Conspiracies - Mercedes Lackey [2]
Way to suck the fun out of playing in the snow, thankyew, thankyew very much, Spirit thought mockingly.
The Water Witches weren’t the only ones with “vacation” homework. The music classes rehearsed for a Christmas concert. The English classes rehearsed a play for New Year’s Eve. The athletic teams practiced for yet another series of demonstrations and contests. And everybody rehearsed for Christmas Day, which included another of Oakhurst’s hideous “formal dinners.” Even the carol-singing was mandatory.
Even if no one else is as depressed as I am, by the time today comes, everyone should be so sick of getting ready for it, all they’ll want is for it to be over.
Suddenly Spirit’s pillow was snatched off her head. She made a grab for it, but Muirin held it out of reach.
“Up!” the redhead commanded. “You’re going to miss breakfast!”
Spirit responded by pulling her blanket over her head. “Wake me when it’s New Year’s,” she muttered. “And you aren’t supposed to go into somebody’s room without permission,” she added sulkily.
In reply, Muirin pulled the blanket off the end of the bed. Spirit yelped at the blast of cold air. Oakhurst believed that sleeping in cold bedrooms was good for you. Now she was completely awake, and there was no point in trying to out-stubborn Muirin. With a growl, she tossed back the covers, grabbed her robe, and stalked into her bathroom, shutting the door on Muirin’s smug look of triumph.
She stalked out again a few minutes later, damp from her shower, and stomped into her closet. It was big enough to dress in—her whole bedroom here had luxuries she’d never imagined owning, like a flat-screen TV and her very own microwave—and it was the same as every other student’s. They all had private rooms, and their own computers, and …
Pretty much everything they wanted, except privacy, freedom, and their families back.
A few minutes later, she came out of the closet, dressed—in an Oakhurst uniform, of course—for another wonderful day on Planet Oakhurst. Almost everything she owned—after The Accident, and its aftermath—was an Oakhurst uniform. She was really tired of brown and gold. Since the fancy formal dinner was going to be fancy and formal, she couldn’t even wear pants (even though you usually could during vacation), but she could still make her feelings known. She chose a brown skirt that went down to mid-calf, brown tights, brown shoes, brown sweater, and brown blouse. There. She looked like a Mennonite. A dowdy Mennonite. All she needed was the little white hat.
Muirin rolled her eyes at the sight of her outfit. “You don’t really want Burke and Loch to see you in that, do you?”
Argh. No, she didn’t. Burke was sweet, and Loch was really cute, and—unlike most of the other kids, like Kylee and Dylan—neither of them had tried to kill her in the four months she’d been here. But she’d be damned if she was going to look “cheerful” when she felt so depressed. She set her jaw. Muirin gave a pained sigh. Muirin had fire red hair and vivid green eyes and was fashion-model skinny and the closest thing to an outlaw rebel that could survive here, since even if you didn’t just “disappear,” collecting enough demerits could make your life a living hell. Muirin despised Oakhurst’s Dress Code, and had somehow managed to alter every bit of her own clothing so that it was just barely within school guidelines. How she got away with it, Spirit still didn’t know. Maybe she cast an illusion over herself every time there was a teacher in sight.
Only that wouldn’t work, Spirit thought in irritation. Because if you have magic, you can tell when somebody’s using it around you. The only one Muirin could really fool here … is me.
“Come on, come on—they’re having French toast and pancakes even though it isn’t Sunday!” Muirin said, bouncing up and down at her. Muirin was a sugar addict, and one of her many grievances with Oakhurst was the lack of junk food on the school menus. Spirit really didn