Page 13 of Outcast

“It won’t budge.” She twisted again, making a little straining noise in the back of her throat.

“Let me try.” I swung my legs off the bed and strode to the door. Rita stepped aside, and I tried the knob. “It’s totally jammed.”

“Right.” She bowed her head. “The war.”

I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds and opened them, incredulity making my brows crinkle. “A prank war. Can’t they think of anything more mature?”

Rita walked to her desk drawer and pulled out her smartphone. “We’ll have to call someone.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Mr. Carbuncle, the caretaker.” She placed the phone to her ear and tapped her foot. After several moments, she said, “It’s gone to voicemail.”

“Ugh.” I called Marissa, who answered in two rings. After explaining the situation to her, she assured me she would continue ringing the headmaster’s office until someone dealt with the problem. My shoulders dropped with relief. She’d still been outraged from the rude treatment she’d received from the headmaster and the students. I’d let her take out her anger on them.

Less than half an hour later, after I’d showered and dressed, the door opened without a knock. A gorilla-sized janitor with a thick mustache with dirty-blond hair that skimmed the collar of his blue overalls stepped into the room as though we were invisible, tracking in dust with his boots.

He held the lock in his giant paw and shook his head. “This door is centuries old. I’ll have to take it off its hinges for fixing.”

“What was wrong with it?” I asked.

His nailbrush mustache twitched. “One of you girls must have jammed the lock. That’s two demerits each for damaging school property.”

I glanced at Rita, who cringed. Apparently, even the janitors could dish out punishments. “I locked the door last night, and I didn’t jam it.”

“If it weren’t you, who did?” he asked.

“Try Edward Mercia. Or Blake Simpson-West and Henry Bourneville. The three of them declared war on me at dinner.”

The janitor snorted. “Why would Mr. Edward damage his own property?”

I pursed my lips. Mr. Edward. That was all I needed to know. He’d probably ordered the janitor to sabotage our lock.

Mr. Carbuncle ran his tongue along the bristly underside of his mustache. “If I can’t fix the lock, the door will need replacing, and you’ll be billed for the damage. Should I split the invoice fifty-fifty?”

Rita made a pained warble in the back of her throat.

I stepped forward. “No. It was me they declared war on, not her.”

We walked to breakfast, leaving Mr. Carbuncle in our room, who tinkered with the door. The dining room was deserted, likely because we’d missed first period having to wait around for the janitor to arrive. One of the servers placed a full English in front of me, consisting of sausages, pale soggy bacon, beans in a tomato sauce, fried eggs, and blood sausage. My eyes bulged at the sheer amount of food.

Rita clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled. “You don’t have to eat it all.”

“Not if I want to fall into a coma.” The breakfast actually tasted great, and after eating my full, I glanced at my schedule. “I have second period free. How about you?”

“Mine’s free, too,” she replied. “Do you want to study together?”

“Actually, I was thinking we could take a break. What do people do for fun around here?”

“There’s the common room.”

“Are there games?”

Her brows drew together. “I’ve never been there.”

With a smile, I pulled her out of her seat, and we headed out of the dining room toward the common room. It would be empty at this time of the morning, and after the day I’d had yesterday, a game of cards or chess would be a relaxing break. The common room turned out to be a wood-paneled space warmed by a roaring fire, narrow windows and a mix of black sofas embroidered with silk thread and matching armchairs arranged around low tables. I whistled. This was really nice.

A chessboard already lay at a table close to the window with a box of pieces at its side. Rita and I sat at opposite armchairs around the table, and I slid the lid off the box, revealing elegantly carved pieces that could have been a century old. “Do you know how to play?”