Page 78 of The Bleak Beginning

I make it back to my room, placing the package on my desk and tossing Elle’s letter into a drawer with the other one she sent me. I collapse onto my bed with relief, grateful to have a solid ceiling over my head once again. It’s been a few days since I got my bed back and although I’m glad I no longer live in an aquarium, I’m more excited about having a soft mattress with actual blankets again.

I also received a note from Chancellor Maxwell curious about the unexpected abundance of glitter found in my room by the workers the following morning.

Looking at Clara’s letter, I see glittery stickers surrounding my name boldly written across the front of it. I flip it over and eagerly rip open the envelope.

Alex,

Firstly, you better get this! If not, then I swear I will drive there myself and deliver this by hand. How’s life been without me? Probably pretty boring, if I had to guess.

Anyway, you won’t believe what Elle did this week. She showed up to school and charged her way into the principal’s office, demanding that they change the dress code after I was coded for the hole in my jeans that showed my kneecap. Can you believe it? Apparently, she’d had enough of the “sexist and outdated” rules about skirt lengths and tank top straps. You should have seen her, Alex. I swear, she channeled the spirit of every suffragette and civil rights activist in history and went on an entire crusade. She even had a whole list prepared, complete with statistics and testimonials that she probably stole from her favorite magazines.

The best part? It worked! Well, sort of. The principal was so taken aback by her passion (and probably a little intimidated, let’s be honest) that he agreed to let me wear them for the rest of the day.

But enough about me. How’s Altair treating you? Have you made any friends yet, or are you still being your usual antisocial self? I miss our late-night chats and your habit of excess plant adoption. The house feels so empty without you.

Love you!

Clara

P.S. As promised, I sent you a batch of Elle’s questionable cookies for proper examination. They must be deteriorating something in my brain, because I actually find them to be delicious. Not that I would ever admit that to her. I do the proper thing and sneak a few after she’s gone to bed.

I let out an exasperated sigh and shake my head, a soft laugh escaping. Typical Clara, always so dramatic. I can practically hear her voice as I read the words, picturing her animated gestures and exaggerated expressions.

I set the letter aside, smiling to myself as I walk over to my desk and reach for the package. Leave it to Clara to make good on her threat and send me a batch of Elle’s questionable cookies. I tear open the brown paper, revealing a tin decorated with flowers.

Cautiously, I pry open the lid, the sweet aroma of vanilla and chocolate wafting up, making my mouth water, despite my better judgment. A dozen or so misshapen chocolate chip cookies were nestled within some wax paper.

I pluck one from the tin, spinning it in my hand, examining the uneven edges and lightly charred bottom. It was also slightly burnt around the edges, and the chocolate chips seemed to be unevenly distributed, clumped together in some areas while completely absent in others.

A knock at my door has me dropping the cookie back into the container. A second, louder knock follows when I don’t respond right away.

I yank open my door to find Sylvester on the other side. He’s wearing his impatience like a shirt. “We have a lesson you seem keen on missing. Again.”

I snap my fingers. “Right. We have our meeting tonight about Altair’s history,” I say dryly, slamming the door shut. Unfortunately, his foot blocks it from fully closing.

Hadn’t I made it obvious I had zero interest in our one-on-ones?

Sylvester’s expression darkens as he pushes the door open. “This isn’t optional, Alex. You know that.”

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. “And yet, here I am, opting out.”

He steps inside, uninvited, and my eyes narrow to slits as he appraises my room. “Charming,” Sylvester mutters, his gaze lingering on the pile of dirty laundry in the corner. “I see you’ve really embraced the college experience.”

I resist the urge to shove him back out into the hallway. “What can I say? I’m a natural.”

“Grab your things.”

“No,” I say, stepping back when he attempts to reach for me.

Sylvester’s jaw clenches, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. “I apologize if I let you believe there was room for negotiation on this. You’re going.”

“Pass.”

Sylvester’s eyes flash. “Alex,” he says in a calm, unsettling manner. “You seem to be under the misapprehension that you have a choice in this matter. Let me assure you, you do not.”

I scoff, turning away from him.

“This isn’t a joke.”

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