Locked Inside (3 page)

Marnie tightened her hand on the imaginary hatpin until she could almost feel its bite. What she already knew was made even clearer. You were better off hanging out in cyberspace, chasing elves. Fewer people got hurt that way.

M
arnie pulled the headphones off slowly, at the point at which Skye’s solo harmonized with the strong soft background vocals of the chorus, before blending so perfectly into the other voices that you could no longer distinguish her individual one. Marnie had asked her mother once if she was still singing at that point, or had stopped entirely, but Skye hadn’t remembered. It was all so long ago, she’d said. As far as Marnie could recall, Skye had never listened to her own vocal recordings. Of all Skye’s CDs, this one was Marnie’s favorite.

Or rather, had been.

She stared at the headphones in her hands. She listened to Skye’s CDs all the time, and yet, more and more of late, the music—Skye herself—seemed to slip away even as Marnie listened. It became a strong, disembodied voice that had nothing to do with Marnie, that left her alone instead of surrounding
her with warmth as it used to do. The thought panicked her. Someday she might not even be able to listen anymore …

She closed her eyes for a second. It was just that she was tired. She was tired all the time now. She longed to sleep but knew she couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Not so early. She ought to do some chemistry homework. Or
any
homework, really. The only class she was on top of was precalculus, which didn’t count since by some quirk she had never had to work at math.

The problem was, she really didn’t want to work. If only Max would magically understand how stupid it all was, this school stuff. How pointless. Marnie knew she was right about this. If she could only leave, she would be all right … it was this place, not her. Those other girls—she didn’t understand them, she never would. A tough school was Max’s idea, since Marnie had herself insisted on boarding school. “Let’s try something academically challenging,” he had said, after Marnie demanded to leave the celebrity school. “You know you could be up for it if you tried.” The girls’ school idea had been Mrs. Shapiro’s contribution, but Max had liked it, and identified Halsett within days. Marnie wondered how he’d talked them into taking her, with her—even then—erratic academic record.

Students tended to work intensely at Halsett. There was huge pressure to excel, to take advanced courses, to apply to prestigious colleges. Competition was fierce. Everybody knew everybody else’s class rank. Girls cried when they got grades below
A, or when their PSAT and SAT results were less than spectacular. Some girls took drugs to be able to stay up late, work harder, harder still. A few drank to relieve the tension. Last semester, one senior had had a nervous breakdown putting together her college applications—there’d even been whispers she’d tried to slit her wrists. And right now, with college letters due to arrive in only a couple of weeks, the entire senior class looked feverish not only with fear and hope, but with a whole range of twitchier emotions as they eyed each other, added up vital statistics, and wondered: How many would Harvard take? Stanford? Yale? It was like living in a vat of boiling water.

Marnie blamed the staff, yes, and society, okay, but the other girls all appeared to be brainwashed puppets!
Cannibalistic
puppets from a horror movie, at that. Take Jenna Lowry, with her sly remarks about Chekhov. Everything else aside, it was just so, so
Halsett.
It made you sick. More specifically, Jenna made Marnie sick. The perfect Halsett girl. Marnie felt her dinnertime rage return, and was glad. It filled that empty place where Skye no longer was.

Right after dinner, Jenna had come up next to Marnie as all the girls walked back to the dorms. Marnie had stopped dead in the road and confronted her. “What?”

Jenna spat back, “You made me do it.”

“Oh, please. Tell that one to your mommy.” Despite the dim campus ground lighting, Marnie saw Jenna’s lips tighten.

“You—you …”

“Me, me,” mimicked Marnie.

“Exactly,” said Jenna viciously.

Marnie felt a clutch at her stomach. “That’s an amazing criticism coming from you. At least I don’t prop up my ego by putting other people down publicly.”

“Dorothea would never have known if you hadn’t pushed me!”

“What power I have over you. I’m flattered.”

“You—you—”

“Didn’t we do that part of the conversation already?”

Jenna had stomped off, and Marnie had watched her go with some satisfaction. But it had faded fast. And now, remembering, it didn’t make her feel as justified as she had thought it would.

Oh, God. Marnie opened her eyes again and stared at Skye’s CD. It used to be that Marnie could simply concentrate and she’d know just what Skye might have said about any situation. Sometimes she still could. Sometimes.

Not now.

After a minute she fitted the CD carefully back into its case. Then, without thinking at all, she turned on her computer and sat down. And in a few minutes …

Greetings, Sorceress
, said the Elf.
I thought I’d see you here tonight.

Marnie’s heart lightened. She leaned over her keyboard.

Three hours later, Marnie had the Elf backed into a twisty little passage with only one truly viable exit
option, an airshaft that was—barely—climbable with artificial aid.

Or, he could go down another level of tunnels and take his chances with the Rubble-Eater.
Who hasn’t eaten for a while
, Marnie told the Elf helpfully.

It hadn’t been difficult, really, getting the Elf into this section of tunnel. The Elf was always willing to take chances. The challenge had been figuring out what six items he was holding—well, five items, actually, because the sixth was the magical spellbook that he’d stolen from Marnie last night. She’d had to make sure that, when the Elf reached this point, all of those five items would be more important, more necessary to his survival, than the spellbook.

He had to drop something, of course, in order to pick up the grappling hook Marnie had thoughtfully placed at the entrance to the airshaft. The Elf couldn’t make it up the airshaft without the grappling hook. Marnie could, because she was a sorceress and self-levitation was among her documented powers.

She smiled at her computer screen, where the little animated green figure that represented the Elf was standing perfectly still.

Drop cloak of invisibility
, said the Elf.
Get grappling hook.

Are you sure?
Marnie happily typed in the chat window.
Have you forgotten where the airshaft leads? The Mountain King doesn’t like elves.

He doesn’t like sorceresses, either
, snapped back the Elf.

Ah, but we have a treaty tonight.

The green Elf pulsed on the screen. Then:
Drop rubies. Get cloak of invisibility.

Interesting move, Elf.
Marnie almost laughed at the screen.
But are you sure you want to do that?
In the few seconds that followed, she imagined that, wherever in the real world the Elf was, he was swearing. Out loud.

I’m not giving up the spellbook
, said the Elf eventually.

Don’t be such a poor sport
, Marnie typed back.
What good is it to you? Elves can’t be sorcerers; it’s in the guild rules. You knew it when you decided on your character. Go on, drop the spellbook.

Another few seconds ticked by. Then:

NEVER!
shouted the Elf.

Manners, manners
, typed Marnie.

The Elf whipped back:
I’ll shout if I want to. By the way, do you happen to have a treaty with the Rubble-Eater, too?

Marnie stared at her screen. What … ?

WIELD CLOAK OF INVISIBILITY!
yelled the Elf, clearly inspired.
PICK UP RUBIES! DROP GRAPPLING HOOK! JUMP DOWN AIRSHAFT!

The Elf disappeared from Marnie’s screen.

Marnie burst out laughing. The Elf was never dull; you had to give him that.
Down
the airshaft. With her spellbook, too. And without the grappling hook.

It was too funny. The Elf must have thought that the Rubble-Eater wouldn’t see him with the cloak on. But the Rubble-Eater was blind, and functioned
by sound and smell. Most likely, the Elf was toast. At least for tonight. Marnie wouldn’t even need to go after him herself.

She ought to study, or just go to bed, and chase the spellbook tomorrow night. But on the other hand …

Pick up grappling hook
, she typed, and clicked Send.

On the other hand, she hadn’t visited the Lair of the Rubble-Eater in a very long time.

Jump down airshaft
, she typed.

“Wait for me, Elf,” she murmured aloud.

M
arnie slept peacefully through the next morning’s classes, arising rested and refreshed exactly when she wished to. She had to laugh when she sat up in bed and peered at the alarm clock. Sleep was an excellent thing. She stretched luxuriously. She’d had nearly nine hours of it.

Plus, she had her spellbook back. Take that, Elf!

There was absolutely no sense in rushing to make her last few classes. Since her absence would already have been noticed, she might as well get in trouble for the whole day.
Embrace the inevitable.
Skye had written that somewhere. Marnie took a long, hot shower, and then did two loads of laundry in the dorm basement. How fabulous not to have to fight several other girls for the machines! She idly watched her jeans and socks rotate in the dryer and wondered if, after all, she should devote some time during spring break to catching up. It made sense. If
she could get through the next two months, there’d only be one year of high school left. She didn’t have to be part of the Halsett madness; she could easily find a random noncompetitive college and major in something or other, waste time until she was twenty-one. Then she could do as she liked, whatever that was. Trounce elves around the clock.

Yes, she should do a little work now. Lie low. Endure.

Of course she’d planned to spend a lot of time online during break, but there was no reason she couldn’t study also, without classes to interfere and soak up hours. In fact, it wouldn’t hurt the Elf to wonder where she was, if she didn’t show up in Paliopolis for a while. Marnie wondered if she’d be able to stay away for a whole week. Wouldn’t sheer boredom entice her online? Well, no big deal either way. She could cope. Irrationally feeling even more cheerful, she pulled her clothes from the dryer, stuffed them into her laundry basket, and bounced upstairs to her room.

The peace of the early afternoon had ended. Marnie’s corridor was filled with noise: footsteps, doors opening and shutting, the shrill of voices. Ahead, across from Marnie’s room and in the open doorway of Tarasyn Pearce’s, stood Tarasyn and Jenna Lowry. The girls stopped talking as Marnie approached. Marnie ignored them and fished one-handed for her room key.

After a tense moment, Tarasyn said, “Marnie, Mrs. Fisher just slipped a note under your door. She asked us where you were, but we didn’t know.”

Mrs. Fisher. Marnie’s stomach clenched. A dorm
counselor never rests. “Well, now you do know,” said Marnie, nudging her door open with her hip. She hoisted the basket just a little in her arms and added merrily: “Laundry. Bane of my life.”

“But, um, Marnie—” Tarasyn began.

Jenna cut in, sweetly. “Don’t step on Mrs. Fisher’s note.”

“Thank you, Jenna.” Marnie flashed an equally sweet smile. “You’re always so considerate of others.” She looked down. A cream-colored “Halsett Academy for Girls” envelope sat on the dusty floor inches from Marnie’s sneakers. Marnie deposited the laundry basket on the floor just inside the room and picked up the envelope. It didn’t weigh much. And it wasn’t hard to guess what it said. She just wished … well, it would have been better if this had come after spring break, when she’d have some work to show. Assuming she would. Suddenly her mind did a seesaw: maybe she wanted to be thrown out. But then Max would just make her go elsewhere. Mrs. Shapiro had once suggested Brearley, which was right in New York City. Marnie couldn’t bear to live there, with Max and Mrs. Shapiro, playing family. It was hard enough summers, when Max made her come home.

She could feel Jenna and Tarasyn’s dense curiosity. You’d think the envelope contained something of importance. She turned back to them. “Would you two like me to read it out loud?”

“Oh, no!” Tarasyn actually ducked her head in embarrassment. But Marnie was watching Jenna. Who said, defiantly: “Since you offer.”

Marnie extended the envelope until it was only a
breath’s length from Jenna’s nose. “I have a better idea,” she said. “You read it to me.”

“Fine,” spat Jenna. Rage stiffened her entire body. Marnie leaned smiling against the door frame. Jenna tore the envelope open, unfolded a single sheet of paper, and scanned it. “Tomorrow at eight
A.M.
,” she said rapidly, “you’re supposed to have a conference with Mrs. Fisher. And the dean. If you don’t come they’ll expel you. Satisfied? Here.” She thrust the letter back toward Marnie.

“Thank you,” Marnie said politely. She did not take the letter, and Jenna’s expression distorted even further. Marnie stepped back into her room and closed her door, quietly, on Jenna and the letter Jenna still held.

She took in one deep breath, trying to ignore a pang of misgiving regarding Jenna.
You should only alienate folks when you mean and want to do it
, Skye had said once, thoughtfully, after getting off the phone with an oily record producer.
It should never be an accident.

God, I hate school, Marnie thought. It was slowly turning her into someone else. Someone Skye might not even recognize. Someone who made enemies …

Determinedly, she thought about the conference. They must be planning to give her one last chance. If they were definitely going to throw her out, they wouldn’t have threatened to do so if she didn’t come to the meeting, right?