by Amy Sparling
My luggage is there. Along with a guy in a UPS uniform. “Sign here,” he says, handing me a tablet. I scribble my name and thank him.
“Lock the door,” Belle says as I bring my luggage inside. I do as she asks, and I really, really want to tell her she’s being overly paranoid, but I keep my thoughts to myself. It was one thing to be rude to that gardener guy earlier. This is my cousin and I have to live with her.
The next couple of hours pass easily while I unpack my stuff and find a new home for it all on my half of the dorm room. Belle watches me silently, her attention shifting from her computer to me every few minutes.
“Um, Sophia?” she says after I’ve arranged my makeup on top of the dresser. There is no room for a vanity mirror here, so this is my best place to put it.
“Yeah?” I say, uncapping some lip gloss since this chilly January weather is making my lips dry.
“Could you maybe tell me when you’re expecting a delivery, or a visitor or something? If I know ahead of time, then I won’t get so freaked out.”
“Okay, sure,” I say, sliding the lip gloss applicator over my bottom lip. “My new sheets are getting delivered tomorrow, but it’ll probably arrive when you’re in class so it won’t be a big deal.”
“No, I’ll be here,” she says, looking back at her computer screen.
“Why? Are you sick or just playing hooky?”
She chews on the inside of her lip. “My mom didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Anything about me?”
I think back to my very brief encounter with Aunt Kate. “Nope.”
“Hmm,” she says. “Well… I do alternative school. It’s online. My teachers visit with me once every few weeks to check on my progress, and I just listen to the lectures with a webcam.”
“Why on earth would you do that? This room is depressing. Don’t you want to go to your classes and socialize?”
Her eyes widen for a second and then she shakes her head, looking all small and scared again. “I like online learning. It’s… it’s better for me.”
I can tell there is more to this story. Some hidden reason my cousin is the why she is, but I can also tell that she does not want to talk about it.
I sit on my bed and look at my printed class schedule. “I guess this means you won’t be able to walk with me to class tomorrow?”
She frowns and looks down at her hands. “No, sorry.”
I don’t want my disappointment to show through, so I shrug and shake off all my first-day-of-school jitters. “Eh, who cares. I’ll be fine. Once people realize they have East Coast Royalty here, they’ll all be begging to be my friend.”
I walk with purpose the next morning, even though my uniform is annoying, and I’m only vaguely sure where I’m supposed to go. The fabric is crisp from being dry cleaned, and the skirt feels annoying on my skin. It’s too stuffy, too prep school. I’m more of a laid-back fashionista myself. I’m not into all these buttons and creases.
The campus is filled with students as I make my way to Kellylynch Hall for my first class of the day. It’s English, which should be simple enough. I try to spot a group of popular students so I can make my new set of friends, but it’s hard to tell everyone apart when they’re wearing the same clothes. Some people try to set themselves apart, though. I see Airpods in ears, and luxury brand black shoes. Diamond bracelets and gorgeous real hair extensions.
But all of these things just separate out the wealthier students from the others. They don’t tell me who is popular.
I guess it doesn’t totally matter, I tell myself as I walk with a little more pep in my step. Once people realize that Sophia Brass is here, I’ll become the most popular student. So who cares who is currently popular? I’m about to take over here.
Honestly, I’m a little surprised that no one has said anything to me by the time I get to the English hallway. It’s all the way up on the third floor, and I’m in such a hurry to get there before the bell rings, I don’t really stop to admire the intricate architecture of the old building. I don’t really care if I’m late and make some kind of grand entrance in front of everyone—in fact, I kind of prefer that—but I do remember reading over the strict rules of the school and getting a tardy is not a good idea. The last thing I need is any kind of disciplinary record to make my parents show their wrath in an even worse way.
English Lit with Professor Harding is at the very end of the hallway. I find the classroom easily enough and slip inside. All eyes are immediately on me. I uphold my confidence and walk straight to the teacher’s desk where a middle-aged man with a slender build sits, looking through some papers.
“Hello,” I say, “I’m Sophia Brass.”
Professor Harding gazes up at me, and he couldn’t look any more bored if he tried. “Good for you. Have a seat.”
“I’m a new student.”
“Obviously,” he says, his eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before looking away. “In this classroom, we don’t waste our time reciting clear facts, Ms. Brass. Please take your seat.”
Someone snickers. Not laughs, not chuckles, but snickers. A snide, rude sound that’s totally making fun of me. And then everyone else does the same.
I refuse to acknowledge any of these people. And I definitely won’t let them know that they’re bothering me. I scan the room, find an empty desk in the back, and sit down.
I had the good sense to bring my laptop as well as pack a binder with paper and pens, and I’m glad I did.
That gardener guy didn’t bother telling me that everyone here uses a laptop during class to take their notes, but I’ve seen enough television to have guessed that was a possibility.
I open my laptop, ignore the stares from people, and try to focus on the days’ lecture.
Only… I already know all of this stuff.
The same thing happens in second period. I take a seat without talking to the teacher, who doesn’t care or notice that I’m here, and then the lesson begins and they’re learning stuff I already know.
The students are not nice. No one says hello. No one asks for my name.
I eat lunch with Belle in our dorm. She doesn’t ask me why, and I don’t bother telling her.
The rest of my classes are all equally awful. The lessons are boring because I already know it all, and the students ignore me.
During my last class of the day, I’m considering that maybe I should introduce myself to these people so that I can finally make some friends, but I can never seem to pluck up the courage to do it. This isn’t like back at home, where everyone knew me and everyone wanted to be my friend. I’ve never had to make first contact with someone. People just come to me.
These Shelfbrooke kids obviously have no idea who I am, but how do I tell them? I can’t exactly stand up in the middle of the classroom and announce: “By the way, I’m Sophia Brass, of the Brass fortune, yes that Sophia, the one with almost a million followers on Instagram. Now that you know who I am, you can all start begging to be my friend.”
I snort at the thought as I imagine that scene playing out in my head. I would never actually do that, but it would be funny. And it might actually get results. But still – I am not that desperate.
“Excuse me,” my fourth period chemistry teacher says. “Sophia Brass, is it?”
I jolt, looking up at her. “Yes?”
“Is there something funny about these molecules?”
Everyone turns to look at me.
“No.”
“Then please refrain from laughing in my class.”
Oops.
A few people throw sarcastic looks my way, but this is actually a good thing. The teacher just said my name in front of everyone. Now maybe, finally, these idiots will want to be my friend now that they know who I am.
The teacher—I forget her name—finishes up her lecture and then looks out at the class. “Time to pair up with a partner. You know the rules. New semester, new partner. You can’t stick with your same buddy from last time.
”
I sit up in my desk. Perfect.
Only… it’s not perfect. I expect everyone to get up and walk over to me and ask to be my partner, now that they know who I am.
But no one does.
Some people just get up and shuffle their chairs to the person next to them. No one really makes a big deal about it, but one thing is very, very clear. No one is asking me to be their partner.
A few minutes go by and I sit here, frozen in place, unwilling to get up and ask someone to take pity on me. And that’s exactly what it would be… pity.
Maybe the east coast is a lot different than I imagined. Maybe these people have no idea who I am because they’re stuck in this stuffy boarding school. For all I know, the school blocks Instagram or something.
Very well then. I swallow back the awkward and horrible feeling of being left out and I look at my laptop and pretend everything is okay. I’ll just be my own partner. That’s how it works when you’re homeschooled, after all. I’m good at working alone.
“Everyone pair up!” the teacher says. “No one works solo.”
I cringe. She’s talking about me. She has to be. I’m too embarrassed to look around the room and see who isn’t paired up yet. That would only draw attention to me, the epic loser, the new girl with no partner.
A shadow falls over my laptop screen. I look up and see the gardener Declan standing there, an old laptop tucked under his arm. “Hi, partner,” he says, dropping down into the empty seat next to me.
“You don’t have to be my partner just because you feel sorry for me.”
His beautiful blue eyes look over mine and my heartbeat seems too slow. It thumps three times as Declan watches me. Say you don’t feel sorry for me, I think. And then Declan says, “Yes I do.”
Chapter Seven
I shove my key into the lock of my dorm room and twist, hard. The rusty old lock doesn’t wiggle much, and I glance up at the gold numbers on the door, scared that I’m trying to get into the wrong dorm.
But it’s the right number—my key just sucks. I twist and wiggle it again, and it finally turns a quarter turn, but not enough to open the lock.
The click of the deadbolt twisting comes from the other side. Belle opens the door.
“My stupid key doesn’t work,” I say, huffing into the room and throwing my bag on my bed, not even caring that my laptop is in there. I’ll just buy a new one if it breaks.
“It’s the lock,” she says, quickly closing the door again. “It’s old and doesn’t get used much, so the key doesn’t work well.”
“That’s crap,” I say, glaring at the offending door. “We’ll call maintenance and have them fix it.”
“No, that’s fine. It’s fine.” Belle’s smile says there’s something more to her thoughts, but she goes back to her bed and her laptop. I swear that’s all she ever does is sit on her bed, doing school work or whatever.
“Today sucked,” I say, plopping onto my bed. “It really, really sucked.”
“Why?” Belle glances up from her laptop screen. “The work is hard, but you get used to it.”
“No, the work is actually easy. My tutors taught me this stuff a long time ago. It’s everything else that’s hard.”
I want to keep talking, but I stop, because saying anything more would be admitting a weakness. Showing that I’m not the strong girl I pretend to be. But Belle is all ears now.
“What happened?” she says, leaning forward in anticipation of hearing the story.
I roll my eyes. I don’t want to tell her, but she’s family. I hold up a finger and give her a threatening glare. “If I tell you, you don’t say a word to anyone.”
“Promise,” she says.
I fall back on my bed, staring up at our vaulted dorm room ceiling. “I don’t even know where to begin. Everyone is rude. Or they just ignore me. I don’t know what’s worse. The teachers aren’t too nice either. And then I got stuck with a pity lab partner.”
“A what?” Belle says. I see her from the corner of my eye, sitting rail straight, absolutely captivated by everything I’m saying. Her long dark hair is twisted into twin braids that fall down her shoulders, but they’re all fuzzy and slept on. She needs to rebraid them before she goes anywhere.
“A pity lab partner,” I repeat. “It was awful. He only agreed to partner up with me because no one else wanted to.”
“Declan’s nice like that,” Belle says.
I sit up, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. “How do you know it was Declan?”
“Knight Watch.”
She rotates her laptop screen and I see what looks like a social media feed, refreshing every few seconds. “What is that?” I say, although I realize what it is a few seconds later. Declan told me about Knight Watch on our tour yesterday.
“They post people’s chem partners on there?”
Belle shrugs. “Someone mentioned that you were in class and had partnered with Declan.”
“How was it posted?” I ask, eyeing her computer screen even though it’s too far away to see from where I’m sitting. “Was it like, ‘Sophia Brass is here, Declan is so lucky to be her friend’?”
Belle’s expression tells me the answer before she speaks. “Not really.”
I roll my eyes and fall back on my bed. “I hate this school. I hate the people. I hate the classes. And I hate these stupid uniforms.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I try to imagine I’m lying in my bed at home—or better yet, on a yoga mat at our country club back in Malibu. I’m taking a calming yoga class, I’m back home. I’m where I belong. Everyone adores me. I am totally happy…
“I wish I could tell you it’s not so bad, but…I can’t.” Belle’s voice pulls me from my daydream, but it’s just as well because I can’t actually relax right now. My brain is too smart. It knows full well that we aren’t in a yoga studio in Malibu.
I open my eyes. “Is this why you do your schoolwork online?”
She gets all fidgety, biting her bottom lip and examining her fingernails. That kind of gives her away, but eventually she says, “Yes.”
“What happened?” I sit up and walk over to her side of the room for the first time. It feels a little weird, like I’m getting in her personal space or something, but she is my cousin after all. We were friends as kids. And she looks like she’s hurting right now.
I sit at the foot of her bed. “Did someone hurt you?”
She swallows, still looking at her hands. “No.”
“You can talk to me.”
Her brown eyes look up at mine. She looks so fragile, and so sad, and it makes my heart hurt. Then, I get angry. “Who made you this way? Was it a guy? One of those bratty girls? I’ll put them in their place—”
“No, Sophia. It was no one. It was me. I’m the problem.”
I release the breath I’d held in, disappointed that I can’t direct my anger onto someone who hurt my cousin. “It was you? What does that even mean?”
She nods. Swallows again.
“It was freshman year. I was… I was walking to class and…” Her chest rises with a deep breath. She pulls her straggly braids over one shoulder and then tosses them back again. Her eyes meet mine, and then she looks away.
I can tell this is hard for her to talk about, but holy crap I am intrigued. I want to scream just tell me already! But I hold back. I wait for what feels like an eternity, and then she clears her throat.
“I don’t know what happened. My body freaked out. My brain freaked out. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. I felt like I was dying. Like, literally, seriously, dying.”
She says it all really fast, like it’s the only way she can get it out. “I fell to the ground. My vision was blurring and coming in and out of focus. My chest hurt. I swear my heart was going to explode. Someone called an ambulance, and after all these tests and stuff, they just said I had a panic attack.”
She scoffs, her upper lip curling in disgust. “They said it was nothing, and that I was fine
and I should get over it. So I went back to class—well, I tried to—but every time I step outside, the panic attack would come back.”
“Wow.”
She nods. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. Doctors are no help. It was the start of my freshman year, so I didn’t really have many friends, and the girls I did hang out with just quit talking to me. My old roommate complained that I was annoying her because I spent like three weeks crying and panicking about the idea of having another panic attack in our room. They ended up moving me to the staff dorms so I could be alone. And this is where I’ve been ever since.”
My eyes widen. “You haven’t left this dorm in three years?”
I swear, if my cousin gnaws on her bottom lip for much longer, it’s going to fall right off. She nods. “Not really. I’ve been to the doctor a few times, but… I just stay. My panic attacks stopped once I quit leaving. I feel safe here.”
“You haven’t left in three years,” I repeat, more to myself than to her. “This isn’t normal.”
“I know,” she says with a snort. “Trust me, I know. I hate it, but I also don’t mind it. I get to stay here where it’s safe and I feel fine.”
Suddenly the stuck door lock makes sense. It’s gotten all rusted over from the outside since it’s never used.
“No, it’s not okay.” I stand up and reach for her hand. “I’m going to help you. Let’s go outside.”
“No!” She shrinks back, pulling her hands close to her body. “I’m not leaving. Don’t even joke about that.”
“You have to leave sometime,” I say, glancing toward the door. “You will graduate this year and then what? They won’t let you live here forever.”
She shrugs. “Maybe they will. Dean Thomas is really nice.”
“They won’t,” I say.
“The staff dorms are mostly empty. They’ll probably forget that I’m even here. I could stay for decades.”
“You cannot be that delusional,” I say.
Her nostrils flare, and I know I’ve struck a chord. I probably shouldn’t have called her that.
Belle turns to her computer, focusing her attention on that instead of me. “I’m not talking about it anymore. You wanted the truth, and I told you the truth. Now let it go.”
