After a couple hundred miles, a couple gallons of gas and several untold gallons of cool refreshment, the gates of Buttercombe Academy for Growing Girls were at long last visible. Rebecca, noticing that the static built up from her hair being just millimeters from the ceiling, was trying to smooth it out to no avail.
"Cor, look at the brickwork at this place."
" 'Cor'?" Paul questioned. "Did you mind become completely scrambled with the British English over there, along with your driving skills?"
"Oh hush you," Rebecca said playfully but still nervous. She was about to meet her new employer and, unusually, was getting a tad anxious. When it came to performance she had no stage fright whatsoever. Even as noted chair in an orchestra it was easy to dodge attention in such a large ensemble. With smaller 'audiences' she could be less socially graceful. Or it could be stemming from equating authority with a series of strict music tutors she had in her upbringing.
"Letsee, we need to get to the main building to meet miss," clearly anxiousness was also overtaxing her memory. "Poll-something? Potluck? Bollock? Bollocks."
"Watch it!" Paul called out. There was an interior jostling bump from the car coming to a stop at the gate, luckily they had only been creeping forward given Rebecca's foot on the break.
"They can't be closed?"
An exasperated sigh from Paul. "There's a gate intercom for security."
Rebecca checked out her window then sheepishly remembered her orientation and looked out the other way to where the speaker was. She shifted gear into reverse. "If you could roll your window down sis."
Paul did so, capped with an admonishing look forward as if she was wearing blinders in an attempt to ignore the rest of the world.
The intercom crackled into life. "Hullo, sorry! Um, this is Rebecca Voll-Spillum, future music--well, anyway here to meet mz...Pollock! That's it. Yes, her."
Despite that poor check-in after a moment security buzzed them through the gates. Paul provided commentary. "That was totally legitimate."
Rebecca just whistled her nervousness away. She reached about for one of her drinks but empty cups and the sloshing feeling in her stomach informed her that all of her lifeblood liquids had already been drank. This earned that universal pout whenever someone discovered they'd eaten the last fry or chip from the bag or in this case the last sips of a limeade. That only left excavating the travel cooler in the back if they hadn't made it to Buttercombe by this point.
"Now be nice Paule--Paul. A first impression can mean everything."
Paul was busy trying to pry a messenger bag out from pile occupying the rear seats. "Fine." After retrieving her bag she glanced at the grounds. "Most people must be inside."
"Technically we're at the tail end of orientation week. Well, maybe it's just freshmen orientation, though you're a grade up of course." She cut herself off before she started rambling.
After pulling up to architecture that reminded Rebecca of buildings she had seen in Europe, the Spillum sisters had finally arrived. Under the front building's portico was a plump woman smartly dressed in a yellow pantsuit. She seemed surprised when Rebecca emerged out of the right-side door after parking the car. Surprised and with a craning neck when Rebecca unfurled her full height after climbing out of the amusingly short car.
"Welcome to Buttercombe! Rebecca Voll-Spillum, isn't it?"
"Yes Ms. Pot-Pollock, I assume." Rebecca smiled big, unaware her teeth had a green tint from her prior slush.
If Ms. Polluck had noticed she didn't mention it. "Yes indeed. Voll-Spillum, would that happen to be Scandinavian?"
"Norwegian," Rebecca replied. "Though distantly. Way back in the family tree."
Paul had walked around from the left side of the car shouldering her bag. The strap had been decorated with fastener pins. It had been an early birthday gift from her sister one year and was her favorite bag, both for the roominess and insulative qualities. She was about to open the hatchback before Ms. Polluck noticed her.
"And you must be Pauline Voll-Spillum." Ms. Polluck's smile was just as big as Rebecca's though her tone had become stilted. Her jaw jutted out emphasizing her chin. Clearly, even though she had no comment she didn't much care for Paul's piercings. Behind the academy's headmistress Rebecca was gesturing to her sister the message of 'wide smile remember first impressions' by pointing at her own upturned grin.
"It's Pau--" Paul began before obliging and forcing a smile. No doubt this woman in the business suit wouldn't take to her preferred nickname either. "It's just Pauline Spillum."
That earned a curious eyebrow from Ms. Polluck when she turned back to Rebecca. The elder Spillum continued to smile or rather it had turned into a cringe conveying that 'there is a story behind that but this isn't the time or place for it.'
Someone in the collected women knew how to read nonverbal cues as Ms. Polluck didn't bring it up. No time for unrelated chitchat when the newest arrivals to the school had to be sorted out.
"You both must tired from your journey so we must get you settled right away,” Ms. Polluck said, ever the hostess. “With your credentials and prior interview I believe you’ll be a welcome addition to our burgeoning music department, Miss Voll-Spillum.” She then regarded the 16-year-old. “At at Buttercombe Academy we also believe in letting a hand up to all types.”
Whatever ‘all types’ meant though Paul labored on under her phony smile.
Ms. Polluck clapped her hands together, surveying the car. “Well first order business is to get the two of you unpacked. I shall ring for some assistance.”
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