[back to school clothes] Her phone rang, the number of the school now familiar on the screen, but she would have none of it, and as she turned inward at the sound, she silenced the ringer again. First she had told herself she would return when the weather changed, then it changed for the better and she told herself she would return when the rain started again. The truth of the matter was that she had one school uniform left, minus one pair of stockings, and while they were easily replaced, she couldn’t bear to revisit the heap of wrecked clothing that lay in the back of the bureau. If they had worn out in their own time, she wouldn’t have minded, but they had suddenly become the symbol of everything that had been torn away from her or twisted into a taunting memory of what it had been. Even the smell of the oil made her want to throw up, opening the door that she had hidden it all behind in a messy heap stuffed into a few used Tesco bags. She was surprised that the school cared as much as they did. She supposed that they may have heard that she wasn’t living with her Uncle any more, and might wonder if her tuition was going to be paid for the next semester or not. Or maybe they had some duty to pry into the private lives of their students, she thought, even if they were well past the age required to drop out with no questions asked. Or, she thought bitterly, they just wanted their former star pupil to round out the ranks on the math and science sections of A-levels, so they could keep their coveted place in the school rankings. She didn’t care. Even if the school didn’t have its academic rankings, it still had enough money in its richer students to buy prestige, and it had the football league, which won every game it played that wasn’t cancelled on account of a riot. And they usually held off on the rioting until they’d delivered a sound victory. So today she kept to herself in the tiny cottage. Dick left early and kept going to school himself. She wondered if the school hounded him, asking what became of her, or if they even knew or cared that they knew each other. She’d cleaned the tiny kitchen twice already, though the rough stone never looked clean so she decided to give it a third try. The door banged open at half past three, and she hardly looked up from the scrubbing, rocking as she did, ignoring the weather outside and its rumbling and clamoring, and she assumed the door was just another thunderclap. The hinge squeaked as Dick closed the door again, and she realized she wasn’t alone. She started scrubbing normally, not rocking her whole body. It didn’t matter that the place she was scrubbing had been scoured again and again. It got another pass anyway. “Hey.” Dick was quiet as always, but managed to always speak just so that he could be heard and no louder. “Hey.” She barely answered, and didn’t turn to look at him from where she sat, legs splayed out in front of her. “I brought Dr. Renfield back with me. She’s been wondering where you’ve been and wouldn’t let me go once she found out you were staying here.” She stopped scrubbing entirely and just sat, back to them. Stony silence had worked for everyone else in her family. She actually liked Dr. Renfield. She ran the sciences department, and even though she had studied something horrifyingly soft like psychology, she ran a respectable program. “We had the first round of A-levels today.” Sally Renfield’s voice was impossible to mistake. She managed to speak slowly and still leave every word clipped. “I know.” “You can still come back and take them. I took the liberty of asking for a special circumstance.” She didn’t know what to say to that. Why did it have to be the teacher she liked? If it had been anyone else she could have squashed even the tiny bit of care, and here Dr. Renfield comes and manages to pour sunshine on the darkest parts with businesslike efficiency. “I know things aren’t alright. You probably don’t want to talk about it, and that’s okay. But we’d love to have you back with us.” Dr. Renfield paused. “I would like you back.” Dr. Renfield touched her on the back and she tried to shrug the touch away. Every piece of rage and frustration and terror started to come loose like an avalanche, as if it had been fastened by only the gentlest means and a shrug set the whole pile loose. She fought to keep her face in place, but no matter how taut she stretched her mouth or pressed what she was feeling away into her clenched fist, the torrent tore at it and wrenched her grip loose. Hot tears streamed down her face, splashing into the damp stone where she had scrubbed, leaving the salty smell behind where before had only been the faint scent of lemon. It burned, she thought it felt like it must to have acid drip down one’s skin, though this only left a watery mark. She squeezed her fist harder, trying to make it stop, but the dam had been opened and the flood wouldn’t stop until it ran dry. Dr. Renfield’s hand stayed on her back, just barely. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she saw the scene from outside. Somehow Dr. Renfield stayed polite and measured. It felt like forever, and she felt wet, her loose pants having dried the stone and her shirt stained with tears, but she slowly felt the storm subside. Sobs became exhausted panting, then a sigh. The stone didn’t seem to mind, and the scrub brush waited where she left it.