Page 8 of Fractured Loyalties
I choose a middle desk. The mean girls from the lobby are in this class, too, and they’re clustered in the back row like a firing squad. They don’t stop watching me for a second.
I don’t look back, but I can feel their eyes drilling holes into my scalp.
Just breathe, Ivy. Breathe.
I try to focus my attention on the thin, gray-headed woman at the front of the class. Mrs. Granger looks like the type of woman who might have poisoned her husband in his sleep. She launches straight into roll call, rattling off last names that sound like yacht brands and law firms.
Each kid answers with a crisp, confident “Here.”
When she gets to me, she slows and looks up. “Ah, the new student. Christianson.”
I croak out a “Here.” My voice breaks in the middle, and my throat feels as if it’s on fire.
The mean girls snicker, but Ms. Granger doesn’t even blink. She’s already writing something on her clipboard. She pauses and then sighs heavily. “Ms. Christianson, please see me after class about your attire. The Woods family sets high standards for this institution.”
My whole body wants to slide under the desk and never surface again.
The next forty minutes are a blur of slides and frantic note-taking. I try to make myself as small as possible, but my T-shirt keeps pulling loose from the skirt, and the blazer, which I’m pretty sure is Roman’s, is swallowing me whole. I can’t focus on a single word.
I’ll just have to read all this later.
Finally, when the bell rings, I stay seated until the room is empty. Ms. Granger stands by the whiteboard, her arms crossed, waiting for me like a freaking executioner or something.
I gather my stuff and shuffle up to her desk. She doesn’t look at me at first, just writes something on a blue slip of paper, rips it off, and holds it out.
“Take this to the office,” she snips, glaring at me. “Dress code violation. First infraction is a warning, but any further incidents will result in detention. Please ask your parents to purchase the approved uniform.”
I stare at the slip, my hands trembling. I think of Irena and her perfectly fitted cream skirt and the way she holds herself. I imagine telling her about the dress code violation.
I havenoidea how she’ll take it, but it’ll probably be tinted with disapproval.
Ms. Granger’s eyes narrow. “I expect you to comply, Ms. Christianson. The Woods family’s reputation is everything here.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I nod and clutch the blue slip so hard it tears in the middle. “I’m sorry. I just… I just haven’t had a chance…”
She softens, and I mentally retract the statement earlier about her being a secret murderer. “Transitions are hard,” she says, almost kindly. “Don’t make it any harder on yourself. These people forget nothing.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nod and then slip out of the room, my head down. I merge into the tidal wave of bodies in the hallway, where I’m jostled and elbowed, but nobody looks at me.
Thank God. Now, I just have to survive the rest of the day.
And I do… Until lunch.
The cafeteria is twice as large as at my old school, but it's also twice as terrifying. I look desperately around for any empty tables, but every spot is claimed. Still, I spend nearly five minutes slipping through the rows, hopingsomeonewill make room for me.
In the end, I settled for a table near the trash cans. It smells of old apples and Lysol, and the surface of the table is sticky. I set my backpack on the chair and pick at themealI purchased from the line—the only one I could afford with the cash in my pocket. I stare down at a rectangle of pizza that I’m not even sure is edible.
For a private school, this food sucks.
As I poke it with my finger, I feel eyes on me and look up just in time to see the same trio of mean girls drifting past, led by the tall one…
And then my milk gets dumped right in my lap.
What a fucking cliche.
“Oops,” their leader says, eyes wide in fake horror as she flips her blonde hair. “Didn’t see you there.”
I stand up, knocking my knee on the table, and nearly lose it. But I don’t cry, I won’t give them the satisfaction. I grab a napkin, mop up the milk, and leave the pizza sitting there, untouched.
