Isle of Night by Verónica Wolff Page B

needed to hide my iPod and photo—how I longed to take a quick peek at my mother’s smiling face—but where on earth could I stash them without Lilac finding out? I wouldn’t put it past her to rifle through my stuff, and I had the dreaded feeling that I’d be wearing my iPod and picture in my panties for the rest of the semester.
    I eyed the desks. Each had a stack of books on them, and I made a beeline to each one in turn, immediately deducing which was mine. The elementary German grammar workbook had Lilac’s name all over it. I chuckled to myself. Good luck with that, von Slutling. She also got a book on Norse culture and one of those English-lit tomes that contained every story ever written, printed on paper thinner than onion skin.
    My pile left a lot to be desired, though. I fought not to be too disappointed. I mean, what’d I expect? A first-edition Byron or something?
    Yeah, I realized. I kinda had. I mean, if these vampires were old—and I assumed they were—wouldn’t they have some really old, really cool books?
    All I’d been issued was something on Norse mythology and a Spanish-English dictionary. The Norse stuff was cool, yes, but not enough to occupy me for a week, much less a semester. What was I going to be studying, anyway?
    Going to the dresser, I automatically opened and shut the drawers out of habit, and was surprised to find something tucked away in the bottom drawer. A lovely handcrafted box, painted red, with a crane etched in black on the lid. I thought it looked Japanese.
    I carefully pulled off the lid—someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make the top and bottom fit together perfectly—and I gasped. Four throwing stars sat nestled atop a swath of black velvet. I could tell it was old. Not that the fabric was threadbare; it just looked ancient.
    I traced my finger over the stars. They were a dull, steely color, with six razor-sharp points. I tested a tip with my thumb and then smudged the flat of the blades. My touch didn’t leave so much as a fingerprint. A shiver ran up my spine.
    The door swung open, and I slammed the box and the drawer shut.
    Lilac looked at me with suspicion, her gaze jumping from me to my hand on the dresser, then back again. “It’s not like I’m thrilled about this, either, Chari—”
    â€œWould you stop calling me that?” Standing straight, I pulled my hand back and fisted it at my side.
    She sauntered in. Dumping her kit bag on the floor, she went to her desk, grunting when she rifled through her pile of books. Wandering to her dresser, she opened the drawers just as I had. When she reached the bottom drawer, she paused, chuckling to herself, and then slammed it shut again.
    Did she get throwing stars, too?
    â€œWhy are you staring at me?” She kept her back to me as she spoke. “You’re not some kind of dyke, are you?”
    I couldn’t deal with this right now. I had to get out of there before I said something I regretted. Curfew was eight p.m., but I didn’t think that meant we weren’t allowed to leave the room. Snagging my Norse mythology book, I left.
    I figured I had at least a few hours to burn until Lilac went to bed, and so I took myself on a tour of the dorm. Clutching my book to my side, I walked purposefully, being careful not to make eye contact with any of the other girls who appeared in the halls.
    The building had four floors. Each was exactly alike, with sixteen rooms per floor, except for the ground level, which had only fourteen rooms and a large foyer. Each floor shared four bathrooms, two on either side of the hallway. A kitchenette and common area with couches and a fireplace were at the far end of each hall.
    From what I spied through an open doorway, two rooms on the end of each hall were actually suites with their own bathrooms. I assumed each was occupied by a Proctor. That meant two Proctors per floor, for eight Proctors total.
    I did the