Initiation

by Jessica Burkhart

  “All your teachers expect full participation in class,” she continued. “Your dorm monitors expect their rules to be followed, and I expect students to represent my school with model behavior. If you are not able to fulfill these obligations, or those in the handbook, you will be sent home. No exceptions. Zero second chances.”

  The last sentence made my stomach flip-flop. I knew all the rules and had never been in trouble at school before, but what if I messed up somehow?

  “Yikes,” Jill whispered to me. “She will never not scare me.”

  I was too scared to say anything back.

  Headmistress Drake smiled. “With that said, I have no doubt that you will all put forth your best effort this year. I look forward to seeing those of you who have returned. For new students, I’m extremely proud that you chose Canterwood as your school. I can’t wait for you to get to know Canterwood. And I can’t wait for our community at Canterwood to get to know you. And now . . . you are all dismissed. Your first-period teachers are waiting!”

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

  Headmistress Drake exited the stage, and there was a flurry of activity. Bags of every color (and, I noticed, high-end labels) were hoisted over shoulders as students raced for the exit doors. I hurried after Lexa, Khloe, and Jill.

  “Guess no one wants to be late to the first class of the year?” I asked.

  “Not after that speech!” Jill said, laughing. It had been like a stampede. No joke.

  Khloe, Lexa, and I waved good-bye to Jill from the courtyard as she headed to her class and we went to math. The math building wasn’t far from the courtyard, but a little anxiety washed over me as we stepped into the air-conditioned building and walked down the tiled hallways to room 107.

  A desk and giant whiteboard were in the front of the huge classroom. The rows of individual desks didn’t have names on them, so Lexa found three desks together and Khloe slung her beautiful pink Coach purse adorned with oversized iridescent sequin piping over the back of the one in the middle. Lex sat in front of her, and I happily took the desk next to Lexa.

  I glanced around as seats filled.

  I wanted to be ready before the teacher came in, so I turned around and reached into my messenger bag. I pulled out my textbook, a new spiral notebook labeled MATH and a pen. Something was missing . . . calculator.

  When I turned around to fish it out of my bag, my arm knocked my pencil to the ground. I leaned over to pick it up at the same time the guy beside me did. He got it first.

  “Here you go,” he said, giving me a very sweet (read:cute) smile. His shaggy-chic blond hair was side-swept out of his eyes but still lingered past his eyebrows.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the pencil from him. I started to reach for my calculator again.

  “Did you just transfer?” Pencil Guy asked. His redheaded friend turned and shot me a smile, too.

  “That obvious, huh?” I asked. “So, the pencil dropping and terror-filled eyes gave me away?”

  Both boys laughed.

  “Gotcha,” I said. “Next time I’ll bring a pen to class.”

  “I don’t think that would help,” the blonde said. He leaned toward me like he was telling me a secret. “It’s a small class, so we know everyone here. I’m Zack, and that’s my friend—”

  “Garret,” Garret broke in.

  “Lauren,” I said. “Nice to meet you guys.” This felt good. Right. Like something I would have done at Yates if I’d met two new guys. I was never supershy—I often had more guy friends than girlfriends no matter what school I was at.

  “Khloe.”

  I looked away, toward the unfriendly voice. Riley stood, smiling down at Khloe. Her supershiny dark hair was back in a French braid. She’d somehow done her eye-liner in a flawless cat-eye that was superflattering. She’d paired dressy black shorts with charcoal-gray-and-black horizontal-striped tights and a black scoop-neck tee with silver stitching. Poison-red peep-toe ballet flats completed the look. “The look” being . . . well, perfect.

  Her liquid brown eyes swept over me. “Lauren. And Lexa. Wow, and Khloe. Aren’t you three just the cutest fast besties?”

  Riley walked past me, her black butter-leather Chanel bag almost sweeping everything off my desk. I inspected the stitching as the bag grazed my belongings. Be a knockoff, be a knockoff, I chanted silently—and irrationally. But the stitching was barely visible and parfait.

  Why did girls like Riley always have the real-deal Chanels? And why did this particular Chanel owner have to sit directly behind me?

  There was a light tap on my shoulder. I pasted a sickly sweet smile onto my face before turning to look at Riley.

  “I’m sorry if I interrupted your conversation,” she said, glancing at the guys. Zack and Garret had started talking to a third boy—the three of them laughing about something.

  “No big,” I said honestly. “I had a very small clumsy moment and they gave me an intro.”

  I tried smiling at Riley, but I could feel my smile coming off as frowny.

  Riley apparently had a smiling problem, too. “It’s so great that you have friends on the first day, social butterfly. Let me guess—you’re sharing stories about tiny town life that everyone thinks is so quaint and adorable?”

  “Weird!” I said. “It’s like you’re inside my brain.” I plucked my calculator from my bag and put it on my desk.

  “Here are those directors you asked for,” Lexa said, folding a piece of paper into my hand.

  Huh? I opened the paper slowly.

  Here’s my #. BBM urs 2 KK & me so we can talk w/o Riley hearing. Ohhh. Ha!

  I slid my phone onto my lap and BBMed Lexa and Khloe my number.

  Khloe: LT! u talked 2 Zack! & Garret!

  Lexa: & made Reiler look like the brat she is!

  Lauren: Reiler?Ugh. Not a fan. ?? abt Zack and Garret?

  Khloe: 2 of the hottest guys in r class! What did u say 2 them? (& Reiler = Rottweiler.)

  Lauren: Oh! Nothing 2 get excited abt—trust me. He just intro’d himself & G. LOL re: Reiler.

  Simultaneously, Lexa and Khloe wrote:OMG!

  Lauren: Srsly! U guys r so funny.

  Khloe: Z or G prob would have asked u out if R hadn’t walked in.

  Our teacher walked into the classroom and I smiled at Khloe and Lexa, shaking my head. I locked my phone and shoved it in my bag.

  “Welcome, class. I’m Ms. Utz,” the teacher said.

  Ms. Utz was très tall and muscular—like she could bench-press her desk. Her blue-black hair was pulled into a bun so tight it must have given her a headache. She didn’t wear any makeup except for lip balm.

  Ms. Utz counted out handouts for each row and gave them to the first person in each one.

  “Before we begin new concepts,” Ms. Utz said, “let’s use today as a refresher. Once we begin this year’s lessons, there will not be time to go back. If after today’s class there is a concept you’ve either forgotten or have not fully mastered, I strongly suggest you come see me or seek tutoring.”

  I sat up a little straighter. I’d gotten As in math from Yates. But this isn’t Yates.

  “Please close your textbooks, put your notebooks under your desks, and leave out only a pencil,” Ms. Utz said. “A pop quiz is the easiest way to judge your skill level.”

  Scattered groans erupted across the classroom.

  Ms. Utz smiled. “I must be doing my job right if I can make you all groan on the very first day.” She grinned— showing off bright white square teeth.

  Lexa passed a quiz back to me and I handed the last one to Riley.

  “You have half an hour,” Ms. Utz said. “You may begin . . . now.”

  I put down my pencil just as Ms. Utz called, “Time.” I’d actually finished a couple of minutes early and had been rechecking my work.

  Ms. Utz picked up each student’s paper. Surprisingly, I felt good about my quiz. I’d gotten stuck on a few problems, but I used my usual strategy—I left t
hem blank and moved through the rest of the quiz. After I finished, I came back to the problems I skipped.

  Ms. Utz spent the few remaining minutes of class telling us what to expect of the semester, going through the syllabus and answering questions. Once the bell sounded, Ms. Utz told us to enjoy the rest of our first day. Tough as she looked, I had a feeling I would like my new math teacher.

  Lexa, Khloe, and I walked out together and escaped from the building without any more “Reiler” encounters.

  “First class down!” Lex said, smiling at me.

  “First class down,” Khloe said. “And you”—she grinned at me—“met two supercute boys.”

  “Stop!” I laughed. “They were being polite—that’s all.”

  “Ohhh, polite! Just like a seventh-grade boy. Okay, LT,” Lexa said in a singsong voice.

  I smiled to myself.

  Honestly, at all my old schools, I’d always gotten along with pretty much everyone. Being an athlete gave me something in common with the boys who played sports. That’s how I’d bonded with Taylor. Ana, Brielle, and I hadn’t been exclusive or cliquey. Everyone, except for a few catty girls, got along with us. It seemed as if Khloe, Lexa, and Jill were pretty cool.

  Maybe they’d even earn the Ana and Brielle SOA— stamp of approval.

  As we headed for Mr. Spellman’s history class, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, I could do this.

  SOMEONE’S A LITTLE TOO COMFY

  BY THE TIME I ENTERED THE CAFETERIA, MY bag was weighed down with more homework and handouts than my first week at Yates. Khloe had forgotten her Canterwood meal card, so she and Lexa had run back to Hawthorne to get it.

  I got in line with my tray, thinking about the past two classes. History with Mr. Spellman had been fun. He was a little odd but in a funny, endearing way. Quirky, not creepy. He hadn’t quizzed us or given us a ton of homework for tonight. All we had to do was read the first chapter in our textbook, which covered American history before 1500. Which, by the way, our textbook? Had our teacher’s name in it as one of the contributors. No kidding—it was like meeting someone famous. He didn’t even tell anyone.

  And when I told Khloe about the textbook thing, she just stared at me without speaking for a long time, then said, “Cool. My teacher literally wrote a book on the most boring subject ever.” Then she continued to grumble about reading “boring stuff ” on our way to English. Not that it was my favorite time period either, but still. The guy rated miniceleb on my scale.

  When I asked him about the name after class, he actually turned red! If it had been me teaching the class? I’d be like, “Please turn to the cover of this book and notice that I wrote things in here. We don’t have to dwell on it, but you should definitely acknowledge that I’m very smart and my name being in print proves it. That will be all. Class dismissed.”

  I mean, I knew Canterwood teachers were “top-notch educators from all over the world.” The brochures talked about that almost as much as their “extremely accomplished alumni” who have “gone on to discover very important scientific” . . . well, discoveries. Not to mention the alumni who had “seats” in very important government positions. So far, however, I was most impressed by current students like Sasha Silver, who I still looked for everywhere I went, and my weirdly hyper and modest history professor who HELPED WRITE OUR TEXTBOOKS!!! Not that Yates’s professors weren’t intimidatingly smart. But this whole day had been like a dream.

  At first, English had been a little tense. And not because of the teacher. Clare had walked in after Khloe and I had found seats. Khloe had waved her over, and Clare had sat next to her. They’d started talking immediately, and I’d given them some space and stayed low profile. But Khloe, seemingly not to want me to feel excluded, pulled me into a convo about our cute teacher.

  Khloe and Clare had already seen him in person—I’d only seen photos on the CCA website. Without Riley, Clare acted like a different person. She and Khloe were closer than I’d seen them, and I could tell Clare was really making an effort to be friendly with me.

  When Mr. Davidson had walked in, Khloe and Clare had turned to me with total Told you so! looks on their faces. Mr. Davidson was definitely even cuter in person than he was in his online pic. Even Khloe(!) had blushed or stammered when he’d called her name for attendance.

  He was a lot younger than most of the teachers. And his dashing blue eyes, thick wavy hair, and classic, all-American, Ralph Lauren sense of style made him look like a movie star. Mr. Davidson had simply gone over the syllabus, promising to explain in greater detail tomorrow.

  Posters of black-and-white photographs of famous authors covered the classroom walls. The desks were arranged in a circle. Both so we could see each other and because open discussion was encouraged, he’d told us.

  Mr. Davidson was so nice, he’d even apologized for giving us homework on the first day: reading about memoirs in our textbook and writing a three-to-five-page piece about the most important things we actually wanted him to know about us.

  “Your turn,” someone said behind me.

  I was holding up the entire lunch line behind me with my daydreams.

  “Sorry!” I said, hurrying up to the lunch lady. “I’d like a turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread, carrots with a side of blue cheese dressing, a strawberry cupcake, and iced tea, please.”

  She put the items on my tray and swiped my meal card.

  The caf was massive. Long tables. Small square tables. Round tables. Corner tables. Sunlight streamed in through numerous windows. Instead of fluorescent lights like the ones in Yates’s cafeteria, Canterwood had spaced-out lights—simple white balls—that hung down from the ceiling on slender silver poles and provided warm lighting.

  I scanned the room for a good table. One near a window that faced the gym was open. I put down my tray and slid onto the seat, putting my bag beside my feet. I opened BBM.

  Lexa: KK and I will b right there. Save us seats!

  Lauren: Done! Table nxt 2 window on left side.

  There was also a message from Taylor. Seeing his name on my phone was still bittersweet. We’d had the best breakup possible (mutual), and I was lucky that we’d been able to stay friends. But sometimes I wasn’t so sure. Sometimes I missed him as more than a friend.

  I opened the message he’d sent an hour ago. Then the ones from Bri, Ana, and Becca.

  Taylor: How’s the 1st day? I keep expecting 2 run into u here. Okay, so that made my heart deflate a little.

  Brielle: LT, how is the fabulous CC? A & I miss r BFF!

  Ana: Laur-Bell, Yates is totally boring w/o u. Srsly. Oh, Jeremy says hi!

  I smiled at the mention of her BF—an artist, too, of course.

  I looked at the message from Becca : How is it all, Laur? BBM me—keeping fingers crossed all day 4 u. Love u.

  I stuffed my phone in my bag and bit my lip. I busied myself with my iced tea.

  “Hey!” Khloe slid into the seat across from me. “I’m starving.”

  “Me too,” said Lexa, sitting next to Khloe.

  “I’m never this hungry at lunch,” I said. “But it feels like I’ve been running mini marathons between classes.”

  “We kind of have been,” Khloe said, taking a gulp of chocolate milk.

  Lexa took a bite of her chicken sandwich. “It’s going to take weeks before I’m used to this schedule again.”

  “Rushing between buildings should so count as gym,” I said, holding up a declarative pointer finger. “I’ve got French III, gym, and science left still. I might actually die during gym.” Okay, so maybe Khloe was rubbing off on me.

  “Ms. Meade,” Lexa said, “Lauren couldn’t make it to class. She died doing push-ups.”

  We all laughed and began eating at an embarrassingly rapid rate. Manners? Gone. No one even spoke until our trays were empty.

  “Ugh,” Lex said. “I ate too fast.”

  I rubbed my stomach. “Yeaaah. I don’t even remember eating my cupcake.”


  “So who has what left?” Khloe asked.

  “Spanish, history, and science,” Lexa said.

  “I have Spanish, science, and acting,” Khloe said. “That means one class doesn’t count.”

  “At least you guys have Spanish together,” I said. “And Lexa and I have science.”

  “Acting isn’t even like a real class, so I just have to get through science,” Khloe said.

  “Spanish will be . . . ,” Lex said, “well, we don’t have the best track record with that.”

  “Sí,” Khloe said, giggling.

  It hit me at that moment: three more classes and I was done. I’d go back to my room, change, and walk to the stable. At 4:40 I’d be in the arena in front of Mr. Conner. I’d been too overwhelmed all day to think about testing. Now that I was sitting still, anxiety pumped through me.

  From the day I’d been accepted to Canterwood, I’d told myself over and over that I’d feel proud even just to be on the school’s beginner team. But deep down I knew I was lying to myself. I wanted more. I wanted to make the intermediate team.

  “You three are just bonding away over here.”

  Riley sauntered up to us, jutting out a bony hip when she stopped.

  “What’s up?” Khloe asked, her tone fake-cheery. And we all know that Khloe could have done better if she wanted.

  “I wanted to stop by and see how Lauren was feeling,” Riley said, her concern as false as Khloe’s excitement to see her.

  “About what?” I asked. This girl was really starting to grate on me.

  “Testing.” Riley’s eyes widened. “You didn’t forget, did you?”

  “Of course, no. But I’m doing just fine. Thank you so much for your concern.”

  “Well. I’m glad you’re feeling so confident,” Riley said. “I’ve seen some riders so nervous they can’t even eat before testing. But you don’t seem worried one bit. To top it off, you flirted with Zack and Garret on your very first day! That’s major.”

  The girl was so odd. Why did she want to argue with me, of all people? It wasn’t like I was competition to her. So why did she like twisting everything I said and did? Still, I wasn’t going to give her the pleasure. I wouldn’t argue with her. It wasn’t worth the energy.