“Well, when you put it that way—”
Our phones simultaneously bleep with the same melodic email chime. I reach into my cardigan and tap over to my inbox, where I discover a message directed to the entire student body. In the subject line, Headmistress Ellerby has written:A NOTICE ABOUT IVERNIA SCHOOL.
I hold my breath. When I click into the email, I see it. A detailed memo about the school’s impending closure.
21
The email is all anyonecan talk about over the weekend. While Ellerby noted they’re seeking alternative options, she expressed there’s little the board can do to legally ensure Ivernia can stay on our current land.Negotiations are ongoing, she wrote, but it wasn’t anything Sumner and I didn’t already know—it just didn’t feel as final as it does now. Our grades and classes will continue to count toward our overall educational curriculum, and we’re told to proceed as usual.
This, of course, is all Analiese wants to talk about. Her stressed reaction is what I’d expected. She spirals. Asks me questions no one can answer. Tries to get a meeting with Ellerby, but can’t, so she resorts to passing her anxiety on to me. By Sunday I need a break, so I intentionally avoid her by going on a long hike with Lionel and William.
To make matters worse, Ellerby hasn’t replied to my fundraising email. So when I drag myself to the Ladies of Polite Society welcome tea in Langley Center on Monday, I am not the least bit joyous or hopeful. On the upside, at least I don’t have another terrible one-on-one with Mrs.Vidar-Tett, especially since I haven’t bothered to redo the assignment.
Langley is Ivernia’s only non-traditional auditorium largeenough to transform into whatever space you might need. It’s where our assemblies and other events are hosted. Wood flooring takes up the surface area, scuffed and dinged from folding chairs dragged across it over the years. Thick oak beams run across the ceiling and large sash windows welcome the natural light. Today, four circular plastic tables are positioned near the stage, which holds a podium and a mic.
The tables are set with porcelain teacups, tiny bowls of sugar cubes, and trays of dainty finger sandwiches. A teapot sits in the center atop a laced doily. I find an empty seat with Sabine and Inessa, who both look as bummed as I feel.
Inessa kicks out a chair for me. “Welcome to the funeral.”
“Don’t even joke,” Sabine chides. “I’m still hopeful.”
“I’mnot,” Inessa declares.
Sabine gives me a sympathetic smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You doing okay?”
“Not really,” I admit.
I talked to my mom and Jared on Friday. She was adamant about trusting the process and hoping they’d find a solution. If not, I could come home and finish the school year with Madelene. It wasn’t ideal, but it was my only option. What I couldn’t quite articulate was thatthiswas my home too.
Jared didn’t tell me everything would be fine or lie and say they’d figure it out. He just told me he wished there was more he could do. It wasn’t fair, but like Sumner had said, it doesn’t matter if it’s fair or not. It’s reality.
Three solid claps gather everyone’s attention to the front of the stage. Headmistress Ellerby clacks over to the microphone and adjusts it before speaking.
“I know all of you are feeling unsettled about the email I sent on Friday,” she begins. “But I do hope you can give your full attention to the welcome program our mentors have planned for you.” Scattered, unenthusiastic claps echo around us. I join in half-heartedly. “I’ve known our school to rally fiercely in the face of adversity. And while things may look bleak, we won’t give up. Which is why we’d like to do the presentation ball a bit differently this year.”
She looks right at me as she says it.
“Mrs.Vidar-Tett.” Ellerby steps aside, gesturing for her to come up.
Mrs.Vidar-Tett takes her place. “Thank you, headmistress.” Her gaze sweeps around the room. “I’ve spoken with the other mentors, as well as some of my mentees, who are in agreement that Ladies of Polite Society would benefit from a rebrand. Starting with the name.”
On the projection screen behind her, a logo ignites with bold text underneath:Student Leaders of Tomorrow.
“This organization welcomes seniors to participate in activities geared toward servicing community, your school, and yourselves,” she continues. “Our program is designed to impart values, confidence, and skills you may require in your future endeavors. And while thisdoesstill include a presentation ball to reward your hardwork, we’d like to extend our thanks to Delaney Carmichael for the idea of having this event act as a fundraiser for the school.”
Multiple heads rotate in my direction. It takes me a moment to process what I’ve just heard. They thought my idea was worth exploring. Well, William’s idea, really.
“The presentation ball will also act as an alumni gala,” she continues through the murmurs. “You will be the ones reaching out and inviting our former graduates, letting them know their contributions will directly benefit the future of Ivernia on this campus. The gala will take place on December sixth. We hope the proceeds will be enough to secure the deed to this land, though we can’t guarantee it will.”
Sabine’s hand flies up. Mrs.Vidar-Tett points to her.
“We can ask the community to sponsor the event.” She sits up straighter. “We can list them on the program—or on a banner depending on the size of the donation.”
“Excellent,” Mrs.Vidar-Tett says warmly. “Community outreach is a wonderful way to expand this initiative. I’m going to have our mentors pass out our new itinerary.”
I accept an agenda from Ellerby as she comes by. She clasps me on the shoulder. “Well done,” she says before quickly moving along.
Overlapping voices rise in volume as excitement builds. This couldactuallybe a viable solution to saving Ivernia.
