Chapter 8
DRILLS AND SKILLS
My toothbrush fell in the toilet this morning. That’s how I know it’s going to be an awful day.
It feels incredibly silly. Forbidden, even. Mister M once told Ivy that superstition is a gateway to disobedience. I’m not sure how those two things could possibly correlate, but it sounded eloquent coming from him.
The instructor for our afternoon classes never showed up. It’s not unusual for an instructor to be late, but after fifteen minutes, Mister M decides he’s done twiddling his thumbs, grabbing Avery by the arm and motioning for the rest of us to follow.
Juniper jokes that we’re being dragged away to a dungeon, but if that were true, Avery would’ve been left behind.
We’re led to a practice room, barren save for a white line taped to the floor. Six red X’s lay across it, perfectly spaced. We move wordlessly onto them, awaiting his next instructions.
Mister M strides to the front, hands in his pockets. When he reaches the center, he just stares. He spends almost a full minute studying every inch of our forms before speaking.
“If any of you are fortunate enough to accompany me to a public event, I’ll need a way to control you.
” I cringe internally at his choice of words, keeping my face impassive.
He brandishes a pen from his suit pocket.
“I’m going to teach you a series of non-verbal cues.
By the end of this, you’ll be performing them in your sleep.
” He gestures for Avery, who steps forward.
“Avery already knows the routine, and she is kind enough to demonstrate. Aren’t you, lovely?” he purrs, hazel eyes practically sparkling as he looks her up and down.
“I’d be honored to.” She beams. He taps his pen once against his clipboard, and she dips into a deep curtsy.
Head bowed, posture perfect. He motions for us to repeat it.
It looks…slightly less graceful. When I hit the deepest point, I glance over at Ivy.
She hasn’t moved an inch. He pinches the bridge of his nose, turning back to Avery.
Mister M taps the pen twice this time, watching her expectantly. Her shoulders go tight, but she masks it with a polite smile.
“I am lucky to be saved. I am grateful for the opportunity to be corrected. I will strive to reflect the advancement program’s excellence in all that I do.” The words are a mouthful, even for her.
Mister M’s jaw ticks.
Avery bites her lip. “I’m sorry, I—”
“You told me you’d have it ready by now.” Mister M steps forward, gripping Avery’s chin, forcing her face inches from his.
“I will,” she squeaks.
He sighs, turning back to us. “We’ll focus on the non-verbal cues for now, since someone is clearly still waking up.”
Avery dips her head, face rife with discomfort. Being corrected is new for her, so I decide not to stare. The high road, considering if it were me, I have a sneaking suspicion she’d be rubbing it in.
He flicks his wrist once, and Avery straightens, hands folding in front with polished grace. He hums in approval. “Posture correction. If you’re performing as you should, you won’t need this one.”
He flicks his fingers up, then snaps his fist closed. “This denotes silence. If you see it—” he turns to June. “—you’ll shut your pretty little mouth and listen.”
The room chills around us, sudden and sharp. June presses her lips together, offering nothing but dead-set boredom.
He teaches several more cues in quick succession. Apologize, smooth skirt, smile. Things that should be simple but apparently need regulation in moments of importance. I would think I’d know when to apologize, considering it’s all I ever do…but I digress.
The chime sounds after our fourth round of practice. We move wordlessly toward the door, but Mister M clears his throat. “Oh, darlings, we’re not done. Back on the line.” I stagger back to my spot, as do the others. Ivy practically drags herself to her mark.
Once he’s sure we’re watching, he takes his spot at the front again, sneering. “You don’t have time to slack off. Even after this block, I’ll be expecting you to improve on these daily. Train them. Drill them. Remember them.” He smiles, cold as ice. “I won’t ask so kindly next time.”