Press

A stair creaked, but Bridget was sure she’d stepped over the noisy one. She balanced in her socked feet, straining her eyes for any signs of movement. The halls of Pinecrest Academy for Girls were cloaked in darkness. Nobody should be out of their room—least of all, Bridget— but she was hunting for a trophy.

It needn’t be anything specific. She wanted something that would fit in her palm; to hold in her hand or tote in her pocket when she needed it. A perpetual reminder that something belonged to her.

There was another sound, the scuff of a sole on a floorboard. Her pursuer was inexperienced or they didn’t care about getting caught. Bridget relished a risk but pride kept her from total recklessness. Slipping up to the landing, she folded herself into a previously unexplored supply closet.

She closed the door and collided with a large piece of furniture. Her toe throbbed but the pain was quickly forgotten. Her hands glided over the surface of the object, discerning its shape in the dark. There were at least a dozen drawers promising secrets concealed within. She opened one and thrust her hand inside.

The drawer’s contents were a treasure trove of texture and size. Ridges and edges tickled her palm and left it coated in a sticky substance. Bridget closed her hand around an object. Victory: a perfect fit for her palm. She snatched one and crept to the exit, eager to ferry her prize back to her room.

Her luck ran out. Sutton Gladstone waited on the landing.

“Bridget Taylor, you’re out of bed and out of bounds.” Sutton crossed her arms, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

Bridget scowled. Sutton was top of their class, but she wouldn’t be if Bridget bothered to apply herself to her schoolwork. That was half of the reason her parents sent her to Pinecrest. It hadn’t taken so far.

“Who made you hall monitor?” Bridget muttered. She tucked her treasure into the cuff of her cardigan.

Sutton’s sharp eyes caught the surreptitious movement. “What do you have there?”

“I don’t know,” Bridget replied honestly.

“I’ll let you keep it if you show me where you got it,” Sutton demanded, eyes sparkling.

Bridget hesitated. If sharing her discovery meant another opportunity for nighttime exploration, she’d take it. “After you.” She held the door to the supply closet.

Sutton reached for the pull chain and the room flooded with light. She gasped in satisfaction, methodically opening and closing each drawer. Bridget studied the artifact in her hand; a lowercase t in reverse. She pressed her thumb against the ridges. It left a miniscule impression in her flesh.

“Time to go,” Sutton announced. She tucked a treasure of her own into her pocket.

“I need your assurance you won’t rat me out,” Bridget whispered as they crept back to the dormitory.

Sutton rolled her eyes. “My word isn’t enough for you?”

“An act of mutually assured destruction would suffice.” Bridget raised her palm, filthy with old ink. “These are stamps of some kind. Let’s each leave our mark where everybody can see it, so we’re both implicated if we get caught.”

“We’re already guilty of theft, and you want to add vandalism?” To Bridget’s surprise, Sutton smiled. “Deal.”

Bridget pressed her t to the corner of that week’s dining hall menu, posted on the dormitory’s noticeboard. Sutton aligned her looped g beside it.

“I should see you back to your room,” Sutton said with narrowed eyes. “But I trust you’ve had enough adventures for the evening. Sleep well.” She turned on her heel and stalked away without fear of consequence.

Bridget knew she should go to bed. Her eyes were heavy and there was a physics test tomorrow she hadn’t bothered studying for. She squeezed the little t, heart trilling with excitement. She doubted she’d be able to sleep.

***

The next morning, Bridget staked out the noticeboard, studying everyone who passed. A few glanced perfunctorily at the menu without recognizing their act of defiance.

Sutton brushed past her, following a bevy of girls with designer backpacks.

“Looks like we got away with it,” Sutton whispered in Bridget’s ear.

Bridget flinched. “Why are you talking to me?” she muttered.

Sutton’s face fell, then dawned again. “Right, right, we’re playing it cool. Nothing to see here.” She waved the girls off. “Go on without me! I’ll catch up!”

“You seriously don’t have anywhere better to be?”

“Last night was fun.” Sutton was smiling her impossibly white smile. “When are we going out again?”

“Shh!”

One of their classmates approached the noticeboard, nose aligned with the weekly menu.

“Oh, that’s just Dopey Daphne. She lives for the caf meatloaf,” Sutton explained. Bridget shushed her again.

Daphne traced her finger along the corner of the page, muttering to herself. She looked up and noticed Bridget and Sutton staring at her.

“Did you guys see this?” she asked.

“Not so dopey after all,” Bridget muttered, earning a shushing from Sutton this time.

“We DID that,” Sutton said. “And we’re going to do it again. Wanna come?”

“Cool! When?” Daphne asked. Both girls looked to Bridget.

Her hand slipped into her pocket and found the t. She’d squeezed it so many times the ink rubbed off. This had been her project, but maybe it was more fun with friends.

“We’ll go tonight, after light’s out.” The girls squealed.

Wait, she had friends now?

***

Their second outing went more smoothly than Bridget expected. Daphne stomped like an elephant even without her shoes on, so they weren’t as stealthy as she’d hoped, but Sutton’s authority provided them with a sense of security. In all, their spoils included an m for Daphne and a tube of ink that could be concealed in a makeup kit.

They closed the night as they had the first: stamping the letters on a noticeboard. This time, the library study room sign-up sheet.

“t m g,” Sutton read. “Kind of like an acronym.”

“The Meddlesome Girls?” Bridget suggested.

Sutton glared. “The Meticulous Girls, more like. They’ll never catch us.”

Daphne hadn’t taken her eyes off the letters. “Maybe next time, we can stamp it m t g, like meeting. People might wonder what the meeting is but it wouldn’t be so suspicious.”

Bridget nudged her new friend. “Tell me again why they call you dopey?”

Daphne laughed. “It’s okay, I already knew about the nickname. I’m just not very bright, you know. Last in the class, never get my homework done, my notes are a mess.”

“You’re tremendously observant. Maybe you need to look at things a different way,” Bridget said.

Daphne glowed. “Maybe.”

By the end of the week, m t g was stamped all over Pinecrest Academy for Girls. At first, they traveled in a little pack, taking turns choosing a canvas. The men’s restroom sign, used only by the Physical Education coach and yet still smelling of urine. An announcement for parents’ weekend. The final grades on the physics exam; Sutton at the top, but Bridget not far behind. Even Daphne, somewhere in the middle.

When they couldn’t travel together, they’d stamp individually and hope the others would catch on. It was so much fun, Bridget stopped reading what she was stamping. If there was negative space, it earned her letter t. Until Sutton ripped a sheet off a noticeboard in the stairwell, shoving it under her nose.

“How’d we miss this one?” Bridget asked.

“We didn’t miss it. Read it,” she demanded.

Bridget forced her eyes away from the margins and into the text. It was a disciplinary announcement regarding the recent uptick in vandalism.

“Anyone with any information on the m t g vandals should approach Headmistress Lee. All reports will be kept anonymous to ensure no retribution.”

“That went sideways. Retribution? What do they think we are, some kind of gang?” Bridget scoffed.

“Are we not?” Daphne asked, confused.

“Of course we’re not! But it gets worse—” Sutton said darkly. “I overheard Madame Jereaux and Ms. Lamanse complaining about having to do night patrols. Apparently it’s taking away from their leisure activities.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” Bridget waved her hand. “If they catch us, which they won’t, you’ll just pretend you’re taking us in for disciplinary action.”

“Oh,” Sutton’s nose grew pink. “I— made that up. There are no hall monitors. Or, there weren't before the teachers started their patrols.”

Bridget stared at her.

Sutton shrugged. “You aren’t as crafty as you think you are, and I wanted to know what you were up to.”

A bell rang, signaling the start of the passing period. Teachers lingered in the doorways of their classrooms, prepared to usher their students inside. The three girls separated like opposing magnets lest any of the adults observe their unlikely grouping. Daphne stared after Bridget as she drifted down the hall, her doe eyes full.

“We’ll lie low for awhile,” Bridget muttered to Sutton, taking a conveniently long sip from a drinking fountain. “Just long enough until the heat is off and the patrols get lazy. We’ll use that time to plan something big.”

Sutton tapped her g against the water fountain in agreement.

***

The weeks passed according to plan at Pinecrest Academy for Girls. The friends traveled the halls like model inmates, on time to classes, never late with their homework, and firmly ensconced in their rooms after lights-out. It was an honest life, and although Bridget couldn’t help but feel a little proud of the boost in her GPA, she missed her friends. If that made her a bad person, well, so be it. There were more important things in life than following the rules if the rules were unjust. She’d read something along those lines in a history textbook.

They took small risks to communicate. Notes rolled up and tucked into shower caddies in the locker room; read then destroyed by water. Conversations in line in the lunchroom, murmured from corners of their mouths to give the impression they weren’t actually speaking. As a plan solidified, Bridget scribbled two handwritten notes, signed with her t.

Tonight, we unleash the beast.

***

The first step in the plan was staggered departures. They couldn’t be sure who was on patrol, or if they were still happening. Sutton went first, tapping gently on Bridget and Daphne’s doors when the coast was clear.

Daphne led the way, everyone sliding in socked feet. Bridget held up the rear, silently cataloging the things they’d tagged. Every flyer, and most room placards, bore MTG in some form or another, brazen or more cleverly disguised. Tonight’s mission went far beyond stamping. They weren’t annotating the message; they were creating it.

Sutton yanked the pull chain, and the burst of light felt like the start of a ritual. The girls took their places around the machine, each reverently slotting their letters into place. Then, the drawers.

They threw open every one, grabbing letters by the handful. Different sizes, different fonts, cobbling them together in whatever order suited their fancy. Daphne’s still hands carefully inked a roller and reverently painted the array. Sutton laid the cardstock and looked to Bridget to pull the dowel down. They were ready to make an impression.

A stair creaked in the hall.

“Sutton, the light,” Bridget whispered, her voice hoarse. Quick as a flash, Sutton yanked the chain. They were doused in darkness.

Bridget’s hand trembled on the dowel. She could pull it now, and no one would be the wiser. Whomever was outside, if there was indeed someone outside, would not sense the movement within. It might deprive the others’ their opportunity to watch the final product come to life, but hell. She started this thing, and she was going to finish it. Bridget pulled as hard as she could.

The press let out a long, metallic screech.

The creak in the hallway gave way to rapid footfalls, the slap of slippers on hardwood. Bridget sensed what came next and curled up beneath one of the open drawers.

The room was flooded with light. Sutton and Daphne stared dumbly at the door.

“You’ll come with me, girls,” a cool voice intoned. Headmistress Lee.

Sutton scurried to her side, her hands wringing in shame and fear. Daphne plodded behind her, still stunned at the discovery. Bridget waited for one of them to call for her, to rat her out.

It never came. The pull chain clicked. The room was dark. The stair creaked three more times. Bridget was alone with their creation still in the press.

She lay there for an undetermined time, cursing herself for the dog she was. Sutton and Daphne were down in the Headmistress’ office, facing expulsion. Sutton would be sent home to her family to live a life of obedience among people who would never notice her wicked streak. Daphne would return in shame, her dimness confirmed, with no one to nurture her unique sensitivities. And she, Bridget, would emerge unscathed until her next scrape got her into trouble.

Her friends needed her. Bridget stood, banging her elbow against the open drawer, and ripped the cardstock from the device. Without checking to see if it was set, she threw open the supply room door and raced down the stairs.

She skidded and slipped, hitting every squeak and quirk of the flooring along the way. The headmistress’ office was at the end of the hall, a shaft of light under the door illuminating her path. She collided with the door, thumping the print hard against the wood. The ink was smeared on one side, and it bore her fingerprints from hasty handling. It was beautiful, until her heart fell.

In all their planning, they’d forgotten to bring something to secure the message. Tape, a tack, a nail. Bridget hung her head and read, since she’d be the only one to see it. It completely unintelligible, a mix of Ms and Ts and Gs in every imaginable form, fit on the page like they belonged there.

The door opened and Bridget lifted her gaze. Headmistress Lee stood in the doorway. Sutton and Daphne sat in her office, looking dazed.

“Bridget, how kind of you to join us,” Headmistress Lee said with a bemused smile. “I knew there would be a third, but I never suspected you with your particular brand of troublemaking.”

Bridget balked but said nothing, unsure if she was flattered or insulted. The Headmistress ushered her in and offered a seat.

“Tell me, would you girls like to start a print making club so you can pursue your activities during normal operating hours?”