by Mary Ruth Pursselley -
Celia banged the door shut and threw her shoulder bag onto the bottom bunk. The bag bounced and two of her books slid out.
“Don’t slam the door; you’ll get us both in trouble,” said her roommate, Valla, sitting cross-legged on the top bunk and scribbling in a notebook.
“Sorry.” Celia ducked and flopped onto her bed, her legs draped over her book bag. Today was Railway third, and there had been no meeting with the school’s superintendent, no official notice saying she’d been expelled for lack of funding.
That meant Celeste had paid for her to stay here another semester.
But she didn’t want to stay here another semester. She liked art class—she thought she might like to be an artist eventually—but the rest of the classes were dreck and the teachers didn’t know anything. Sea Life and Ancient Earth were the worst classes of the lot. Every sentence was prefaced with “it is thought” or “it is possible” or “many believe” or “some have speculated” and nothing was ever nailed down to solid facts.
Celia wished Celeste hadn’t made her come here. She wished she would let her go back to Adagio. She wanted to be with her sister, even though she was mad at her. She’d been mad ever since Celeste left her here three Foundings ago...