Rooftop reverie
Euphemia was lounging on the couch, her legs draped lazily over the armrest. The faint glow from the low-hanging lamp above her cast soft shadows on her face. Her glass of rosé shimmered in the quiet of the room, and she was letting the silence stretch out between them like a warm blanket. James and Marlene sat across from her, cocooned in their own thoughts, waiting for her to speak.
“So,” Euphemia started with a slow grin, “are you two ready for tomorrow? Ready to start at St. Edmund’s?”
James shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the night hanging heavy on his shoulders. “Ready as we’ll ever be,” he muttered, leaning back into his chair, feeling the subtle hum of tension in the air.
Marlene’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, her posture more relaxed. “What’s it really like there?” she asked, her tone almost teasing. “Tell us what to expect.”
Euphemia smirked, sipping from her glass and casting a thoughtful glance at them both. “Oh, it’s a beautiful mess. The kind of place that gets under your skin. You’ll meet all kinds of people — the good, the bad, and the complicated,” she added with a wistful tone. “It’s where I met your father, James,” she said, looking at him with that mix of affection and something more bittersweet. “He was... well, he wasn’t the man you know now. He was quiet. Kind. A bit lost, actually.”
James stiffened, the mention of his father already making his chest tighten. He hadn’t been ready to think about him, let alone hear Euphemia talk about the way he used to be before everything had broken down.
“Anyway,” Euphemia continued, blissfully unaware of his discomfort, “I spent a summer there when I was younger. It was... well, let’s just say I had a fling with someone. Not your father, though,” she added quickly, her smile widening mischievously. “A girl, actually. She was part of one of those families that’s just chaotic, you know? The kind that makes the rest of us feel like amateurs. She introduced me to a lot of interesting things, to say the least.”
Marlene raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “A girl? Tell us more,” she teased, leaning forward.
Euphemia laughed, clearly enjoying the attention. “No, no, not that kind of story,” she said, shaking her head. “Let’s just say it was... wild. Anyway, that’s the thing about St. Edmund’s. It’s where things get out of hand, but also where you find pieces of yourself you didn’t even know you had.”
James felt a strange weight pressing on his chest as Euphemia spoke. It wasn’t the story about the girl — it was the part about St. Edmund’s itself. The way she spoke of it with a mixture of fondness and regret, as though the school had both shaped her and broken her in ways she couldn’t quite explain. It made him uneasy, the idea of going there tomorrow. It was too much — too big, too complicated.
Euphemia went on, casually now, “I heard from Evan’s mum the other day. She’s in my book club, you know. She mentioned they’re moving back, actually. I think Evan’s going to be attending St. Edmund’s again this year.”
The name Evan hit James like a jolt, snapping him out of his thoughts. His mind immediately flooded with memories of the past — memories of late afternoons spent in the secret garden, of whispered conversations, and the quiet understanding between them. Evan had always been different, in a way that made James feel both comfortable and curious. But that was a lifetime ago. He hadn’t thought about Evan in years.
Marlene noticed the shift in James' demeanor, but she didn’t press him. “Evan? Who’s that?”
James hesitated for a moment, staring down at the floor as he fought to keep his thoughts from spilling out. He swallowed before speaking, trying to keep his voice casual. “He was... a friend,” he said simply. His words felt flat, like they couldn’t possibly convey the true weight of what that friendship had been. But he didn’t want to say more. He couldn’t. Not here, not now.
Marlene gave him a curious look but didn’t ask any further questions. She trusted him enough not to push, though a part of her knew there was something more to the story. But she’d let James tell her when he was ready.
Euphemia didn’t seem to notice the tension that had crept in. “Yes, I think he’ll be there this year. His mother said they’re back in the area. I’m sure you two will run into him eventually.”
James didn’t answer. The thought of seeing Evan again after all these years — of standing in front of him in a place like St. Edmund’s — unsettled him more than he cared to admit. The memories of their friendship, the games they played, and the times they hid in that secret garden together, all rushed back in waves.
Back then, when they were just kids, everything had seemed so simple. Evan had been the first person to show James that someone could be beautiful in ways that weren’t always obvious. James had never told anyone, but he’d thought Evan was beautiful in that quiet, raw way — the way someone’s vulnerability could make them shine in a way nothing else could.
But those days felt like a lifetime ago. And now, St. Edmund’s was going to force him to face all of that again.
“Well, it’s late,” Euphemia said, standing up from the couch and stretching. “You’ll see soon enough what St. Edmund’s is really like. It’ll be a shock at first, but you’ll get used to it. Just... remember to be careful. Not everything there is as it seems.”
She smiled at them, the kind of smile that said she knew more than she was letting on. Then, as she headed for the door, she added, “And remember, you’ve got each other. That’s the only thing that really matters when you’re there.”
Marlene nodded, but James didn’t respond. His mind was too busy running through old memories — memories of Evan, of those hidden moments in the garden when everything else in the world faded away.
And as Euphemia’s footsteps faded into the hall, James sat back, letting the weight of the night settle over him. Tomorrow was coming, and with it, everything he had tried to leave behind would be waiting for him.
James had already been awake for an hour by the time the sun started creeping in.
Not that he’d slept much — mostly just laid there in a puddle of nerves, heart beating like a drum solo, staring at the ceiling like it was judging him. Which it probably was. He was pretty sure the ceiling knew things.
By 6:05, he’d packed his suitcase.
By 6:20, he’d unpacked it.
By 6:35, he had packed it again and then cried because he couldn’t find his favorite socks.
At 6:40, he opened a tiny bottle of vodka he’d been saving for emergencies.
“This is an emergency,” he whispered to his shoes, and took the shot.
He got dressed while still slightly tear-stained and vodka-warm, shoving his curls back and buttoning his shirt with more force than strictly necessary. He looked annoyingly good for someone who had fully spiraled before breakfast. White dress shirt, grey trousers, blazer slightly crooked, curls doing whatever they wanted. Like a haunted prep-school boyband lead singer.
Marlene rolled out of bed at 6:45 like she’d been cursed. Her hair was everywhere. Her voice was a croak. Her only words were, “Why are you already panicking?”
James, who had just buttoned and re-buttoned his blazer for the fifth time, looked up with wide eyes.
“I think I’m going to vomit from my soul.”
She blinked at him. “Did you cry again?”
“No.”
“You have cry-eyes.”
James sniffled. “I couldn’t find the socks with the little stars.”
“Oh my god.”
While she threw on her school uniform — combat boots, skirt, band tee under her blazer, seven rings and zero regrets — James paced the kitchen like a Victorian ghost trying to process modern lighting.
At 6:55, he opened the tea cupboard and pulled out the tin of weed edibles.
Marlene was tying her boots. “James. Don’t.”
“I’m spiraling.”
“Yeah, and last time you spiraled on drugs, you apologized to a ficus and made me read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock aloud while you wept.”
James didn’t even blink. “Do you want to do drugs?”
She glared. “James.”
“I’m serious.”
“No you’re not.”
“I could be.”
“You cried when I gave you a weed brownie.”
“I didn’t cry, I got emotional.”
“You told the ceiling fan you forgave it.”
“I stand by that.”
“You don’t do drugs. You spiral, apologize to God, and then read poetry until you pass out.”
James sighed. “You’re right.”
“Always.”
“Marlene,” he said at 7:12, deadly serious, “please let me do drugs. I’m so stressed I think I just heard a nun in my head.”
She stared at him. “Fine. Half.”
He took a whole one.
And after he chewed, smug and victorious: “Also I drank vodka earlier.”
She froze. “You what.”
“Just a little.”
“James, that’s literally dangerous.”
“I feel a little warm.”
“You’re crossfaded before sunrise. You could die.”
“Oh no,” James whispered. “I think I’ve sinned too hard.”
She rubbed her eyes. “You need toast.”
At 7:30, they were finally packed, dressed, and mostly vertical.
James had repacked his suitcase twice more, added a sketchbook he hadn’t touched in months, and insisted on bringing a jar of honey “for emergencies.” Marlene packed in fifteen minutes and spent the rest of the time convincing James his tie was not a noose of shame.
Euphemia emerged at 7:40, glowing in mint-green linen and sunglasses, coffee in one hand and elegance in the other.
She hugged them both too tight.
Kissed Marlene on the forehead.
Handed James a pack of lemon lozenges.
“For the guilt sweats,” she said.
Then handed the cab driver a wad of cash and told him, “Godspeed. And don’t let him talk about T.S. Eliot when he gets nervous.”
James, naturally, immediately began spiraling the second the cab doors shut.
The car rolled away from the curb.
The city faded behind them.
Marlene leaned her head against the window, chewing gum and humming Life on Mars
James sat perfectly still for five full minutes.
Then turned to her, completely serious.
“I dreamt of David Bowie last night.”
Marlene didn’t open her eyes. “Was he in uniform?”
“No. He was glowing. He told me I’m doing too much.”
“Again: accurate.”
“Then he kissed my forehead and turned into stardust.”
Marlene snorted.
And James, as if none of that had just happened, closed his eyes and passed out cold against the cab door.
Marlene glanced at him.
Then at the road.
“Here we go,” she said softly.
St. Edmund’s was hours away.
And it had no idea what was about to hit it.