Instead, I somehow find the strength to dress in a clean uniform, and head down the hall to where Miranda waits for me every morning. She’s there with Andrew, and the two of them gape at me as I step into the crowd.
All eyes are on me.
“Marnye,” she whispers, putting her hand over her mouth. Andrew just stares at me in shock, his mouth in a thin line. The laughter starts slowly, but spreads like wildfire, until everyone’s looking at me, pointing, cracking Working Girl jibes. “What did you do to your hair?”
I give her a look, and whatever she sees in my expression makes her tear up. She throws her arms around me in a hug, but it doesn’t escape my notice that she was the only person with me at dinner last night. She could’ve easily drugged me. I might’ve only known her for a few months, but I trust her. Was that my mistake?
“Are you going to report this?” Andrew asks, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. His tie is crooked, and I see the distinct print of a hickey on his neck. Oh. I sort of … well, I thought maybe he liked me. Not that I care. There was no spark between us, but … it’s just another small blow to add to the overwhelming load on my shoulders.
“What am I going to say? That some master plan was executed involving drugs and beauty supplies? Who’s going to believe me?”
“Hey Hester!” Harper calls out, her face lighting up with supercilious joy. “Nice scarlet letter!” She chortles, and Becky follows suit. But the way they’re looking at me … I have no doubt in my mind who the main perpetrators are. Zayd strolls up a few seconds later, glances my direction, and his eyes widen. He flashes a grin that would be charming if it wasn’t being used to destroy me, and laughter roars from his throat as he throws an arm around the two Idol girls.
“Let’s go,” I grind out, leading Miranda away, and heading for Tower One, and homeroom with Ms. Felton. She’s pretty straight-laced, and colored hair is most decidedly against the school dress code—with the exception of Zayd Kaiser because, you know, his agent’s screwing the vice principal.
We hit the top floor and head into the classroom. As soon as Ms. Felton’s eyes fall on me, they widen, and I see her cheeks redden.
“Miss Reed,” she says, and the class bursts into sneers and giggles. Tristan watches me carefully, but it’s impossible to read that stony expression of his. “Can I speak to you in private a moment?” I nod and follow her into the adjoining room that makes up her office. She’s barely got the door closed before she’s turning to me. “Miss Reed, what’s going on here?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, choking as I struggle to hold back the tears. From her office window, Ms. Felton has a spectacular view of the beach, and the harbor with its bobbing boats. Burberry Prep has a splendid student-run yacht club, didn’t you know? I hope all their boats capsize, and they drown in drunken stupors. My hands curl into fists.
“Did you cut and dye your hair last night, Miss Reed?” she asks, phrasing her question very, very carefully. I have no idea what to say, so I just stand there and stare at her. There must be something in my face that makes her take pity on me because she sighs. “You know that unnatural hair colors are against the academy’s charter?” I nod my head, pursing my lips tight. “But, considering your academic excellence, I’m willing to send you back to your dorm with a warning. You won’t be attending class today, but I’ll have Miranda Cabot bring by notes and make-up work.” Ms. Felton looks me over and sighs. “Just make sure you correct the problem by Monday?”
I nod again because I’m just too wound up to talk.
I’m so wound up that … I feel like I might do something rash.
Pushing through her office door, I make eye contact with Tristan, but he doesn’t smile or smirk. He gives me nothing to direct my anger. Without looking at anyone else, I head back to my room and I yank the devil costume from my wardrobe.The next day is Halloween, and I’ve made my decision about the party.
“You …” Miranda stares at me, dressed in the red bodycon dress, red Prada heels, horns, and clip-on tail. I’ve even done my makeup, putting on a smoky cat eye and vibrant lips. Red glitter adorns both cheeks, and I’ve taken a razor to what was left of my hair. It’s now gelled up into a stylish but soft crest down the middle, gentle waves curving around my ears. “Look so freaking hot.” She clamps her mouth closed and just stares at me like she’s never seen me before.
