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June 2, 1938

Thursday

Eight-thirty. Breakfast was on schedule. The dining room on the first floor was small but bright because of several windows. That's probably why I liked to have breakfast there. The breakfast itself was, of course, disgusting, but the rays of the morning sun were beautiful. Since my room's window overlooked a dull brick wall, I valiantly reclaimed this area from the other guys. Since then, nobody has sat at that table.

A line of kids slowly moved from the small sink to the window where Miss Blair was. She smiled good-naturedly and served food. So, I took my tray, greeted a more sensible person than Mrs. Cole, and was already turning in the usual direction when I saw that the new girl had taken my place.

What the hell?

I debated for a moment whether to drive her away or just stay and sit by her. I instantly knew the response was in my head: no, this is my space; go find another one. I walked confidently to the table, determined to come into conflict if the situation called for it.

"Hi, Tom!" Irene spoke first. She didn't sound happy, but she didn't sound aggressive either. "Place is free. Sit down."

"Actually, it's my place," I said calmly, drilling a hole in her forehead with my eyes. Her forehead was the only place on her face that was visible to me; everything else was hidden behind the large iron mug, like a knight's visor, from which she sipped her tea.

I sat opposite. Irene put the mug on the table and continued, "You can sit with me." After a moment's silence, she stuck an aluminum spoon into the porridge and then added, "If you don't ask stupid questions, of course."

"I wasn't going to talk to you," I said coldly. That was my silent attempt to send her to hell gently, without attracting attention. Then I defiantly started my breakfast.

Who the hell are you? To give you any special attention! A wave of mild irritation went through my body. I hope she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut because if she said another word, we would get into a fight. That silly girl didn't win that place by the window to come take it for granted, as if it had always belonged to her. Forget it. No way.

"Let's just eat breakfast," Irene spat out sharply and coldly, putting the mug on the table and looking at me for the first time.

I could finally see her face, and I realized her whole appearance was haggard. It seemed that she had not slept for a couple of days. Her black hair gave her an even more gaunt appearance against her dead-pale face. Dull, emerald eyes, shaded by swelling and bruises, looked straight into mine. She waited for my response without blinking. For a split second, she zoned out. I suddenly realized that the pause had dragged on a bit, and my entire attitude of scolding had been replaced with a fixation on the minutiae. I feigned as surprised a look as I could. My reaction was late, but Irene didn't seem an actively thinking person either, at least for now. As if awakening from a short trance, she put her spoon into the tasteless, lumpy porridge and said softly, "I'll sit here, Tom. I don't annoy you with silly questions, and you don't annoy me."

I silently nodded, because there was a point in her words, and it was absolutely unwise to attract Mrs. Cole's attention. It was still hard to resist the urge to strike Irene squarely in the middle of her forehead with a spoon, though! But I was nevertheless acutely aware that the Billy scenario of late remained fresh in everyone's memory.

Then there was a complete immersion in the morning meal, as if it were something fascinating, as long as my eyes didn't slip inadvertently to the new girl. She finished the tasteless porridge faster than I did, got up from the table, and headed away. Instantly, my eyes stuck to the back of the receding figure, much like a tiny iron fragment that clung to the magnet, treacherously slipping out of my hands over and over again. I only went on eating breakfast when Irene disappeared from the shared dining area and went hiding somewhere in the orphanage hallways.

Every day was boring, the same. The kids played on the playground outside the orphanage, according to the schedule. According to the schedule, there were general but rare lessons. According to the schedule, we had lunch and dinner... All those days blended into one. But I felt every day that something else was waiting for me. I couldn't figure out what it was yet, but the fact that I was here was clearly a mistake. My father must be looking for me.

The warm summer wind blew on my face and mussed the locks of my hair. I blew on the annoying curl that stabbed me right in the eye and looked around the playground of the orphanage with an appraising glance. It seemed as if a tumbleweed was about to sweep from the cast-iron gates to the walls of the building. I was bored, though the other kids, like monkeys with a cheeky squeal, swarmed around the same benches every walk—one sandbox (in fact, it was just a pile of sand) and two old, rusty swings—as if they were there for the first time. A girl's laugh could be heard above the background din. Well, of course, this was something new! Something new was both immensely annoying and incredibly alluring in the perpetual drabness of life in an orphanage. It stirred my interest barely perceptibly and thereby made me feel a subtle dislike.

It did not seem to bother Irene that her dress was white as she sat on her haunches by the bench. Uncontrollably, my tongue clicked and my eyes rolled up, as though they were having their own life. Mrs. Cole will be displeased with such carelessness, but Irene either did not know about it or she was so carried away by the conversation. But with whom? There's no one there. Strange girl. Very strange.

I walked across the playground to the swing, which was located on the other side from the bench, and took a seat on a gray wooden plank. The creak of the rusty chain echoed through the yard, lost in the hum of children's cries and laughter. I pressed my feet to the ground, not wanting to swing. First, this activity seemed kind of primitive to me, and second, I did not want to die because of the old swing at all. The possibility that it might fall off at any moment always seemed very high to me. All of my movements were composed and even phlegmatic, in contrast to the inquisitive look that darted across to the bench. 

There was definitely nobody there.

I listened intently, desperately clinging to the echoes of the phrases.

"Where did you come from?" Irene chirped friendly. "Really?"

Red-haired Bella, with a smile on her face, approached Irene. Bella was a good girl, the most ordinary. She caused no conflicts, and no one offended her. Apparently, she decided to make friends with the new girl. Running up to the fragile silhouette sitting on the ground, she poked her finger somewhere in Irene's shoulder blade and laughed loudly. Irene jerked, but she quickly got over the body reaction.

It took me a split second to realize that Irene was analyzing Bella exactly the same way she had analyzed me yesterday. She gave a cheerful smile because she didn't see any danger, rose up from the ground, and shook off the light hem of her dress. Her black sandals and snow-white socks were covered with dust. After a brief hesitation, she waved her hand.

There you go... She would get a punishment from Mrs. Cole tonight for such untidiness; she would have to spend the entire night washing her white socks, and her desire to crawl on the muddy ground would be gone for all eternity. Silly girl.

The girls disappeared behind the main entrance of the orphanage. And I was wondering what could make a plain gray bench so fascinating.

I moved quickly in the direction where Irene had been crouching just a short while ago. I smiled slightly, anticipating something interesting. How disappointed I was to find that there was nothing unusual there! I wanted to grab the new girl by a lock of hair and pull with all my strength for the deceived expectations, so that she screamed in pain and cried, begging to let go. That's who should be sent to an asylum, Mrs. Cole, definitely not me! At least, I don't talk to benches. As I was about to walk away, I let out a frustrated sigh and noticed something behind the bench. I immediately stepped closer and froze in a daze. It couldn't be!

A dark tangle lay in the grass, shimmering in the sun. It was a snake with a rhombus pattern on its greenish back. My heart completely refused to listen to my cold mind. It dispersed the blood, echoing in my temples.

"Was she talking to you?" I instantly leaned toward the snake, basking in the warm rays.

"Yesss," it hissed back. The scaly rings moved slowly, shimmering in the sun.

"Does she understand you the way I do?"

"Yesss, ssshe does."

This situation was the trigger, so I spent the next two weeks constantly watching the new girl. It was like some kind of mania, an obsession. Was it because the kids at Wool's orphanage were left on their own and there were no special classes offered? Who knows... Actually, I had previously gone out on my own and taken long walks around London in an attempt to add some adventure to the monotonous, never-ending routine. Now all my thoughts revolved around that girl, who had come from nowhere. She was courteous and well-mannered, yet she stayed to herself and did not get close to anyone. I also sat next to her in the dining room, but we didn't talk. There was also no interaction with Irene in the few classes we attended, as I sat in the first row and she in the third. When we were scheduled to go for a walk, she sat aloof on the bench, watching everyone thoughtfully and, as usual, dangling her feet that didn't reach the ground. She was watching me, too. I could feel it. It goes without saying that I didn't play with anyone on that playground either, but I also wasn't going to get any closer to Irene, not just yet. Irene was always out of sight when we were permitted to stroll outside the orphanage, but eventually I followed her because I was so curious.

But nothing unusual happened there either. It turned out that she ran down to the Millennium Bridge, went down the cliff to the water, and just sat there alone for hours.

Notes:

The Millennium Bridge was opened in 2000. In J.K. Rowling's series of books, there is also a deviation from real events. Therefore, we will transfer this beautiful structure and existence to the 30s.

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