by Box Set
She was smiling as she ran her fingers through her hair, making it stand up. “I cut off my hair. What do you think?”
I think you’re nuts. “Why?” I asked, not answering her question out loud.
She shrugged. “I do it every fall.”
I looked around. “Without a mirror?”
“Well no, not usually, but I’ll tidy it up now that you’re out of the bathroom.” She was obviously amused by my disbelief. “It’s just hair. My parents freak out about it short, so I let it grow for the summer, but I can’t stand it and was dying to get rid of it. I couldn’t wait one second longer.”
Obviously. But it was unbelievable. This girl probably had more money than God and instead of going to a proper stylist, she lopped off her hair and, I realized with a glance to the wastepaper basket in the corner, threw it out like it was an empty Doritos bag.
She followed my glance and winced. “I know, it’s wasteful, but it wasn’t long enough to donate. I’ll start growing it out earlier this year so it gets long enough.”
“Huh?” I asked.
“For wigs. You know, for cancer patients. It has to be a certain length or they can’t use it.”
I just stared at the crazy girl in front of me.
She smiled back. “What?” she said, looking suddenly shy.
I shook my head. “You’re brilliant, that’s all.”
She jumped up from her chair and gave me a big hug. “We’re going to get along just great.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but her cell beeped and she pulled away.
“A text from Dave, my boyfriend. He’s anxious to see me—we haven’t been together since last spring.”
“Since you left for France?” I asked.
She glanced down at her phone and started pressing keys. “No, since I left here at the end of the school year. He goes to Westwood. That’s the boys’ school.” She stopped texting and looked up at me and waggled her eyebrows. “Where you’ll find your next boyfriend.”
I laughed. It was like she’d read my mind.
“Unless you already have a boyfriend and are doing the long-distance thing.”
“London is more long distance than I could handle,” I said. She didn’t need to know I never had a boyfriend in London.
“Right you are. Well, don’t you worry. There are a ton of guys to choose from at Westwood.”
Her phone beeped again. She rolled her eyes and looked down. “Patience, young man. You will see me soon, I promise.”
But I could tell by the way she grinned at her phone, Emmie was just as eager to see her boyfriend as he was to see her.
“How long have you been going out?”
“We hooked up after the Christmas dance last year.”
“Sounds serious,” I said.
She looked up, “I guess so. It feels weird, you know; it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. We’ve Skyped and stuff, but it’s not the same. I miss smelling him and touching him; I just hope it’s the same as it was.”
I thought about Will and how good he’d smelled the day before, his mixture of subtle cologne and clean sweat.
“I met a guy yesterday,” I said, feeling stupid even mentioning it.
“From Westwood?”
I nodded. “He helped me move in. Not that I think I really have a chance with him, but still.”
“What are you talking about? Don’t have a chance with him?” She gave me an obvious once-over. “You’re plenty doable.”
“Thanks,” I said with a laugh.
“Okay, so I’m going to get ready real quick and then start unpacking and you can tell me all about this boy you met. I probably know him if he’s not a freshman.” She glanced at her luggage and exhaled, her shoulders dropping. “You still sure you want to help?”
I looked at the alarm clock. “We have about a half an hour.”
She cringed and heaved one of her huge suitcases onto her bed before unzipping it.
“You go,” I said, waving her toward the bathroom. “If you don’t mind me in your stuff, I can at least get it out and organized.”
Jumping from foot to foot, she made her way into the bathroom, “Thank you!” she yelled as she shut the door. “I really have to pee!”
That made me laugh, but I started pulling her stuff out of her suitcase, folding it into neat piles. As I did, I wondered if Will and Dave were friends. Wouldn’t that be convenient?
First Day of Classes
By the time Emmie was ready, we were just a few minutes from being due at breakfast. She came bursting out of the bathroom (her hair looking très cute and like it had been cut by a pro, I was relieved to see), saw the progress I’d made in putting her clothes away, gave me another quick hug and herded me out the door, claiming she was dying of starvation.
When we got to the dining hall, I fell into the background as she greeted the many girls who hadn’t seen her since last spring. And I could tell that she was genuinely liked by many; I seemed to have hit the roommate jackpot.
Before we knew it though, it was time for morning announcements and then our assembly with the dean.
Even though I knew where the auditorium was, thanks to my tour the evening before, Emmie led me down the hall, chatting as we went.
“The dean’s a dragon, but I guess I’m going to have to chat with her about this rooming situation,” she sighed. “I’m sure my mother left a message on her voicemail before they even left the premises last night.”
I wasn’t surprised; her mother was totally the type. “What are you going to tell the dean?”
Emmie glanced over, a sheepish look making her look adorable under her pixie cut. “The same thing I do every year: that I want to be treated like every other girl here and if she doesn’t like it, I would be just as happy to go to a public school where everyone is treated the same and parents don’t donate buildings.”
“Scandalous!” I said with a gasp and a dramatic palm pressed to my chest. But I appreciated her moxie. Though… “Would your parents ever let you go to a public school?”
She laughed. “Not in a million years. And believe me, I’ve tried. I would rather their money go to something truly good, like building wells in third world countries or AIDS supports in Africa, but they want no part of it. They grew up in the age of Dynasty and love to be ostentatious and disgusting and spend their money on ridiculous things keeping up with the Joneses.”
I didn’t mention the diamonds she’d been wearing the night before could probably go a long way toward funding a third world well-digging project; maybe they were a gift or something.
“Anyway, like I said, the dean is a dragon, but with this she’ll leave off and it’s not a big deal. It’s actually easier for them that I’m not demanding like my parents; I just need to reassure her it’s not a problem where I am.” She looked over at me. “I don’t mean it that way—not that you’re a problem. Oh you know what I mean.”
I did and waved her off with a smile.
“So what do your parents do?” she asked. It was a simple enough question, but one I couldn’t answer honestly. I hated lying to people, but by now it was a regular enough occurrence that I was able to let the lies roll off my tongue.
“They’re both professors. Mom teaches English and my father is a professor of mathematics. They’re both on sabbatical—she’s studying at Oxford, which is why we were in London.” Part of it was true in that Mom was studying at Oxford part-time and used to teach English before she quit her job to follow Dad around on assignment. Without a job, she attended classes and accumulated more degrees, which I guess is as good a way to keep busy as any.
It seemed to satisfy Emmie, anyway, which wasn’t surprising—it was a boring enough story to discourage more questions.
We stepped inside the auditorium then, hit by a wall of voices as the girls awaited the call to order. “Where should we sit?” I asked.
Emmie scanned the crowd and then nodded toward the front. “Down there; Kaylee’s got
seats for us.”
We made our way down the aisle and excused ourselves past a bunch of girls, me going first and trying not to bash into anyone. I smiled and nodded at the girls as I shuffled past, while Emmie greeted the ones she knew.
We finally got to our seats and settled in, Emmie on one side of me, Kaylee on the other. Celia was nowhere to be found, but as the dean walked up the few steps to the stage, Chelly came rushing in and plunked herself down beside Emmie.
“Hi,” She huffed out, breathless.
The dean called everyone to order and the dull roar in the room lowered to a buzz and then just a few whispers as she scanned the crowd pointedly.
Finally, everyone quieted down and she began.
Sure, I was interested in getting good marks, but after three sentences the dean lost me and pretty much everyone else in the hall. You’d think after however many years doing this, she’d clue in. But maybe it was the respectful silence that made her think people were paying attention, when really, as I looked around, it was obvious everyone was just texting.
Including Emmie beside me. I nudged her with my elbow.
She tilted her head so she could give me a look, sticking the tip of her tongue through her lips.
I gave her a disapproving look back.
She angled the screen at me showing me she was texting Dave, as justification for blowing off the dean. Not that the bar was high.
Mss you. Can’t wait to c u. was his last text.
Awwww, I mouthed. How sweet.
Emmie grinned and texted back while I watched over her shoulder: 2nite behind the stables at 8
I looked up at her, eyes wide. I wasn’t sure of all the Rosewood rules yet, but I had a feeling sneaking out of the dorms to meet guys was against at least one or five of them.
Not that Emmie cared, obviously; she rolled her eyes and continued typing with her thumbs.
I turned back to the front of the room, since reading her texts might be a bit creepy, when Kaylee grabbed my arm and squeezed. When I looked at her, she nodded toward the right side of the auditorium at the front. I glanced over, my eyes scanning the faculty, and then finally saw what she was looking at.
Mr. Stratton, the new science teacher.
“Rowr,” Kaylee purred under her breath and waggled her eyebrows. “I have a weakness for smart guys. I can’t wait for science.”
I giggled, but couldn’t help but agree.
* * *
It was after lunch before I got to actually meet the new science teacher. After the dean’s hour-long blah-blah-academic-excellence-should-be-your-main-focus-but-you’re-expected-to-be-a-good-Rosewood-citizen-blah-blah-blah speech, we filed out into the hall and parted ways.
Chelly and Emmie left for History class and Kaylee, Celia and I headed out to English Lit, which, based on the syllabus, was going to be a joke after everything I’d studied in London and had absorbed from Mom over the years. But with Kaylee and Celia in the class and a young, cool teacher, Ms. Ito, it was going to be fun and a no-brainer. My favorite kind of class!
Second was French, which was going to be another easy A, though I didn’t know anyone there yet. And then Science, with the now infamous Mr. Stratton.
Kaylee and I sat together as lab partners, which I appreciated; I was starting to think, of all the girls I’d met so far, Kaylee and I might have the most in common, at least personality-wise. When it came to our backgrounds and families, she was the daughter of Hollywood producers, so she was really familiar with the celebrity life, where I was pretty much the opposite. But she was low-key and very focused on getting great marks so she could get into a pre-med program (she wanted no part of the famous life).
Not that the other girls didn’t care about grades, but Kaylee was kind of a bookworm like me and we’d laughed when we compared notes and realized we’d both read all the required reading for the English Lit class well before the start of school.
And now we had another thing in common: our sudden interest in science.
“I don’t know how I’m going to get any work done,” Kaylee admitted as we watched Mr. Stratton come into the room, a soft-sided briefcase in one hand and a to-go cup in the other. He was wearing Dockers and a starched white button-down shirt kitted up with a tie under his blazer. His eyes were focused on his desk, like we didn’t exist, although he must have heard all the excited whispering; it was almost deafening.
“Do you think he knows how attractive he is?” I asked Kaylee, my breath hitching as he took the blazer off and hung it over the back of his chair.
She smirked at me. “Only if he owns a mirror. Look at those shoulders.”
I stifled a laugh and looked at him again. Now he had his briefcase on the desk and was taking out some papers, still ignoring the twenty girls in front of him who watched him like he was the main attraction at a zoo exhibit.
He took a sip of whatever he was drinking and put it down slowly, carefully on the corner of his desk.
The suspense was killing me.
Finally, he picked up a piece of paper, took a deep breath and looked up, his eyes sweeping across us, taking us in. His Adam’s apple moved up and then down in his neck.
Kaylee whispered, “What do you want to bet this is his first teaching gig ever?”
Based on how young and nervous he looked, I wasn’t about to take that bet.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said after clearing his throat. “In case you weren’t at dinner last night, I’m Mr. Stratton and I’m a new teacher here at Rosewood. I’m excited to be here and I’m sure we’ll all learn a little something from each other over this term. Welcome.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kaylee giggle at the ‘Welcome’; we’d never be able to hear that word again without cracking up.
Luckily Mr. Stratton didn’t notice and kept on with his little speech.
“…and to answer the question that I’m sure is at the forefront of all your minds, yes, this is my first teaching position and although they tell us in teachers’ college never to admit that kind of vulnerability to students, I’m hoping here at Rosewood, you are mature and will use that information to go easy on me.”
He pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose and flashed us all one of those devastating smiles.
The class gave out a collected sigh.
Poor Mr. Stratton didn’t stand a chance.
Community Service
My academic day finished out with P.E., which I’d looked forward to, since I’d thought it would mean a ride, but I was disappointed to find out that we didn’t get an equestrian unit for a couple of weeks. Until then, we had our choice of football…er…soccer or archery.
Like every other girl I knew, I’d gone through a Katniss Everdeen stage so I’d already done some archery, and I felt like I needed something a bit more active to burn off some steam. I spent most of the period doing soccer drills with my classmates until I basically fell into a sweaty, exhausted heap; mission accomplished.
What I neglected to remember, though, was that at boarding school, your day isn’t over after your last class; I still had dinner and the evening assembly to get through.
Dinner was fine (and after all that running around, I was starving) but then after that was the assembly about being a good Rosewood citizen. The dean was back at it again, telling us that part of Rosewood’s mandate was to ensure we all became contributing members of our society.
“That’s crap,” Celia said under her breath as she leaned in close to me. “It’s how they get free labor around here.”
I gave her a look, hoping she’d explain, but she just waved toward the stage, like it would be obvious soon enough.
And it was, when the dean went on to explain that we would each find our assignments e-mailed to us at our special Rosewood e-mail addresses that had been issued to us and were on our schedules. Not having noticed it before, I pulled the folded up and dog-eared schedule out of my pocket and sure enough, at the top was my special Rosewood e-mail address.
She assured us that each of our assignments was hand-picked to fit in with our schedules and interests (Emmie, sitting on my other side, snorted here) and was non-negotiable except in very extreme circumstances.
“Death or…death,” Celia said.
“If they really wanted us to contribute to society, they’d give us real volunteer opportunities,” Emmie whispered. “They’d send us out in the community to do worthwhile things.”
“So why don’t they?” I asked.
Emmie shrugged. “Like Celia said, it’s free labor. And also, they can’t have us all scattered around outside the compound; too much of a security issue.”
“Security?” I mean, I knew I might be a security issue, but what about the other kids?
Emmie leaned in closer. “Look around; there’s a lot of money represented by all these kids. If some billionaire’s kid gets kidnapped for a ransom, this school is screwed.”
I wondered if Emmie was a ‘billionaire’s kid’ as she continued. “Our parents pay for us to be safe here—that’s a huge draw, right? I’m sure you saw the security booth at the front gate—and they can’t exactly let us off campus to go be candy stripers or work on a big Habitat project with Joe Public.”
She shook her head. “It makes sense, but it’s still a waste of our talent and abilities. I could do a lot from here, organizing projects and fundraising online, but instead, they’re going to make me work in the kitchen or something and call it ‘community work’ that’s going to make me a better citizen. Right.”
“As long as I don’t get stuck shoveling crap in the stables again,” Chelly said. “It’s like they knew I hate horses and gave me the worst job in the world.”
“I’d love to work in the stables,” I said, suddenly eager to get back to our room so I could check my e-mail, figuring the new girl surely had to draw the short straw and get stuck mucking stalls.
Celia snorted. “If you want to work in the stables, you’ll end up cleaning the giant oatmeal-encrusted pots at, like, five in the morning. That’s just how it works here. And they never let anyone change—because then everyone would, right?”
