Lunch that day consisted of a strained silence. We were all too wrapped up in our own confused emotions and thoughts to hold any sort of conversation. The other girls all just looked perpetually shocked. Clearly this was not the fairytale beginning of fast-tracker life that they had envisioned. Most likely I would have held the same expression if it weren’t for the fact that my fairytale dreams had already crumbled days before I had arrived here.
At the end of the day we finally began to talk. Each girl took her turn telling the group where they were from and what level their parents had been. Nola and Myra were both purple and were from Maine and Vermont respectively.
Haddie was from Connecticut. Her dad had been blue, but her mom was purple. When she was little she had lived in a purple housing section, but her entire family had been socially ostracized for her dad’s blue level. Eventually they moved to blue level housing, where they were more welcomed and her mother’s purple level wasn’t an issue.
Trisha, the last girl to arrive, was from New Hampshire and was the lowest level among us – brown. So that was the real reason Mrs. Glabough treated her so poorly – lateness had nothing to do with it.
Vera had grown up in New York and was from the highest level out of all of us – gray. She seemed more than a little smug about that fact. I got the distinct impression that she expected special treatment from us. That wasn’t about to happen – at least not from me.
The girls kept chatting animatedly throughout the rest of dinner. The shock and confusion had worn off and they were once again excited and happy about the incredible future they had been handed. I sat quietly and listened. Excited and happy were two emotions that were now alien to me. It was all I could do to not sit there and sulk at the group. But even just listening proved to be interesting.
Despite Mrs. Glabough’s insistence that we were all considered nothing, the group of girls still seemed hopeful. Somehow they had gotten the impression that if they impressed Mrs. Glabough enough, she would introduce them to fast-tracker society. And if they accomplished that, then everything would be all right. Even Trisha seemed to buy into the idea, even though she thought she had a better chance of hell freezing over than impressing Mrs. Glabough.
I was dumbfounded by their interpretation of the day’s lecture. Was I so jaded by Byron’s fate that I heard different words? Or were the other girls so desperate to hold onto their wonderful futures that they had warped the words they heard to fit their own delusions? But it was five girls against one, so I guess it was just me.
Before bed, I tried to get some time alone with Trisha. I felt bad for the way Mrs. Glabough has been treating her. She couldn’t help what status her parents had been. But I also had an ulterior motive. As a brown level, she was the closet to Byron’s new status. I hoped she could shed some light on what his new life would be like, and maybe reassure me that it wouldn’t be all that bad.
Unfortunately, her former status made her sensitive. She thought I was trying to mock her with my questions. Instead of getting answers I had already made an enemy. She stormed away from me and for the rest of the evening she refused to even look in my direction.
The next morning Mrs. Glabough announced that we were heading out. She led us to the Salon d’Artiste. She must have booked out the entire salon, because there wasn’t another customer in sight – but there were plenty of attendants who immediately began stripping us down in the middle of the salon floor.
“I’m perfectly capable of undressing myself,” I snapped as I slapped unwelcome hands away from me. I couldn’t believe their audacity and indifference to common modesty. “I prefer a bit of privacy. I don’t make a habit of baring myself to complete and total strangers.” I didn’t even bother to hide the disdain in my voice.
“Odin. Remy.” Mrs. Glabough snapped her fingers. “I want you to personally supervise Miss Zandria’s makeover today. Make sure she’s treated like the lady we know she is.”
They both gave Mrs. Glabough a nod that resembled a bow and motioned for me to follow. Nervously I obeyed, but I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trouble my big mouth had gotten me into.
I was pleasantly surprised when they led me to a curtained changing room and handed me a fluffy white robe to change into. After changing they led me to the heavily perfumed showers. I watched as the other girls were roughly handled by attendants that scrubbed and rinsed them clean. But Odin and Remy simply pointed the shampoos out to me and advised me how, where, and when to use each one.
After showering, I dried and wrapped myself in another fluffy robe. Odin and Remy led me to a room where I was given a facial, manicure and pedicure simultaneously. Then they proceeded to laser every unwanted hair from my body. It stung. I winced.
“Don’t worry; one time over and you’ll never have to worry about being a furry monkey again.” Remy ran a hand over his perfectly shaved face. Now I knew how Avery had looked so clean shaven. Then I rolled my eyes at being called a monkey.
Feeling rather sore, I changed into the simple white top and bottoms Remy handed me and followed them to a hairdressing chair.
Once again, Mrs. Glabough started circling me and scrutinizing me. “Well, first things first, we’ll have chop off all this extra weight, and then we’ll have to do something to liven the color.” I let out an audible huff. Once again she talked as if I wasn’t even there. “I’m thinking maybe this length.” Her hand brushed my shoulder and landed on my neck. That was more than half my hair she wanted to chop off. I couldn’t remember a time when it had ever been above my shoulders.
“No one is cutting or coloring my hair,” I growled at her.
Her beady little eyes narrowed on me and the thin line of her smile curled up at the corners. “Odin, why don’t you get Miss Zandria a hot tea. I think she needs to sit and think about what’s best for her for a while.” Her words sounded sweet and kind, but I couldn’t help but feel that there was some kind of underlying threat hidden within them.
Immediately Odin disappeared. He returned soon after, steaming mug poised in his grip. I wasn’t usually a tea drinker, but I decided to be polite and sipped some. It was delicious. He had used honey to sweeten the herb tea instead of sugar. The flavor of the tea was an irresistible mixture of apples, berries and cinnamon. Before I realized it I had drained the entire mug. The warm satisfying feel of it sitting in my belly made me feel sleepy, and I started to doze off.
When I awoke, Mrs. Glabough, Odin and Remy were staring down at me. “Well as usual, the two of you have done wonders.” Mrs. Glabough beamed.
Panic rushed through me and I bolted upright in my chair. I turned and looked in the mirror behind me. “You drugged me?” I whimpered as I saw the atrocity of my hair.
“It was just a little tranquilizer. Nothing to worry about really,” Mrs. Glabough said with a gleeful sneer on her face.
It took all my willpower not to cry. My beautiful long hair had been chopped off. I couldn’t tell just how short it really was, because the front had been slicked back, flat against my head, and then the back hair had been fanned out in the shape of a peacock’s feathers. If that wasn’t bad enough, blue highlights streaked through my hair. I looked absolutely ridiculous.
“I told you I will not tolerate any embarrassing behavior from any of you,” Mrs. Glabough menacingly whispered in my ear.
All I could do was whimper back, “Yes, ma’am.” I had learned my first important fast-tracker lesson: you could be as rude and condescending to anyone of lesser station of you, but never to anyone who was your equal or superior, and that definitely included Mrs. Glabough.
I had a hard time concentrating the rest of the day during classes. I know it’s just hair, but it was my hair. I felt so betrayed and violated by Mrs. Glabough’s actions. I hated her more than I thought it was possible to hate a person.
“Oh, get over yourself and stop moping over your dinner,” Vera snapped at me. “My hair is even shorter than yours, but you don’t see me complaining.”
; I glared at her short cropped hair. At least hers was still its natural platinum blond color. Her superior smug tone infuriated me. I snapped, “That’s easy for you to say; your hair looks good. I look like a demented bird is sitting on my head.”
“Well maybe it’s not as bad as it looks right now,” Trisha offered helpfully.
“Thanks. I hope so,” I responded. Maybe the hair wasn’t a total loss if it got Trisha talking to me again. At least hair can grow.
Before bed Trisha helped me brush out my hair. It had so much product added to it that it had formed a helmet against my head. After some time and pain, I got a good look at my new hairstyle. Trisha was right: it wasn’t nearly as short as I feared, but still it landed just above my shoulders. Brushed out, my hair was a simple bob with the ends cut into a hard angular line. It was a flattering cut for my face, and hanging loose the highlights were well hidden, and when a glimpse of the dark blue did show it made the ebony of my hair really shine.
I thanked Trisha for her help. As much as I wanted to know what life would be like for Byron, I decided to wait to ask Trisha about it again. I needed to build her trust first.
The next day I slicked my hair back up, so Mrs. Glabough couldn’t tell how long it really was. I didn’t want to chance her deciding to give me another haircut. Yet try as I might, I couldn’t duplicate yesterday’s hairstyle for the life of me. So I styled the ends in little pin-curls. Satisfied the length was undetectable, I headed down to breakfast.
After breakfast, Mrs. Glabough marched us to several clothing boutiques. The first one was a lingerie store. Again, the store had been closed off just for us and there wasn’t another customer in sight. This time we were brought into the back and placed in front of giant three-sided mirrors and told to undress.
“We’re all girls here,” Mrs. Glabough giggled but then glared at me in warning.
I obediently removed the smock-like white top and pants I was wearing and didn’t complain as the sales associate began measuring every inch of me.
Instead of staring at my nearly naked self in the mirror, I watched Mrs. Glabough’s reflection hanging just over my shoulder. She pointed at each one of us and barked commands to the associates that I assumed were assigned to individual girls.
I was given an endless supply of skimpy, barely-there lace delicates to try on. Mrs. Glabough’s nods determined which ones went into the keep or return pile. In the end, the dominant colors of the day seemed to be pale pink, emerald green and black.
I glanced over at the other girls’ outfits and noticed a varying degree of style. While all my undergarments were lacy nothings, most of the other girls had bikini-style panties and bras that at least appeared like they could support something. Except Trisha. She had mostly tan and white granny panties and sport bras.
Next our sleepwear was brought out to us. I shouldn’t have been surprised when all of mine turned out to be over-the-top-sexy, leave-hardly-anything-to-the-imagination nightgowns and teddies. The other girls at least got a cute combination of comfortable pajamas that included boy-short sets and silk men’s pajama tops. Well most of the girls did. Trisha just got flannel grandma nightgowns, antique ivory lace and all.
We were each given a set of undergarments to wear and told to put our white outfits back on. We then spent the rest of the day clothes shopping. In every store we repeated the same thing. It was always closed to the public. We always stripped down to our underwear, and then we would try on an endless amount of clothing while Mrs. Glabough stood behind us nodding her final approval.
It became clear after the very first store that Mrs. Glabough had a very specific look in mind for each of us. Poor Trisha was given the look of a dowdy librarian. Haddie was the sporty girl. Vera was given an uber-chic look that matched her short, blond, jagged-edge chopped hair. Myra seemed to have a playful but flirty look and Nola was clearly preppy.
I was the only one I couldn’t quite categorize, and I also seemed to be accumulating the largest amount of clothes.
After a quick lunch, I started to piece together what Mrs. Glabough was doing. I finally realized where I had seen these kinds of clothes before. The reason the look had been so hard to place was because she was building me two looks. She was building me the wardrobe of both a Senator’s wife and a businesswoman. On the news I had seen plenty of Senators’ wives wearing the soft classic blouses, sweaters and tops I had been accumulating. Matching scarves, shawls and jewelry were also added to my amassing pile of items. Each top was matched with a pair of trousers or a modest skirt that ended just above the knee. She had even chosen a signature group of colors for me. My bottoms tended to favor dove gray, charcoal, or floral prints, while my tops were a soft mixture of pastels: peaches, mints, lavenders, baby blues and pinks.
My businesswoman look was a completely different story. Dark navy, forest green and black comprised the majority of my power suits and dresses. The most unique color of them all was called black rose. It was a deep red dark enough to blend with almost any color. I had to admit I loved it. I had always loved the color red, but it just never got along with my complexion before now. When I did wear it I ended up looking either blotchy or ghostly pale. I was delighted when I overheard Mrs. Glabough direct the store owner to customize several other outfits in the same color.
I was even more excited when I was finally given some jeans to try on, despite the fact that they hardly resembled any of the jeans I ever owned. Instead of faded and worn, the jeans were all bright and solid deep blues, black, red and purple, but at least the ones Mrs. Glabough decided to keep all hugged my curves in exactly the right spot. If I closed my eyes I could hardly tell the difference between my new fancy jeans and my old favorite pair.
After the jeans I was finally given an outfit to wear out of the store. A nice short-sleeved mint sweater was paired with a delicate floral dress of the softest material. Of course it had to be topped off with a matching floral scarf, pearl necklace and large accompanying pearl studs.
“Just one more stop,” Mrs. Glabough chimed when she noticed we were now all dragging out feet. Unfortunately, that stop entailed jamming our tired feet into shoe after uncomfortable shoe. For once I was jealous of Trisha’s selection. All she was given were flats to try on.
I had to suffer through countless painfully shaped shoes before they finally figured out I could only wear square- or round-toed shoes on my abnormally fan shaped feet. I had to suppress a giggle when I heard Mrs. Glabough curse my skinny ankles and wide toes under her breath.
Still, I had to admit I had it easier than some of the girls. They had to wrestle with heels that were easily three inches or more in height. Fortunately for me the preferred height of a Senator’s wife or serious businesswoman was between one to two inches. Occasionally, a stylish flat or two was even allowed. I was relieved when I was handed a pair of mint green flats to wear back to the college.
Chapter 7
As we finally sat down to dinner, it became apparent that I had missed one glaring fact throughout the day. The extra clothes and attention given to me by Mrs. Glabough had alienated me from the rest of the girls. We were all seated at the same table, but I would have been better off sitting across the room.
Vera had already made it clear she wasn’t a fan of me, so I was hardly surprised when she ignored me. What I didn’t expect was everyone else to join in. They all turned away from me and continued talking as if I wasn’t even there. I felt like crying, but then I reminded myself that the silent treatment was nothing compared to what Byron must be facing right now.
That just made me feel worse. I realized most of the day had passed without me even thinking of him. I must be the world’s most shallow and petty person. After promising myself that I would never forget about Byron and what he meant to me, all it took was a day of shopping for him to slip from my mind.
I had completely lost my appetite. I didn’t care if the other girls thought I was running away from them or not: I pushed myself away from the table and h
eaded outside to the neighboring garden. I wandered around, and when I found a grove of rosebushes, I sank down onto a cement bench in the center of the flowers and finally allowed myself to cry.
By the time I stopped crying it was getting dark. I realized the hour we had been given for dinner was almost up. Mrs. Glabough had promised to assign us our rooms after dinner. Quickly I ran back towards the college. I only slowed to a walk when it was finally in sight.
A sudden crashing sound made me jump. I tensed, then looked over and realized it was only a worker emptying a trash bin.
There was something familiar about the way he stood that caught my attention. I started walking towards him so I could get a better look. No. It couldn’t be. Could it?
“Byron?” I called out.
For a brief moment the man turned and his pale blue eyes locked onto mine. I thought I saw a spark of recognition – but then I blinked and the man was gone.
My mind was just playing tricks on me, cruelly making me see what was not there. What would never be there. Byron was forever lost to me. Maybe everyone was right and it would be better to forget about him. Maybe I should at least try to forget him.
An unseen clock chimed in the distance and snapped me away from my thoughts. Great, now I was late. As punishment Mrs. Glabough would probably assign me the worst room. Quickly I ran inside and jumped on the elevator. Fortunately Mrs. Glabough and the girls were just entering the lobby of the dining floor when the elevator doors opened.
“Ah, there you are, Miss Zandria. I’m glad to see you didn’t wonder off anywhere and get yourself lost,” she prattled as she led everyone into the elevator with me.
Fast-Tracked Page 7
