I lift a brow and nod as Danyella chuckles.
“Seven. Damn, you’re good,” I tell her as she lifts a lid on one of the boxes and the edge of her lip quirks up in amusement.
“My parents own a bunch of online shoe retailers,” she tells me, handing over the box. “That, and a snooty flagship store in Seattle; they make me work there on the weekends for minimum wage.” Danyella rolls her eyes as I sit down on the pavement, opening the lid on the shoes and choking out a laugh as I lift up a red patent leather pump. “They say it teaches character or … something.” She lifts her chin in my direction when she notices my expression of terror. “Only pair in your size, I’m afraid.”
“These must be expensive,” I hazard, sucking my lower lip under my teeth as I debate putting my dirty feet into the luxury heels. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back …” It occurs to me then that I could probably ask Tess for the money, and that she’d probably give it to me. Then again, she just about went full dragon on me this morning for daring to eat a scone that didn’t belong to me, so who knows?
“No need. I’m supposed to drop all of these off at the women’s shelter after school anyway. We donate shoes with imperfections.” She points to a dark scuff on the side of one heel and then shrugs. “They distribute the most practical shoes to women seeking assistance, and the rest get sold in their thrift store.”
I actually feel more—rather than less—guilty for taking the shoes, but since I’m not keen on walking around barefoot, I put them on as Danyella gathers the shoebox and tosses the garbage into the trunk of her car. She offers her hand to help me up and I take it, wobbling for a minute before I find my feet.
“So, where are we taking this?” I ask as I grab the original box from the car’s roof and tuck it under my arm again. I’ve only ever worn heels a handful of times. I’m going to have to really work to not break an ankle.
Danyella grins, gathers her book bag, and slams the back door of her old Geo so hard that it shudders like it’s in the throes of a death rattle. The door gets caught and she braces herself against the pavement so that she can try and jamb it closed with her left hip.
“To the theater,” she tells me with a sharp nod, giving her car a death glare as we start off in the direction that Parrish and Chasm went.
“You know, you’re the only person here with a car that doesn’t cost more than a house,” I start and Danyella laughs. “That’s how I knew we could be friends.”
She gives me that award winning smile of hers again, tugging on her blazer in a futile attempt to straighten out the wrinkles.
“My parents believe in rewarding hard work, not birthright.” She shrugs and shakes her head. “I’m working to save up for an Altima.” I raise a brow and she gives me a wink in response. “I know, right? Not very glamorous. My mom drives a Maserati, but she doesn’t want me to turn out like …” We pause near the upper exit of the parking garage, looking out at the sea of students laughing and lounging on the half-wall of the third story courtyard outside the towering walls of the academy.
Danyella doesn’t need to finish her sentence; we both know what she means.
So, Danyella is just as rich as the rest of the students here. I should’ve guessed as much.
“Welcome to hell,” she announces before starting off down the white stone walk toward the side doors. A quick glance over the short wall on my left shows a plummeting drop to the emerald green lawn below. I shiver and stand back up, only to realize that everyone’s gone quiet.
They’re all staring at me.
I stop walking, suddenly aware of all the eyes on me.
Crap, crap, and triple crap.
“Eyes to yourselves,” Danyella snaps, reaching down to grab my hand so she can drag me along behind her. “Nothing to see here.”
“You don’t get to put dibs on the new girl,” someone says. I glance over and find a honey-haired white girl with eyes the color of the earth. “Although, after looking at her, I think she may be just up your alley.”
It takes me a second to ascertain whether that was meant to be an insult or not. But then the girl smiles and holds out a hand for me to shake.
“Lumen,” she says as I take her hand and several of the other students shuffle closer. “You must be Mia.”
I swallow back the sharp stab of pain that name dredges up in me.
