and ascended the hill to the east of the lodge, hunching her shoulders into the wind. As she descended into the cedar grove, she hummed to block out the low moaning of the wind, and thought about her story.
Back when she’d run along the Huron, characters introduced themselves to her; plots mapped themselves out; dialogue sprang forth. Now all Etta could think about was the eerie darkness that seemed to be settling over the forest, the incessant howling, and the gusts that pushed her back a half step for every step forward. Finally she spun around, abandoned her planned route along the south side of the grounds toward the cemetery Carl had told her about, and sprinted toward her cabin. She slowed to a stop on the lawn in front of Roosevelt Lodge, rested her elbows on her knees, and swallowed down gulps of air.
“Are you experiencing a myocardial attack?”
Etta yanked off her hat and stood. Her classmate Reed Morinsky stood a foot away staring at her, his thin lips folded downward. “Reed. Hello. I’m just, I was just, you know, running.”
Reed pushed his wire-framed glasses onto his nose with his middle finger and gazed at her, as though trying to assess whether she was really all right.
“What are you doing out here?” Etta asked, hoping to break the silence.
“I’m rehearsing my lines.” Reed said it in a matter-of-fact tone that suggested that Etta should have known what he was doing, which of course she did, since that’s all Reed had been doing for more than a month.
“Oh right. How’s the play coming along anyway?”
Reed shrugged. Like most of her classmates, Reed was a few years younger than Etta, but he was nearly a foot taller than her with a mop of thick blondish-brown hair. It was long in the back and fringed in the front. He’d been waiting in line last week to get his hair cut by Candy. In addition to a culinary student, she was a licensed hairdresser, much to the delight of the director. Most years he hired a hairdresser from Jackson to cut students’ hair once a month. Candy’s own hair was cut in a blunt cut with wispy bangs, a la Jane Jetson. Etta wasn’t sure she wanted the intern anywhere near her head with a pair of scissors. Reed’s haircut confirmed that determination.
“When is the play again?” Etta asked. She knew the answer to that too, but Reed’s silence was a tad unnerving.
“Tomorrow.”
“Right. The equinox party. Okay, well, better, you know, let you . . .”
“Did you hear the announcement?”
Etta took a step backward and glanced toward the Lodge. She’d run past the garden on her way back to her cabin. Maybe Carl would be out tending it.
“Hardin canceled the compulsory writing session this evening. Instead there will be an all-school meeting at seven—attendance mandatory.”
Etta turned and squinted at Reed. “An all-school meeting. What’s that?”
“I envisage it is as it sounds: a gathering which everyone is required to attend.”
“Yes. Thank you, Reed. I mean, why, what about?”
“I thought perhaps you would know?”
Etta dropped her gaze to her hat. Her knuckles were white. She relaxed her fist.
“Hardin didn’t say what it’s about?”
“Only that it’s of importance. And mandatory.”
Etta nodded, twisted around, and ran along the south side of the lodge. She was past the garden before she realized that she hadn’t said goodbye to Reed.
* * *
Etta arrived in the great room at five minutes before seven and hovered near the door. Most of the students had stayed at the lodge after dinner, and a number of them were draped across the sofas in front of the fire. The Poet’s Row students were clustered near the windows, and the sound of their laughter occasionally erupted through the room. A couple of girls sat cross-legged on the floor playing cards. Outside the grayish afternoon was giving way to darkness, and the room glowed yellow with firelight and with the puddles of light from the rustic chandeliers. Someone had set