the taller girl’s commentary before turning abruptly to go back inside.
Becky and Anya continued towards the vehicles, eventually splitting paths with a wave as the former entered the car awaiting her. Yor kept her feet planted instead of giving in to the urge to meet Anya halfway as she walked up to her, trying to hold onto the notion that the girl wasn’t going to grow in her independence if she tried to hold her hand as much as possible. She did not, however, resist holding her arms open wide for Anya to run into when she caught sight of her, lifting her into a welcoming hug after a long and draining school day.
“Hello, beautiful,” she greeted her daughter cheerfully with a gentle squeeze and a kiss pressed to her temple. “Was your day a good one?”
“We had a crafts day!” Anya exclaimed with arms raised triumphantly. “Look!” She wriggled a little, nonverbally asking to be set down so she could have access to her school bag. Once on the ground, she dug around before proudly procuring a vibrant, if not slightly crumpled, paper with leaves in a variety of oranges and yellows glued to a cardboard trunk.
Yor took the paper gently, noting the cool touch on the back of it indicating still-damp glue. “It’s very colorful! Do you want to explain it to me?” Loid had mentioned engaging with Anya more over her schoolwork would indirectly help her language and communication progress, and Yor was more than happy to oblige.
“We had to put the leaves on in color order,” Anya pointed out, showing her where the yellow leaves began on the left and slowly became red ones on the right. “Mine were a little messed up, but Becky told the Housemaster leaves don’t change color in order anyway. Sy-on said the same thing.”
“Is that so?” Yor looked back to the front doors, and saw just the slightest sliver of a black curls, a forehead, and watchful eyes looking out from the edge of the door. She bid him a mild farewell wave, and the boy only slightly jumped before a delayed wave back, then ran off to wherever the boarded students spent the remainder of their day.
“So you and Melinda’s son are getting along better now?” she asked as they walked out the gates, locating a taxi to take them home.
“Meh. We hang out. He’s still pretty weird. I dunno why everyone likes him.”
You and me both. Yor could still recall the embarrassment she had felt when she was informed Melinda held some kind of status, and when she still wasn’t quite able to remember what it was now. The words of the other women in their little circle did manage to secure a place in her mind, though.
“The Desmonds follow what you might call a hands-off parenting philosophy.”
She had seen that first hand a few weeks ago when their car had screeched to halt in front of the reclaimed buses. Granted, most of Melinda’s actions were exactly what she would expect a normal mother to do when their child was in danger. What she herself had done just moments before, actually. Calling out for them, tears and hugs of relief when they were located, checking for injuries, doing your best to quell your own tears when you realize your child is about to break down and needs comfort just as much, if not more than you do.
But there was just… something… that had clicked off the moment Damian brought up not crying in front of his father. Watching her face shift from one of maternal concern and love to that of– of an… acquaintance? A removed and disdainful relative? Whatever she had seen, it made Yor feel just so… uneased.
She witnessed a stare no mother should ever direct at their own child.
“Well, Damian’s family does things a little differently than ours. I’m sure it’s difficult to find common ground when you both come from different backgrounds.” She felt this unidentified urge to come to the boy’s aid. Was it simply maternal instinct, despite it not being her own child? She had be told time and time again by Loid she fell so effortlessly into the mother role. Perhaps she was just suited to helping all children.
Or was it moreso the situation, her recognizing that undeniable sense that crept into your veins when you realized you or someone nearby was being watched, and hunted. That moment when the fight or flight kicked in, and she had chosen fight, or fight on another’s behalf.
“I dunno, Mama. He’s weird all the time. And he acts weirder if I talk to him.” Anya slid into the backseat first, fumbling for a second to bring the seatbelt to its buckle.
“Okay, well, I’m sure you can get along if you find the right talking points. You’ll get there soon enough,” Yor said absently as she helped her fasten her seatbelt properly. “Just… try your best to be his friend, alright? I think he may need those more than people think.”
——❀——
Yor found sleep to be evading her late into the night. The hours that followed her shower were filled with a rotation of rolling over and back again in her sheets, looking at her alarm clock, and even stepping out onto the balcony once or twice for some cool air. At 2:17 am, she finally sat up in the darkness, both irritable at the lack of sleep and anxious at what was keeping it away. She clearly wasn’t going down until she her mind was put at ease.
The far end of the hallway felt almost like forbidden territory with how little she walked down it. Hesitating for a moment, she finally raised her knuckles to tap the door with as little disruption as she could muster. Ironic as that was, considering the nature of knocking. It was probably a futile attempt, anyway. She wasn’t going to get a response, it would be quicker to locate some medication in the bathroom or make a quick cup of tea. No one in their right mind would be awake this late without–
The door was opened almost immediately by one sleep-ridden Loid, hair sticking out at odd angles, shirt twisting around his midriff where he had probably rolled in his slumber, lips just a little drier than normal with a tiny white fleck of saliva at their corner.
Oh.
Yor gaped at the image in front of her, noting how much it contrasted with her usual picture of her husband. Even in the early mornings, he always maintained a well-kempt and fresh look, even if it was a little more casual at home. It had never occurred to her that he might clean himself up before showing up for the day; she just assumed he was lucky enough to look that pretty put-together all the time. He was never so… exposed like this.
“...-or?”
The pretty (how did that word keep getting into her vocabulary) lips were moving. Or, no, there was sound coming from them. She snapped her jaw shut and came back to reality. “I’m sorry, it looks like I woke you up.”
“It’s fine,” he dismissed. “I wasn’t sleeping much, to be honest with you. Too much on the mind.”
She tilted her head at his tone, and he responded with a look past her shoulder. She traced his gaze to the closed door past hers. They stared at the unremarkable sight for a moment; if she listened closely, she could hear the tiniest snores behind it.
“That makes sense. It’s been a chaotic few weeks, hasn’t it?” she murmured.
Loid sighed slowly, the disturbance catching the hairs on the back of her neck. “I just can’t believe I was so far out of her reach. I wish I had gotten back sooner.”
She turned back to him. “She’s safe, Loid. You got back as fast as you could and that’s what matters. Actually, that’s… what I came to talk to you about. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait until morning, but it was disrupting my sleep.”
“It’s alright. What’s on your mind?”
“Well, when I picked her up from school today– I really appreciate that we’re doing that now, by the way. I think it’s given me some sense of security as well as her.”
He nodded. The hijacking had made many of Eden’s parents reconsider transportation for their children. Although school security was reinforced, buses still became less crowded and the private car lines grew longer in the mornings. Not having the money to splurge on a car and personal driver, Loid had instead set aside a fund for taxis, he and Yor arranging their schedules in such a way that allowed for at least one of them to be escorting Anya to and from school.
The girl hadn’t minded the extra time with them in the slightest. And while the new, busless system was design to ease Anya’s fears, Yor couldn’t help noticing how much more at peace Loid seemed to be while they were getting into the car as the school bus chugged past their old stop, a peace that resonated with her just as well.
“And I noticed,” she continued, “that she and Becky had walked out of the building with Damian. I think they could be spending more time together since… the incident.”
He nodded again. “Traumatic events tend to form new bonds between people. It’s at least one positive thing to have come of all of this.”
She smiled, finding it a cute little quirk how easily he shifted into psychiatrist mode, even if the subject matter was less than pleasant. “It’s nice, but it’s also had me worried about their general well-being. The two of them seemed quite shaken when Melinda and I had gotten to the scene. And– well, I hardly know what I’m doing myself, so I don’t mean to insult other methods of parenting. But something just didn’t feel quite… right, about her response to Damian’s worries? I can’t pinpoint it; it just has me concerned.”
His eyebrows pinched in concentration. “So you’re planning to talk to Melinda about that day?” he asked.
Her hair swished past her ears when she shook her head. “No. I thought it might be best to give them some space since the events are still fresh. It also… doesn’t even seem she sees her family all that much, if I’m being entirely honest.”
“So…”
“I was hoping–” Her feet shuffled closer together as she hooked her hands behind her back. Loid was easy enough to talk to, but this still became a bit intimidating once she was confronting the heart of the issue. “Would it be alright if I arranged a meeting with their teacher? The one with the ponytail? He sees them every day so I thought he would have an idea of how they’re doing in school after everything that’s happened. I just… want to make sure Anya and Damian and the rest are doing fine, and haven’t been too shaken by things.”
He leaned a shoulder on the door frame as he reflected on her words, staring into her. For a while. Yor brought her arms back around her middle as she had suddenly become rather cold. “It would help me rest a little easier if I knew they were okay in school,” she added. “But if you think it would be disruptive, I understand as well.”
Loid shook his head in disagreement. “I like the idea. It makes me happy to know you care enough about the matter to set up a separate meeting. I just can’t think of a period in my schedule that would allow me to join you.”
“Oh!” She stood up straighter. “That’s fine. I can always wait until you have some more time free.” He considered her point, but eventually shook his head again.
“This should be taken care of sooner rather than later. I don’t want you to keep losing sleep over it. I’ll get you his contact information in the morning so you can meet with him on your own terms.”
Her head lulled a little to the left. For some reason, she was expecting more resistance against the idea. “Alright then, if you think I’m up to the task.”
The smile he shot her and the little huff from his nose were heavenly. “Of course you are,” he laughed softly. “I trust you.”
Cool air flowing through the hall turned warm and stuffy rather quickly. The hair hanging over the back of her neck was also becoming uncomfortably sticky. “Oh, um, thank you… for that. The trust!” Her feet stayed in place for all of four more seconds before she had to turn abruptly back to her room, now able to sleep soundly… probably. She may need to step onto the balcony again beforehand.
“Yor.”
He had called out to her before she could turn the doorknob. When she looked back, he still had that soft little smile in place.
“I appreciate you checking with me,” he said. “But you don’t need my permission for these kinds of things. You’re her mother. You have as much a right to check on her care as I do.”
The metal grew hot under her grip. For the ruse. He said that for the ruse. The smile she returned him didn’t feel even a little fake.
“Right,” she breathed. “Thank you.”
——❀——
The intricate oil paintings lining the walls of Eden’s faculty offices scrutinized her when she visited later in the week for her arranged meeting. She hadn't been inside the school since their interview; it was no less intimidating now than it was then.
Before the secretary could open the door, she smoothed down the edges of her blouse one final time. You can do this. He’s friendly. Just keep in mind why you’re here and this should go well.
“Mrs. Forger is here for your appointment, sir.” The man stood to greet her as she entered his office. Yor walked quickly across the room to close the long distance between them and return the handshake he extended.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Housemaster. I’m sure you’ve been very busy.” Her practiced smile sealed the deal in coming off as a prime rich family’s wife (It wasn’t the most upper class gesture to keep your head cast down and eyes averted from anyone that tried to talk to you).
“It’s no trouble.” His voice was exaggeratedly pristine, but held steady and spoke of years of practice and wisdom in his field. “It’s rare for many of the parents of students to speak with educators unless called upon for correction. I am more than happy to accommodate those who reach out to me of their own volition.” He gestured for her to sit, and made a move for the tea set brewing by the window.
“Oh, that’s not good. Surely they care about how their children are doing?”
Henderson returned with two cups and the usual accompaniments. “Of course they do. They simply tend to believe it is solely the teacher’s responsibility to handle it. Very few of them respond to our requests for involvement beyond supporting our activities financially. We are certainly grateful for that much, but I will note there is something to be said about the difference in performance between the students who have involved parents, and those who don’t.”
“And, where does Anya fall in that pattern?” she asked hopefully, carefully adding some sugar cubes into her cup. She couldn’t help herself wondering…
The long pause before his answer was a little worrisome, but he did find his words eventually. “Although the young Miss Forger’s academics do not reflect it,” he began slowly, “she always comes into the classroom with an eagerness to learn and interact with her classmates. I find her to be one of our most outgoing and welcoming students. While her opinions may be rather blatant and upfront, she does not hesitate to accept others despite their flaws she perceives, to a most elegant degree which I believe goes beyond the average child’s threshold. Such openness is more than likely an attitude developed from good family values in the home.”
Yor’s shoulders lifted at the praise, a broad smile splitting her face. She’d expect nothing less of Anya, of course. But to hear confirmation of her actions from another adult, one she knew to be quite strict and ambitious with the standards he set, if Loid’s descriptions were any indicator, lit a proud fire below her. It motivated her to take another step forward in their conversation. “That’s really good to hear! I noticed she and the Desmonds’ son were walking together after school earlier this week. I’m hoping they’re getting along better after–” She faltered slightly. “Well, you know, I’m sure.”
Henderson tilted his head forward an inch, but his gaze remained on her. “You wish to speak about the hijacking occurrence three weeks ago, if I am not mistaken?”
She nodded reluctantly. “I don’t want to force you to speak about such a bad time,” she mumbled, “especially since you had to experience it firsthand.”
He took a long draft from his cup, eyes closing momentarily before speaking again. “Again, it’s no trouble. I must thoroughly apologize for the stress such an incident has caused your family and others. Security was slack, and the fact that the terrorists even made it onto the buses is unacceptable.”
“It’s alright, sir, really!” She held her palms up, hoping to back out of the matter good-naturedly. “No one got hurt, and that’s all I care about. I’m told you went on the bus willingly with food to check on all of the children, and Anya says you even shielded her from gunfire! You did the most you could in such a situation.”
“It is not, I’m afraid. I hardly did anything compared to the children. We should count ourselves incredibly fortunate to have such level-headed students that could maintain good spirits under intense pressure, Anya and her friends especially.”
Yor chose her next words carefully. She had a good opening for what she wanted to discuss now. It may be the best time to speak on it.
“Well,” she asked, quieter, “since you were able to witness the incident firsthand, would you mind giving your thoughts on how everyone is doing since it happened? You see the students throughout most of the day so I hoped you could let me know if they’ve… gotten better, I guess.”
“I appreciate that you value my opinions with such concerns,” he lauded. “While I have been worried how these events may have hurt their growth, I believe they are doing incredibly well, all things considered. Of course, we cannot expect an immediate ‘recovery’, to use your terminology. But in regards to grades and spirit, I would say they are progressing quite elegantly. This tragedy has even brought them closer together in some aspects, as you have noticed with Anya and Damian.”
Yor jumped at her next available cue. “So Damian is okay as well? I’m happy Melinda found him so quickly on the day. But if I’m being honest, their interaction went a little differently than what I would have expected.”
A pristine brow lifted on an aged face. “Could you elaborate on such an observation, Mrs. Forger?” he asked.
“I don’t know how to explain it, actually…” She traced a fingernail across the rim of the cup, twisting the saucer back and forth in her lap. “I suppose if I took it step by step…
“Melinda ran out of her car when it arrived at the scene. She hugged Damian, and was crying, understandably. He actually seemed surprised she had come. She told him how worried she had been… he tried to hide his fear, the poor thing. But I’m glad they were reunited. It was all quite a normal reaction until Damian asked her not to tell Mr. Desmond he had cried. I didn’t think this was all that unusual, especially for a young boy. You know how they are about being tough, I’m sure.”
The man nodded sagely, urging her to continue.
“Well, he said that, and then this… look just appeared on her face. I don’t really know how I can describe. Fear, or disgust, or shock perhaps? And then she asked him not to tell his father that she had come to get him today. They got in their car quietly after that and went home. The whole thing was just sort of… offputting.”
His hands had folded in front of him while she was speaking, and now, he stared down at them as if they held all the answers she wanted. After a moment of uncertainty flickering back and forth in his eyes, he said, very quietly, “Mrs. Forger, I ask that you not allow the following information we speak of to leave this room. Do not even repeat it to your husband, and please only tell him Anya and the others are recovering well from the attack, should you recall this meeting to him. Although I do apologize for asking dishonesty of you.”
Her brow furrowed at the mood shift. She was hesitant to agree to such obscure terms, but hoped this was a man she could trust, especially if he was one in charge of her daughter for long periods of time.
“I won’t tell…”
He stood swiftly, taking lengthy strides over to the office door to turn the deadbolt in place. When he returned, the half-full teacup was pushed aside. “Because you are one of few that ask to meet with me, I trust you have the children’s best interests at heart. You do not strike me as the malicious type to bend the information you gain to suit your needs. I hope I can trust you with what I am about to say.”
She nodded fiercely; she couldn’t imagine anything taking priority over Anya’s wellbeing at this point, and her friends by association. “Always.”
“That is good to hear.” Henderson released a deep sigh, suddenly appearing more worn and tired than when they had been speaking of less secretive subjects.
“I’m sure you know of the political influence Donovan and Melinda Desmond held in the past and currently hold?”
Yor thought back to Loid’s explanation when she first told him she had met Melinda. Brief, but she had been provided that he was a prime minister, Melinda being his first lady. She hadn’t gotten much beyond that, but nodded along all the same.
“That influence stretches into this educational environment, as well,” he continued. “Immense power is held by that couple, accentuated by their wealth and contributions. Eventually, such power also transfers to their children. Both of their sons are extremely high achievers, practically celebrities in their respective grades.
“Because they are held in such high regard, little notice is taken if their parenting methods waver from the norm. The Desmond sons… put in a great deal of work, with minimal reward for their efforts. While I cannot say what sparked such an unusually strict style of discipline, I can remember the same practices being used years ago on their eldest that you witnessed with Damian.”
Her confusion only grew. “They… they don’t reward their children in any way?”
“Very little affection in general, actually. Faculty repeated note how few academy events the couple attends. We as educators have great difficulty gauging how they operate. But it appears in their family, high marks are expected as base level performance. However, because it yields results, no one opposes.”
She took a moment to process this new information. It was almost too absurd to believe. Melinda was alway so– so sociable at their Society events. Providing snacks, booking activities, gushing over her children at tea. No less than the opposite of what the man before her described. Surely she wasn’t the type to be so unloving to her boys.
“I know striving for high marks should always be the goal, sir,” she said slowly, “especially at a school like this. But that kind of system almost seems… cruel, doesn’t it?”
He nodded, albeit reluctantly. “In my professional opinion, there can exist such a thing as too much ambition. Setting near-unreasonable standards takes away the beauty of childhood. It forces a student into too much responsibility far too quickly. I watched it happen in the case of Demetrius, and… I do fear it may be happening to Damian, as well.”
To take away one’s childhood, to force them to grow up too quickly. She recognized being in that position far too easily. Taking on the responsibility of a cook, a cleaner, a homemaker. A killer. Before even reaching high school. If she was the result of that kind of burden being pushed onto a teenager, what could it be doing to a child?
Undeniably cruel.
“If you recognize that as the problem here,” Yor said quietly, a flame of anger sparking in her belly, “then why haven’t you done something to stop it? Why can’t you tell them this is destroying Damian’s development? That you can see how it’s affecting him?”
He fixed her with lips twisted into a wry smile. “Madam, do you think I have not tried?” He stood to walk over to the window, looking out across the courtyard where students mulled about. “Did I not tell you I can hardly drag meetings out of normal parents? And you expect me to gain an audience with someone as reclusive as Donovan or Melinda Desmond?”
She quelled her tone almost immediately. The man was doing his best, of course, Anya spoke ever so highly of him at home. He was just as invested in these children as her, if not more. She had no place to be accusing him of not handling this properly.
“You’re right,” she said, standing to approach him timidly. “I apologize for putting the blame on you. You have much more experience in this field than me; I shouldn’t be telling you how to do your job.”
“There is never a need to apologize for voicing your opinions, Mrs. Forger. Passion towards a cause is admirable. I, too, apologize for the sardonic tone I took with you. Dreadfully inelegant.”
She watched with him out the window, sighing. So Damian was alright… and he also wasn’t. And she couldn’t fathom a way to help him. Suddenly, this meeting had felt like a terrible mistake, draining on her mind and spirit.
“Although I am sure you feel lost, I ask that you do not give up hope.” A hand landed on her shoulder encouragingly. She looked up to see the man towering over her with a knowing look.
“While we cannot help directly, I would wager we are both in excellent positions to help our young charges out in other ways.”
She tilted her head. “How do you figure?”
“I find myself repeatedly telling my students, when they have gotten stuck, to simply do their best with what is available to them. What is presented in class is all the resources they will have, so the most I can expect of them is their best in that situation.” He subtly began walking her over to the door. “While you cannot directly influence his parents, you may be able to assist Damian where he is lacking.”
When she was appeared lost, he continued. “Anya is attempting to better their relationship, is she not?” he elaborated. “You may find yourself in instances where you will be able to talk to him, interact with him. Ask him about his day, congratulate him if he tells you about his achievements, perhaps invite him into your home during breaks should Anya need a friend.”
“Those actions sound quite… maternal, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so. I’m a little worried doing them might intrude on Melinda’s responsibilities.”
Henderson shrugged off her worries casually. “You and Lady Desmond appear to be on rather fine terms, already; I don’t believe she would mind you taking a little extra initiative.” He then leaned down closer to her face, dropping his voice as if they weren’t in an empty office and someone around them may hear. “And because you two are close, I’ll ask you to keep one more thing between us: what are you intruding on if she won’t take up that responsibility herself?”
Yor pursed her lips. It was a little rude, but not untrue if his earlier words were to be believed.
“I understand how much I am asking of you, Mrs. Forger,” he continued, “and you are under no obligation to do it. However, if you would like to help the boy, and feel up to the task, I strongly believe a little extra encouraging from you, and perhaps your husband if he would like to join in, would mean a world of difference in his young life.”
She considered what he said as they bid their goodbyes and thank-yous, the topic occupying her mind the whole way home. Under no obligation, yes, but if it was really going to make ‘a world of difference’, was there not some level of responsibility on her part?
While it was a lot of internal back and forth, she believed she had settled on an answer as she walked through the front door. Loid sat with his back to her as usual, engrossed in the paper but still present enough to warmly welcome her back.
“How did the meeting go?” he asked, but she rushed past him to where Anya sat on the floor scratching little circles into Bond’s upturned belly, giggling at how his leg twitched in response.
“Meeting was good,” she said absentmindedly, crouching down next to the girl. She looked up curiously at what her mother had to offer.
“Hey. Would you like it if Damian came over for a playdate?”