Chapter Text
Julie’s leg bounced rapidly, the thought of what was to come making her sick to her stomach. Hundreds of people crowded the church. The air was thick with incense and damp wool coats, pressing down on her until it felt like she was drowning.
She glanced sideways at her father. He sat rigid, staring straight ahead, silent and intent—even though the ceremony hadn’t begun.
She reminded herself of what he’d told her barely an hour before: “Julianna, our family’s reputation means everything. You need to start acting more like a young lady and less like a child.”
Julie pressed her nails into her palms. She had never been an exceptional student. She preferred fun, noise, freedom. Maybe that was why her father was sending her to Welton. Maybe that was why she was being torn away from home, from everything she knew. Or maybe he was just an asshole.
Her other hand slipped into her coat pocket, fingertips brushing the worn edges of a slim book she’d hidden there—a tattered copy of Twelfth Night, her mother’s favorite. Its corners were bent from years of her mom reading it aloud, laughing at the wit, crying at the sorrow laced through the humor. Julie carried it everywhere now, though never when her father was looking.
The thought vanished as the doors at the back of the church banged open. Bagpipes blared, harsh and echoing. Two boys and two girls carrying banners marched stiffly down the aisle, splitting to either side when they reached the front.
As the music faded, Headmaster Nolan stepped up to the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, the light of knowledge.”
On cue, the organ swelled. An older man moved to a pew filled with small, terrified children clutching candles. He lit the first, and slowly the flame passed from hand to hand, filling the room with flickers of gold.
Satisfied, Nolan continued, his voice booming through the vaulted space. “One hundred years ago, in 1859, fifty-one students sat in this room and were asked the same question that greets you at the start of each semester. Ladies and gentlemen, what are the Four Pillars?”
Across the pews, students in uniform rose in unison. Julie’s stomach lurched. A boy her age was pushed to his feet by his father’s stern hand. For once, she was grateful for her own father’s silence.
“Tradition. Honor. Discipline. Excellence,” the students chorused, voices echoing like a prayer before they sat back down.
“In her first year, Welton Academy graduated ten students. Last year, we graduated sixty-one. More than seventy-five percent of those went on to the Ivy Leagues. This kind of accomplishment is the result of fervent dedication to the principles taught here. This is why you parents have been sending us your children. This is why we are the best preparatory school in the United States.”
Thunderous applause erupted. Julie’s leg bounced harder, unmoved.
Then a cold hand clamped down on her shoulder. Her breath caught. She turned. Her father’s glare sliced through her.
“Clap, Julianna,” he hissed.
She nodded quickly, clapping hard, her cheeks burning. The familiar ache welled in her chest—the one that always came when she thought of her mother. Her mom would’ve squeezed her hand, whispered something wicked to make her laugh. She would’ve hated this suffocating ritual.
When the applause finally faded, Nolan cleared his throat.
“As you know, our beloved Mr. Portius of the English Department retired last term. You’ll have the opportunity later to meet his replacement, Mr. John Keating.”
A man rose and smiled at the crowd.
“He is himself a graduate of this school, and for the past several years has been teaching at the highly regarded Chester School in London.”
The crowd applauded again. This time, Julie joined in quickly—though her hand stayed curled tightly around the hidden book in her pocket.
After the ceremony, Nolan greeted her father warmly.
“Ahh, Frank. Very good to see you again.” He extended his hand.
Her father clasped it firmly. “You’ll remember my daughter, Julianna.”
“Yes, of course.” Nolan gave a slight smile as he turned to her. His hand engulfed hers briefly, his gaze sharp. “I’ve heard you were a bit of a troublemaker at your previous school,” he said evenly.
Julie forced a polite smile, her mouth already forming a response—until her father cut across her.
“Yes, well, she will no longer be behaving foolishly. She will start acting like a young woman.”
“Very good. As I’m sure you know, we do not tolerate foolishness at Welton.” Nolan’s eyes narrowed slightly, testing her already.
Julie nodded quickly. “I won’t disappoint you, sir,” she said with rehearsed kindness, desperate to be dismissed.
Nolan gave a single approving nod before moving on. Her father motioned sharply for her to follow.
She almost felt more anxious leaving the church than entering it. The crowd pressed in tight—parents clutching children, students dragging trunks, voices echoing against the stone walls. By the time they reached the open air, the cool autumn breeze was a relief, slipping into her lungs like water after near-drowning.
The courtyard was chaos—children crying, luggage thumping, mothers dabbing eyes with handkerchiefs. But at least here, she could breathe.
Nolan stood at the doors, giving curt farewells. He gave her father a small nod, returned like a secret handshake.
As they moved down the dirt path, her father leaned close, his voice low. “Don’t think you can do whatever you want just because you’re not at home. You won’t be able to keep anything from me, young lady. I’ll be getting constant updates.”
Julie’s jaw tightened. “Yes, Father. I understand.”
“Good,” he replied briskly. At the edge of the path, he paused only long enough to toss a look over his shoulder. “Well then, I’ll be off. Goodbye, Julianna. Make me proud.” His voice was flat, almost mechanical. Then he turned, swallowed by the sea of dark coats and leather suitcases without looking back.
Julie stood frozen, watching him vanish. No hug. No smile. Not even a glance to see if she’d answer. Just the expectation—heavy and immovable—that she would somehow be enough this time.
Make me proud.
As if she hadn’t been trying her entire life. As if the weight of his disappointment weren’t already pressing on her shoulders with every step she took.
Her hand slipped to the inside pocket of her coat, where she’d tucked Twelfth Night. Her mother would have kissed her temple, whispered something to cut through the silence. She would’ve hated this cold, loveless send-off.
For a heartbeat, Julie imagined running after him, shouting: What if I don’t? And what if I don’t want to? But the words stuck fast in her throat, heavy as stone.
Instead, she turned toward her dormitory, forcing her jaw to unclench. She kept her hand pressed tight against the outline of the book in her pocket, as though her mother’s voice might rise up from the pages and walk beside her.