Sarah’s first class is gym. It’s a horrid way to start the day and leaves her exhausted for the rest of it. She hates undressing in front of the other girls and refuses to use the showers. Sarah has tried to get excused from this particular class. In the end, she only got excused from any events that involved the outside.
Today’s class isn’t too bad. The teacher decided dodgeball would be fun. Sarah hangs out in the back with the rest of the girls, who don’t want to participate. Resting up against the cushioned gym walls, Sarah watches the other kids. Their masks are as dull and grey as the balls they toss. There are no special students in Sarah first period; though, some are interesting. A boy, whose name Sarah can’t remember, wears a mask with a female face. A girl, who Sarah believes is named Jessica, has a nearly shattered mask. It bleeds much like her father’s.
Sarah’s second period is physics. It’s an easy class, but can be repetitive. The class seems to go over the same laws again and again for weeks. It leaves Sarah to her thoughts most days. Recently, she’s been thinking of gravity. There seem to be two rules of physics at competing points in this subject. The first is that everything falls to the earth at the same speed, while the second is everything has its own gravitational pull based on its mass. The second rule dictates the more mass something has, the stronger its pull so the first rule can’t be true. Sarah assumes what they’re trying to say is everything appears to fall to the earth at the same rate due to its overwhelming size; even though technically, someone heavier than Sarah would fall faster to the earth than she would. Sarah supposes it’s no big deal. Seeing that the earth’s accelerating is only nine-point-eight meters per second cubed and she’s not even a trillionth of the earth’s size, her gravitational pull wouldn’t even be one trillionth of its. But if you tossed the moon and Venus at the earth, Venus would diffidently hit first.
Sarah has considered bringing this up to the teacher but knows she never will. There’s really no point; either he knows, or he doesn’t. From the plainness of his mask, Sarah assumes the latter. Regardless of which, it will make no difference to any of the students or the lessons. In the end, a trillionth of a second is pretty ignorable.
Today, the class continues preparing for mid-terms. The teacher is currently going over the laws of tension. Sarah spends the class spacing out. She eventually starts doodling on her paper. She ends up drawing the forest around her home with the lantern spirits. She doesn’t bother drawing the orbs themselves since she has no colors. In the end, the picture looks more haunting than beautiful, with only their shadows between the trees.
Next is history, which she has with Abigail. The class has arranged seating; so, Sarah doesn’t sit next to her. Instead, Sarah has a lovely seat in the back next to the window. Her gaze fixates on the park across from the school. It’s been coated in a sheet of snow, the same as everything else. Mr. Abrams, the teacher, pulls her from it when he calls out her name. Sarah walks up to the front of the class.
Mr. Abrams wears a steel mask with the face of a lion. Bright blue and white hairs decorate its mane. Though metallic, the mask has no shine, and its eyes seem rusted around the corners. Mr. Abrams hands Sarah her practice exams. The score is an eighty-six out of one-hundred. It seems many of her dates were off, though the events were correct. She returns to her seat, folds the test over and again looks out the window.
History is one of the few classes Sarah enjoys. Mr. Abrams, who has served in the army, treats the students with a level of respect Sarah doesn’t see in her other classes. He has a passion for history both the good and bad. He openly comments on how much of what’s in the textbooks are more a fairytale telling of actual events, rather than facts. Polished and selective, the books make sure to paint events in a favorable light toward one’s own country, right down to the images of important figures. He even offers extra credit to students, who researched subjects in greater depth and provided their findings. Sarah has neither the want nor need of this, but respects Mr. Abrams’s desire to show the world as it really is. Most students respect him and when he speaks even Sarah is sure to listen. It’s no surprise he’s considered one of the best teachers in the school.
After history, Sarah walks with Abigail to the cafeteria. Abigail sulks over her practice exam, which shows a seventy-three over one-hundred.
“Well, it’s still better than last time,” Sarah offers, “so at least you’re improving.”
“Aw, do you have any idea how hard I studied for this,” cries Abigail, “It’s not far. I tried, I really tried.”
Sarah doesn’t respond. She can’t think of what a person should say at a time like this. It seems almost cruel to tell Abigail she just has to keep trying. Abigail would also probably start complaining to no end about all her tutors. Sarah can’t say it will be alright. That would give Abigail a reason to complain about how she’s going to be punished. Honestly, Sarah just wants to tell her, this is clearly her peak, and she should just accept it. Sarah’s training tells her that would be mean, but would it. Abigail is going to torture herself over this. She’s going to wonder what’s wrong with her and if she’s broken in some way. Sarah knows these feelings, but there’s nothing wrong with either of them. They are what they are and deserve to be accepted as such. Sarah feels she should say this, but the words never come. Instead, the two walk in silence the rest of the way.
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In the cafeteria Sarah and Abigail find Lily. The three sit together. Abigail mopes over her test scores, “I don’t think I’ll be able to ask my dad for any favors after this.”
To which, Lily sighs, “It’s okay. The point is you tried, and that’s what matters. I’d feel really acquired at a big ballroom dance anyway.”
Sarah can’t tell if Lily means this, but she does seem relieved not to be going. The three eat their lunches. With her class in the opposite direction, Abigail splits off from the trio. Lily walks Sarah to her classroom. Before taking off, Lily turns to Sarah and asks, “You’re still up for tonight, right.”
“Of course,” Sarah answers as she opens the door to her fourth period, English. She takes her seat and waits for class to begin. Today, the students share their thoughts on Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein and turn in their accompanying essays. When Sarah is asked to share, she focuses mostly on the different forms of writing used for each character. She explains how Victor’s parts focus mostly on objective facts with feelings and actions rarely portrayed. His chapters often come off long-winded and sterile. This style is made more apparent due to the monster’s, which uses simpler words and focuses on feelings and actions. Captain Walton seems to be a balance of the two.
After the class ends, Sarah heads to her fifth period, drawing. It’s a pleasant enough class; the only art class, which doesn’t require colors. For most days, Sarah does quite well. She only really struggles on days when the class practices faces. With no better way around it, Sarah simply draws the person’s mask. Fortunately, the teacher is ‘eccentric’ enough that she praises Sarah’s creativity.
Finally, Sarah has Trig. It is one of her more boring classes. Much like physics, the class focuses on the same rules for far longer than Sarah feels is needed. Worst of all, she is stuck in the front of the class. The teacher, Mrs. Evans, calls on her often forcing Sarah to pay some level of attention. Feeling the day’s end, Sarah focuses most of her attention on the ticking clock.
“Almost free,” she thinks to herself. Thoughts of crawling back into her bed cloud her mind. When she is called upon, Sarah finds it difficult to answer correctly. In the end, she found herself apologizing not once, but twice to Mrs. Evans. She was less forgiving for the second time than the first. She didn’t call upon Sarah again.
With the school day over, Sarah meets Lily in the art study. A chair is set in front of a curtain. Sarah has been told the curtain is crimson. The chair is small, wooden and uncomfortable. A male manikin rests behind the chair. Lily stands waiting next to her canvas. A sheet is pulled over her painting. She holds a bouquet of fake roses. Sarah takes the bouquet and sits in the chair. She holds the bouquet in her left arm with her knees to the right.
“Where you waiting long,” Sarah asks as Lily begins filling her palette with colors. She responds, “No, I was finishing up some other stuff before you got here. Your timing couldn’t have been more perfect.”
Pulling off the sheet, Lily pauses before adding, “Really, even if I had been, I wouldn’t mind. I’m just grateful you agreed to help.”
“It’s no problem,” Sarah says, and she’s not lying. Even though it keeps her from her bed a bit longer and the chair is uncomfortable, Sarah enjoys Lily’s company. Sarah sits in silence, while Lily works. After an hour, the two take a break. Lily hides the painting, “No peeking; I want it to be a surprise.”
“Yeah, I know,” Sarah says. Almost a week now, Lily has hidden her work and not once has Sarah tried to ‘peek,’ but every day Lily reminds her not to. The break is short, and soon Sarah finds herself back in the chair. Sarah watches as Lily’s head moves from her to the canvas again and again. More and more, Lily’s gaze focuses longer on the painting, until minutes pass without her looking once a Sarah. Before she asks, Lily steps away and says, “It’s done.”
“So, I can see it,” Sarah asks. Lily nods her head. Sarah gets up from the chair. Her legs feel like they’re cramping. She does her best to hide the pain as she walks over to Lily. Standing beside her, Sarah examines the painting. It depicts her, without her mask. Only half open, her eyes look heavy. Sarah wonders if she always looks so tired. Her painted self wears a frilly Victorian dress with a matching shawl and bonnet. The outfit reminds Sarah of a doll she once had.
Beside her stands a tall, dark man. His hand rests on her shoulder. The man’s likeness to Sam is nearly uncanny. Lily portrayal of him from Sarah’s descriptions is impressive, to say the least. She has captured his skeleton grin, cosmic eyes, and silver chain necktie perfectly. The proportions of his figure are a bit off. Sam's arms are inhumanly long, with the fingers reaching close to his knees. The painting has them more natural. Neither she nor Sam smiles, ignoring Sam’s forced grin. In Sarah’s eyes, the two resemble a couple in an old black and white photo. They don’t seem happy, but content. Sarah wonders if that’s enough.
“It’s beautiful,” Sarah says. To which, Lily replies, “I’m glad you think so. I have a name already picked out for it.”
Sarah looks over to Lily, who says, “I’d like to call it Death and the Rosemary Doll.”
“I see.” Sarah replies turning back to the painting, “yes, that sound about right.”