Wuthering high: a bard academy novel (18 page)

“God, I hate flowers,” he says, wiping bits of plant goo off his shoulders. “Ms. Woolf is telling the truth,” he adds. “She is
the
Virginia Woolf.”

“So if she’s Virginia Woolf, who are you?” Hana asks.

“Ernest Hemingway,” he says, flicking off more goo.

“Okay, who
isn’t
dead around here, raise your hand,” Samir says, and he puts his hand in the air.

“Oh my God. This is so cool,” Blade says.

I like to think of myself as a reasonable person (reasonable = NOT crazy). I have just seen Dracula come to life and now my teachers are
famous dead people?

“So let me get this straight,” I say. “You’re
the
Ernest Hemingway. As in
For Whom the Bell Tolls
?”

“Among others,” he says.

“You wrote the book that the movie with Sandra Bullock and Chris O’Donnell were in. What was it?”

“In Love and War,”
Coach H sighs, sounding weary.

“And you’re Virgina Woolf. Nicole Kidman played you in
The Hours.
She doesn’t really look anything like you, you know.”

“Thanks for that,” she says. “And if you keep quoting our work from movies, I’m going to have to flunk you for the semester.”

Touchy.

“Wait a second,” Samir says. “Where’s Ashton Kutcher? We’re all being punk’d, right? This is just all a big joke, isn’t it?”

Coach shakes his head. “Sorry, no joke,” he says.

“Wait — that’s why the buildings are all so cold,” Blade says suddenly. “Because you guys are ghosts!”

“Yes,” Coach says, nodding.

“And why your faces don’t show up in any of the yearbook pictures,” I add.

“That’s right,” Ms. W says.

“And the flickering lights on campus,” Hana adds.

“Yep, guilty,” Coach H says.

“Are there more of you?” Samir asks.

Ms. W nods. “The entire Bard faculty,” she says. “And the Guardians, too, although they aren’t writers. They come from all backgrounds.”

“I am
so
going to ask for my tuition back,” Samir says. “When my dad hears about this, he is going to
flip.
”

“Here’s the thing,” Ms. W says. “You can’t tell them.”

“First of all, they’d never believe you,” Coach H says. “And second, you can’t actually tell them. It’s impossible.”

“What do you mean, impossible?”

“If you try talking about the school, or specifically about us, outside the campus grounds, you can’t,” Ms. W tells us. “To anyone not on this island, you won’t be able to make the words come out of your mouth. You won’t even be able to say our names.”

“We could make you come with us — to prove it,” I say.

“You can’t make us do anything,” Coach H says. “But even if we wanted to go with you, we couldn’t. We’re trapped on this island. We can’t leave.”

“This place is cursed, isn’t it?” Blade says, sounding really excited. “This is SO cool.”

“Not cursed, exactly,” Coach says.

“It’s purgatory. For you and for us,” Ms. W says. “Only we’re dead, so we get to spend a lot longer here than you do.”

“But I don’t understand,” I say. “Isn’t there supposed to be heaven and hell? Or reincarnation? Or something?”

“We’re here because we died before our time,” Coach H says. “We left tasks uncompleted in our life and so we have to pay for that, spiritually, here, before we’re released. To go to the next plane. Whether that’s heaven or hell or another life, I can’t tell you.”

“So do you know what it is you were supposed to do?”

“I was supposed to write another three novels,” Ms.

W says. “But I drowned myself in a river near my home first.”

“You drowned yourself?”

“Just like Ophelia,” she says. When I have a blank look on my face, she sighs and shakes her head. “Hamlet’s girlfriend?”

“Sorry, I don’t get it,” I say.

“Never mind,” Ms. W says. “But when we get back to class, I am assigning you some more homework.”

“So that explains the water,” I say, stepping away from her dripping sleeve.

“The what…? Oh, goodness,” she says, looking down at her sleeve. She closes her eyes a moment as if concentrating. Then, just like that, she’s dry. “Sometimes, especially if I don’t concentrate, a bit of my death creeps into my appearance. It’s quite a scarring event for a soul. I don’t recommend it.”

“Thanks, I wasn’t planning on it, though,” I say.

If
only
my parents knew about this. I’d be home in a heartbeat. Then again…Maybe I haven’t kissed my hopes of a scholarship to Princeton good-bye. Tutoring by
the
Ernest Hemingway could only help with my SATs scores, couldn’t it?

“This is heartwarming and all,” says Blade, sounding impatient, “but would somebody please explain what is up with these books? And why we just spent a half hour being chased by Dracula?”

“The books you saw tonight are no ordinary books,” Ms. W says. “They come from a special vault below the library and, as you have seen, they have the power to bring fictional characters to life.”

“You see, when a writer creates a story, he or she creates an alternative universe — literally,” Coach H says. “These books act like portals, of sorts, to that real world.”

“You guys
do
realize how crazy that sounds, right?” Hana asks, but they ignore her.

“Normally, they’re kept hidden in our vault beneath the library,” Coach H adds, carefully taking
Dracula
out of Blade’s hands. “There they are contained and don’t have powers. But if they are taken from the vault, then…”

“Then Dracula can come suck on my neck,” Blade finishes.

“Exactly.”

“Is this part of the reform school? Being sucked dry by Dracula? Because if it is, I swear I’ll never do anything bad again in my life,” Blade says.

“It isn’t supposed to happen,” Ms. W says. “In fact, the characters can only come through to this world if they have anchors. People in this world that they can bond with or recognize from their own worlds.”

“You mean that we
look
like characters in the books they’re from and that’s why they follow us around?” I ask.

“That’s right,” Coach H says. “You’re Cathy from
Wuthering Heights.
And your roommate looks like Lucy from
Dracula.
And Hana does look a bit like the heroine of
Jane Eyre.
”

“But why not just destroy all the books, if they’re so dangerous?” I ask them.

“We can’t. Each of us is linked to one book,” Ms. W says. “Our souls are kept there.”

“Destroy them, and you destroy us,” Coach H finishes.

I suddenly remember page 139 from
Wuthering Heights
. “So that’s why you were so upset about the page from
Wuthering Heights,
” I say. “It was from one of these special books.”

“Now you’re catching on,” Coach H says.

“Is this the first time books have gotten out?” I ask.

“No,” Ms. W says. “The last time this happened was fifteen years ago.”

“When Kate Shaw disappeared,” I say. “Because she looks like me. And we both look like Catherine.”

“That’s right.”

“So why is Emily doing this?”

Before Ms. W can answer, we’re interrupted by the sudden appearance of Headmaster B, who materializes in the room by walking through a wall, and floating above our heads.

“Just when were you two going to tell me my sister was causing trouble — again?” she asks Ms. W and Coach H, who look sort of sheepish.

“Whoa — cool,” Blade exclaims, watching Headmaster B float down to the ground in front of us. She has died and gone to occult heaven right now.

“Charlotte, we didn’t think there was time,” Ms. W says.

“We thought we could handle it,” Coach adds.

“Oh yes, four students nearly killed and Heathcliff escaping with
Wuthering Heights,
” Headmaster B says. “Congratulations on your handling of the situation. Commendable.”

“She really seems pissed,” Samir whispers to me.

“B stands for Brontë, doesn’t it? You’re Charlotte Brontë,” I say, suddenly, putting the pieces together. Emily — author of
Wuthering Heights
. Charlotte — author of
Jane Eyre.

She frowns at me, but she doesn’t deny it.

“Enough,” Charlotte Brontë snaps. “All of you need to come to my office. Now.”

Twenty-four

On the way back to
Headmaster B’s office, Coach H takes out a cigarette and lights it.

“You know those are bad for you,” I tell him, waving off the smoke.

“I’m dead, what else can they do to me?” Coach H digs into his pocket for the silver flask I always see him with. “Want some?” he asks me.

“I’m not supposed to drink,” I say. “I’m a minor.”

“Oh right, I forgot,” he says, putting the flask back in his pocket.

“Teaching isn’t really your calling, is it?” I ask him.

“What do you think?” he barks gruffly.

By the time we get to Headmaster B’s office, Coach H, Ms. W, and Headmaster B are all arguing among themselves about what happened and what they should do now. They’re so wrapped up in talking that they slip right through the wall of the office, leaving the four of us still-living people on the other side of a locked door.

“Uh, guys?” I ask, knocking on the door.

“Hello? We’re not dead yet?” Samir says.

After a second, we hear the click of the lock and the door slides open.

“Sorry,” Coach H says and lets us in.

I’m still having a very hard time getting used to the idea that my teachers are ghosts. I always knew they were a different species, but I didn’t realize they were
dead.

“We have some questions we need answered,” Charlotte says.

“Before I answer anything,” I say, “I want to know exactly what happened to Kate Shaw. I think we all do.” I look at Hana, Samir, and Blade. They all nod in unison.

Ms. W and Coach H glance over at Charlotte. Her mouth sets in a thin line. She doesn’t want to tell us, but she also sees that she doesn’t have a choice.

She lets out a long sigh.

“First, you should understand Emily’s role in this,” Charlotte begins. “Emily had a tenuous grasp on reality when we were living. You see, our mother died when we were both very young and our father didn’t care for children. And to escape this reality, she and our other sister, Anne, created a fantasy world called Gondal. They wrote poems about it and created characters. Emily always had a hard time separating the fantasy from the reality. She wanted to live in her fantasy world. For Emily, her fiction has always been more real to her than life itself.”

Charlotte looks sad when she says this. She sits down behind her desk and stares off into the fire. I think back to the greenhouse. She was clearly a bit out of it.

“And now that we’re here, my sister lost what little was left of her ability to make sense of the world. She was harmless, though, living in her own world, surrounded by her writing, until about fifteen years ago, when she discovered that she could bring her own characters into this world.”

Charlotte looks at me.

“Kate Shaw was Emily’s first casualty in manipulating time and space. We don’t know what happened to her, but we do know that it’s very dangerous to bring together the world of fiction and reality.”

“When fictional worlds and the real world collide, bad things happen,” Coach H says.

“We only discovered this by accident,” Charlotte continues. “In 1847, a student got access to the vault and took
Frankenstein.
”

“All hell broke loose,” Coach H says.

“It was before my time here, as well as Mr. Hemingway’s, but the school burned to the ground,” Charlotte says, looking very sad. “Many students died. And we realized then the importance of protecting you from the books in the vault.”

“Not to mention the fact that if we destroy one of them, we destroy you,” Hana points out.

“That, too,” Ms. W says quietly.

I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue if some of the delinquent students around here got wind of the fact that they could eliminate the teachers simply by raiding a book vault. There would be anarchy.

“It’s also possible that both worlds can be destroyed,” Charlotte says. “The fabric of time and space is very thin and there’s a delicate balance between our world and theirs. And while one character seems to be able to pass safely into our world, we believe that if more than one character from the same book should cross over to our world, it would upset the balance of the universe and…”

“It could bring on the apocalypse,” Ms. W adds.

“Armageddon? Wow — this is SO cool.” Blade’s eyes are wide in awe. I’m sure the apocalypse would be like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade for her.

“We actually don’t know that for sure,” Coach H says. “But we don’t exactly want to test the theory, either.”

We’re all silent a moment, digesting this piece of information. It’s a lot to process all at once. I’m at a boarding school run by famous ghosts, one of them is insane and wants to bring fictional characters to life, potentially destroying the entire universe. It’s a lot to swallow.

But something more is bothering me. “So why is Kate Shaw haunting my room?”

“We don’t know. That’s what we wanted to ask you,” Ms. W says. “We thought you might’ve been helping Emily.”

I shrug. “Not me,” I say. “I don’t know anything about a vault. So how many books does Emily have out?”

“We don’t know exactly.”

“And how long do we have? You know, before the world goes bye-bye?” Hana asks.

“We don’t know.”

“What
do
you know?” Samir asks them.

“That we’re dead, smart aleck,” Coach H says.

“Boys,” chides Ms. W. “Let’s get back to the problem at hand, shall we? Now, Miranda, do you know why Heathcliff is fixated on you?”

“He thinks I’m Cathy.”

“Oh dear,” Ms. W says, looking at Charlotte. “Kate Shaw…” She trails off.

“We don’t know what happened exactly, but we think Heathcliff was involved in her disappearance,” Charlotte says.

I swallow, hard.