Anywhere (Dunbridge Academy #1)

Anywhere

“I’m sorry,” I say, although that isn’t actually what I mean. It absolutely isn’t. It’s capitulation of the worst kind, because I have no choice.

My voice has never sounded as flat. As if I didn’t care what this means right now, when the opposite is true. I do care. I care more than anything.

What have you done, what have you done, what have you done?

The right thing. It was the right thing. Wasn’t it? A moment ago, I’d been sure of that, but now I’m overcome by doubts.

I turn around. I grab the heavy black iron doorknob. I don’t know how my legs carry me. I don’t know how I push open the door and walk out of the head teacher’s office without losing my composure. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.

I hear the voices in the corridor, the laughter that echoes off the high walls. The sounds of rapid footsteps on the old, uneven tiles in the arcaded walkways. Sunbeams fall through the panes of the lancet windows; dust glitters in the air.

Faces turn toward me, my fellow pupils smile at me, say hi, the same as ever, and I don’t reply because I can’t. I run blindly past them. I have to get away, but I don’t know where to go. I no longer have a home.

The thought hits me like a punch in the belly, but it’s true. For a moment, I feel the need to stop and curl up. But I keep on running.

My feet fly over the tiles, taking routes I could walk with my eyes shut.

Across the courtyard to my dorm wing, brown-brick facades covered with twining ivy.

High lattice windows, dark roofs, pointed towers.

I see it all but feel nothing. Coming toward me down the worn stairs from the first floor are the fourth-formers; they slow as they recognize me, then run all the faster once they’re past. The heavy, dark wooden door to our wing is shut.

I have to lean my whole weight against it as I reach for the key in my trouser pocket and open it, then my bedroom door.

Silence.

And then I pull my suitcase from beside the wardrobe and start packing.