“Dakota, actually,” I say, waving my right hand around dismissively as I prop the box on my hip. I can’t help thinking about Parrish’s stupid TikTok where he called me a three. I hate that I’m meeting these people and instead of starting with a fresh slate, I’m wondering if they’ve seen it. Or worse, if they agree. Worst of all, I shouldn’t’ care and yet … I do. “Mia’s just my birth name,” I add, and much to my surprise, Lumen nods.
“Your brother is on a mission to destroy you. Just thought you should know.” She shrugs her shoulders as Danyella grabs my hand again and pulls me toward the door. “But don’t worry: I’ll do my best to keep him in line.”
Danyella finally succeeds in moving me toward the door as my cheeks heat and yet another crowd of students turns to gawk my way.
“Is Lumen nice?” I ask, because for some reason, I trust Danyella’s opinion on the matter. We’re birds of a feather, that much I can tell already.
“She’s alright,” she admits, but almost grudgingly. “She’s also been slobbering after Parrish for years. I wouldn’t call her a mean girl or anything, but I also wouldn’t confess my deepest secrets to her, you know?”
There’s something in Danyella’s voice that speaks to experience and pain. Seeing as I just met the girl ten minutes ago, it isn’t my place to ask, but I file away her statement for later.
Glancing down at the box, I realize suddenly that it holds a bunch of props. I recognize Elphaba’s glasses and knitted blue hat from Wicked, along with a wand that must belong to Glinda. A smile twitches at the edge of my lips, just before Danyella comes to an abrupt stop and I glance up to see an administrator gliding our way with purpose.
Uh-oh.
“The cavalry has arrived,” Danyella murmurs, taking the box from me. She manages to hook her book bag over one shoulder, propping the box under her right arm. “Find me on online later and we’ll figure out a spot to meet up on your first day. For now, I’ve got to jet. The bows aren’t really in the dress code.” She points at her hair and then disappears inside a set of double doors on our left.
I catch the briefest glimpse of the theater, all stained-glass windows and long, crimson curtains, and my mouth waters. Real architecture, character, and history. It’s basically the opposite of the Vanguard’s house.
“Can I help you?” the woman asks as she pauses in front of me, taking in my borrowed blazer with the sequins on the lapels. The next thing she notices are my shoes, the red heels that I borrowed from Danyella. “I see you’ve met the president of our drama club,” the woman adds dryly with a long-suffering sigh. “You must be Mia Patterson.”
I grit my teeth, breathe out through my nose, breathe in again to calm myself.
“I go by Dakota Banks,” I offer, plastering on a smile to soften the gentle rebuke.
“We weren’t expecting you until the Monday after next,” the woman adds, looking me over again, like she isn’t quite sure what to make of me. She has a slight accent, but I can’t discern what it is.
“I’m here for the tour,” I say, knowing full well that I’m scheduled to meet with the headmistress on the twenty-eighth. I can’t very well admit the reality of my situation, now can I? Yeah, sorry, I accidentally ended up in the back of my stepbrother’s car, shoeless and on the verge of tears because I have nowhere else to go, and my birth mother who I just met chastised me for eating pastries belonging to my shiny new stepdad just after insisting that I make myself at home and then doing absolutely nothing to make me feel that way.
I keep smiling, even though the expression hurts my face. Forced smile number one-thousand and two.
“Well, I suppose this works as well as any other morning,” the woman muses, smiling back at me. Her raven dark hair is twisted into a bun at the back of her head, and her lipstick is the color of blood. I like her right away. “Yuki Miyamoto,” she says with a small exhale. “I’m the headmistress’ assistant. Do you happen to have your phone on you? We could get you logged into the student portal and have a look at your class schedule.”
Yuki starts walking, and I struggle to catch up in the heels. I’ve worn high heels exactly four times in my entire life: once to my great aunt’s funeral, once on Halloween, and to two of my grandmother’s boring doctor conferences. I wouldn’t exactly call myself an expert.
“I actually … don’t.” I give Yuki a look and see her struggling to hold back a smile.
