Chapter 11 Elle
ELLE
I’m twenty-five minutes early to Acting for Beginners.
Not because I’m eager to see Sutton—er, Professor Dupont—but because being late makes me nauseous. Even though I do love the spotlight, walking in when a class or meeting has already begun causes me to break out in hives.
I really hadn’t meant to be late the first time around, but Aurora’s snoring kept me up the night before, and then with one thing after another, the universe seemed to be trying to keep me from going.
Now I can’t help wondering if it had its reasons.
When I notice I’m not the first person in the auditorium, I pause at the entrance, checking to make sure I have the right room in the Lyceum: 137-A at eight.
A girl with deep brown skin and neat black braids sits in a wheelchair in the back, doodling in the margins of a notebook. Quincy would hate that—she was always so weird about keeping her papers neat. Asher would love it, since he draws on anything he can get his hands on.
I plop down one seat away, eyeing the doodles. They’re stick figures and warped flowers, almost like a nervous habit more than an actual hobby.
“This is Acting for Beginners, right?” I ask softly. Just to make sure I’m not fucking up again.
Her brown gaze swings to me. “It will be soon.” A long, pregnant pause. Then, “You’re the girl who was late on the first day.”
“Oh good. I was hoping that would be my lasting impression.”
Her thin brows arch. “You got chewed out by Professor Dupont and you’re still coming to class? Do you enjoy being humiliated?”
“Depends on who’s doling it out,” I say, lifting a shoulder. She doesn’t laugh or even smirk, so I move on. “I’m not scared of our teacher anyway.”
“Well, it’s not about being scared,” she replies, folding the edge of a page in the notebook.
“Professor Dupont is intense but not really mean…usually. I had him for another class in the fall, and when we did breathing exercises or vocal warm-ups, I felt like I was gonna pass out any time he focused on me.”
“Yikes.”
“Plus, if you look online, there’s all kinds of stuff about him on The Delphic Pages. Gossipy drivel that’s probably not true but still fun to read…if you like that sort of thing.”
“The Delphic Pages?”
Her eyes widen, and she dives into her coat pocket, pulling out her phone. On the screen, she taps a maroon app with an A and C on the icon, bringing up an online forum. She scrolls with a manicured index finger, showing dozens of threads under an account with the name Pythia in bold.
Each post has hundreds of comments beneath, encouraging and begging for more.
“Pythia is Avernia’s…oracle, in a way,” she says.
“For the most part, she posts rumors and relevant information, giving students insight and keeping us up to date on the weird stuff that happens around here. But she also posts a lot of outright lies, so it’s hard to tell when she’s being helpful or malicious. ”
“And the school just…allows it?”
“Sure. Dean Bauer will let anything slide if he thinks doing so will prevent an overall disruption. Sometimes I wonder if the dean himself isn’t the one behind the account, just trying to constantly throw students off his trail.”
“His trail?”
“Oh yeah. Everyone thinks he’s in a murder-sex cult where the participants, like, worship the founders or something. I don’t know, it’s way too complicated for me to really care. I’m just trying to make it to graduation alive.”
I take the phone and type my name into the search bar at the bottom. Only one post is about me, a picture taken sometime this week as I scrambled to the observatory.
My academic adviser suggested a few supplemental courses to all the theater I’m taking, so I’m dabbling in astronomy and philosophy as well. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve admired the stars’ guidance and their reminder of how vast the universe is.
In comparison, human tragedy doesn’t matter. Or maybe it matters even more.
The website doesn’t really say much else about me, which fills me with relief. Speculation is the last thing I need right now.
When I scroll back to last semester, I note that a lot of the posts have been archived, leaving only shells with timestamps in their places.
Meaning the school really did scrub all evidence of the deaths and kidnappings that happened. That makes Quincy’s warnings from before blare even louder in my head, but at the same time raises my confusion as to why she and Asher came back.
The urge to call our parents and let them know things aren’t actually that safe is strong, but I resist. If I do that, they’ll start asking questions about my mental state again, and I don’t have it in me to keep rehashing my screwups.
Avernia provides distance, if not clarity. I’m sure as long as I keep a low profile, things will be fine.
How dangerous can this place really be when there are new enrollees every semester?
I hand the girl her phone back, unease creeping slowly along my shoulders and digging into my skin.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Meg,” she replies, swiping out of the app quickly. Almost like she doesn’t want to be seen using it. “You’re Noelle, right?”
“Just Elle.”
“Okay, Just Elle,” she says with a nod. “Am I correct to assume you’re related to Professor Anderson, the head of the classics department?”
“Wow, word really does travel fast.”
The edges of her cheeks heat. “Oh no, I just happened to have her for a course last semester. You guys look a lot alike.”
That almost makes me laugh. “Don’t tell her that.”
“She wouldn’t think it’s a compliment?”
“I think she just…finds comparison uncomfortable.” I shrug, like it doesn’t matter knowing how offended she’d be if anyone linked us so easily.
A locked vault isn’t supposed to resemble an open door.
“Well, you should try and join Visio Aternae if you’re planning on sticking around this semester. It’s Professor Dupont’s baby, and he always favors students who enlist. Could help your current standing as his class punching bag.”
“Visio Aternae?”
Meg gives me a slow once-over. “Man, it’s a good thing you’re pretty. Maybe that’ll save you.”
Embarrassment scalds my face.
Students have started filtering into the class, and as one drops into a seat in front of us, horror etches into his alabaster face. “Are you suggesting Professor Dupont can be bribed, Meghan?”
“Well, it never hurts. Pretty privilege is a real thing, you know.”
Lexington slides in next to the other student, slinging his backpack onto the floor. “And I’ve got it in spades, let me tell you.”
“Oh brother,” Meg mutters.
“He’s not wrong,” the first guy agrees.
“I didn’t say he was wrong,” Meg says. “Just annoying.”
“Technically, you didn’t say that either.” Lexington looks at me, his blue eyes sparkling. “Noelle, good to see you again. Glad Professor Prodigy hasn’t run you off yet.”
“It’s Just Elle,” Meg tells him, twisting her arm around to reach into the bag hanging on the back of her wheelchair. She digs out a purple pen with a fuzzy top, handing it over to the other guy. “This is Percy, by the way, since apparently these two have no manners and can’t introduce themselves.”
“I’m still trying to process your gross mischaracterization of our professor,” Percy replies, shuddering. “Reducing a man’s hard work down to the potential for scandalous behavior seems trite, don’t you think?”
“Don’t worry,” someone else adds, a voice from a few rows up. “No one’s accusing you of being able to sway the professor, Perciville.”
“Nobody asked you to listen in, Sabrina,” Percy says, blushing as he glares at the girl with dirty-blond hair seated in front of him.
Her suntanned skin is visible through the geometric cutouts of her white blouse, and her dark eyes are hard as they land on me.
“As an important Visio Aternae member and Professor Dupont’s former TA, it’s my duty to ensure his name isn’t being slandered by randos who’ve decided to plop down in one of his classes out of nowhere. ”
“Why is a former TA in an introductory acting class?” I ask, cocking my head to the side. “Shouldn’t you have advanced?”
“It’s a refresher course—not that I’d expect an old hag like you to understand.”
I make a face. “I’m twenty-five.”
“My points stands.” Sabrina juts her chin into the air. “What’s a supposed rising starlet doing in this class? Couldn’t hack it in Hollywood, so you decided to actually learn how to act?”
Jeez. I may not have been on The Delphic Pages, but clearly someone’s been talking.
Shaking my head, I let out a perplexed laugh and refocus on the nicer people sitting around me. “So does everyone know who I am then?”
“You made friends with the nosiest group in the country and fought with the professor on the first day,” Sabrina replies even though it wasn’t directed at her. “Doesn’t seem like you were trying all that hard to keep a low profile.”
“I resent that,” Meg says. “Implying we’re worse than Pythia is categorically untrue.”
“You’re gossipmongers, Meg. Let’s be real here.”
“We only gather pertinent information and discuss it among ourselves.”
“Is that why you got caught searching through Professor Dupont’s garbage in the fall?”
My eyebrows raise as I glance at Meg. “Stalker behavior. I like it.”
“You would.” Sabrina gives me a dirty look.
Meg presses her lips together as if to keep from smirking. “How do you even know about that?”
“When it comes to Sutton, I know everything.”
“Oh, but I’m the stalker.” Meg rubs her hands over her knees, rolling her eyes. “I’ll have you know, the garbage incident was to look for a paper of mine he said he lost. He literally sanctioned my access.”
“Whatever helps you and the new girl sleep at night.” Sabrina gives me another once-over, disdain coloring her features. “How many homework assignments did you forget today?”
“I think we should give Elle a break, you guys,” Percy interjects.
“Yeah,” Lexington says. “It’s hard enough being a founding family member without having to keep up with all the bullshit happening around us on top of it.”