The window didn’t open far enough for a hand to reach through. The wall outside it was close enough to block my view but not close enough to climb.
I crossed the room and opened the note.
For later.
No name.
It didn’t need one.
I had a strong suspicion about who had written it. Someone with bright green eyes and terrible manners.
I put the apple in the drawer.
The note, I kept.
8
By the time the evening bell rang, I had decided two things.
First, I wasn’t eating the stupid apple.
Second, Kieran Marsh was going to explain how it had gotten into my locked room.
The east kitchen smelled like onions, yeast, and dough rising in the cloth-covered bowls on the counter.
Rev was there, standing at the long table with her sleeves rolled up and both hands in a bowl of dough. She looked at me, then at the apple I held in my hand like an accusation.
“Don’t look at me. I’m not responsible for him.”
“Where is he?”
“Good evening to you too.”
“Good evening. Where is Kieran?”
Rev pulled one hand out of the dough and pointed upward with two floury fingers.
“Clock tower, probably.”
“I thought the clock tower was off-limits.”
Rev frowned.
“Since when?”
That stopped me more effectively than Hale had.
“Hale said it wasn’t on my tour.”
“That’s very different from off-limits.”
“He said I wasn’t allowed there.”
Rev considered that, then went back to folding the dough.
“Instructor Hale has his reasons for the things he says. That doesn’t make them rules.”
“So there isn’t a rule.”
