“Right, right, sorry,” I say, forcing myself out of bed and pretending like I don’t notice her staring at my pink pj’s with the anime girls all over them. My friends and I like to nerd out a bit back home. Reading, Japanese anime, video games. Whatever.
I get the idea that none of that quirkiness will be appreciated here.
Grabbing my backpack, I slip into the bathroom to change into one of the few outfits I brought from home. Tess offered to buy me all new things when I got here. I agreed, but not for the reasons she might think. I didn’t want any of my stuff shipped from home because I intend on going back there at some point. Whatever this is, this … stayover, it’s just a blip in time. It’s temporary.
With my favorite holey jeans, black Eat the Rich t-shirt, and mismatched Chucks on, I feel better equipped to face whatever’s going to come my way today. After a brief moment of hesitation, I put the metal heart pin on my shirt and hook the tennis bracelet around my wrist. I promised I would make an effort. I owe Tess that much, at least. I feel bad for what she went through, even if I had no part in it.
I take one, last look in the mirror, making sure my part is properly split down the middle. The left half of my hair is dyed lime green while the right side is jet black. Tess cringed a bit when she first asked me about it, insinuating that perhaps dying the nearly ass-length waves such extreme colors was a mistake. God help me today, I think with a bit of an eye twitch, ensuring that no black strands are on the green side and vice versa before I flick the light off and exit the bathroom, intending on finding Tess and cancelling the, uh, complimentary maid service.
“Oh good,” Tess says, appearing in the hallway as soon as I open my bedroom door. I notice Parrish’s door is open, too, the linens from his bed piled on the ground along with some dirty clothes. He’s nowhere to be seen (thankfully), but I do catch a small glimpse of matte black walls and wicked tattoo-inspired art pieces. At least somebody in this family isn’t afraid of color—even if that someone is an outrageous dickhead. I turn back to Tess, her eyes on the tennis bracelet at my wrist. Good choice then, to wear it. “I was about to come and wake you up. I’ve called everyone into school today; we’re going to spend it as a family.”
The way she says that last word, all wistful and dream-like, fills my stomach with dread. This is, like, her lifelong dream fulfilled, having me here with the new family she built in my absence. The sound of it makes me afraid that I’ll be stuck here until I turn eighteen.
“Sounds great,” I say instead, the words like ash on my tongue. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans as Tess looks me over with studious interest, like I’m some foreign entity that needs to be studied. “What’s on the agenda?”
“Breakfast at the club,” she begins, perking up a bit and snapping her eyes from my holey jeans to my face. By club, I assume she means a country club of some sort, and I have to hide my disappointment. I don’t think the tee I’m wearing will go over well with a bunch of stuck-up, snooty assholes. “Shopping for your new room.” Tess reaches out to playfully tug the sleeve of my shirt. “Some new clothes, maybe?” She raises her brows, like this should be a tantalizing offer. Instead, I just feel like my heart is being wrenched from my chest and stepped on. “If we have time, we can stop by the tailor and get you measured for your uniform.”
“My uniform?” I ask, blinking in confusion as Tess heads down the hall toward the staircase, and I follow after her.
“For Whitehall,” she says easily, like I should know what that is. “Your new high school.”
Ah.
Whitehall Preparatory Academy.
The fancy new school I’m supposed to be starting next week. Already, I’m dreading the very idea of it. I’ve spent my entire life at public school. Hell, I truly and utterly believe in the idea of equal education for all. A fancy elitist academy that favors money over nurturing the best and brightest, no thank you. According to Tess, most parents have to apply for that school just after their kid is born. Can you imagine that? Your entire life determined by some stupid application and a fat check submitted by your parents at birth?
Am I being too judgy? Maybe.
The only reason I’m allowed to attend Whitehall at all is because my discovery lit up a media firestorm. Combine that with my mother’s fame and money, her husband’s fame and money, and the fact that two of my newfound siblings already attend the school, and my fate was sealed.
