by L. A. Sable
My hands shake and I back against the doorjamb as he passes, trying to keep as much space between us as possible. The intelligent part of me recognizes that I should just keep silent, but I can’t let him get the last word.
“You can’t just treat people however you want. It’s not right.”
A dark light enters his gaze as it centers on me from mere inches away. He stops in the doorway to glare down at me, so close that barely a breath separates us. Sweat beads on the back of my neck. My heart beats hard enough that he can probably see it pulsing in my chest, but I refuse to back down.
“I can say whatever I want to peasants that think they can just walk in off the street and take what doesn’t belong to them, Goldie. And I told you what would happen if you didn’t go back where you came from.”
I square my shoulders and glare back at him even though inside I’m quaking. “You’re not going to scare me away. I’m not afraid of being insulted.”
The smirk that crosses his lips is darkness personified. And he is laughing at me, but the look in his eyes almost pitying. “This was just a friendly warning, Goldie. Mommy won’t be able to protect you forever. If you think this is bad, just wait until you get to Black Lake. Everyone will know you’re a pretender from the moment you walk through the doors. You won’t survive the first semester. Take my advice and don’t bother showing up.”
Asher strides away without looking back, like he’s already forgotten I exist. He moves like a lion stalking the savannah, all coiled muscle and violent energy. Even as much as I hate him, it’s impossible not to notice the impressive figure that he poses.
And as much as I detest the idea of attending a place as snooty as Black Lake, those feelings are momentarily forgotten. All I care about is making sure that Asher and all the assholes like him know that I don’t scare that easily.
Bring it on.
Chapter 3
The stone facade of Bellamy Hall rises over me like a looming shadow, casting the entire courtyard below in darkness. I try not to think about that as an omen of what’s coming next.
It’s not lost on me that the main building of Black Lake Prep bears Carter’s last name — and by extension Asher’s too. I wonder how much money their family donated over the years to make something like that happen. Obviously, those generous contributions are part of the reason I’m standing here at all. It’s not as if this place normally accepts mediocre students from public school who don’t even have to go through the normal application process.
Maybe that’s part of why my new step-nephew (which is just weird, right?) hates me so much, even though it’s not like I asked for any of this. I’d be just as happy back at P.S. 119 with its decrepit building and barely motivated teachers. At least no one in the Bronx has vowed to destroy me.
Not that I’ve seen much of that asshole since we arrived for student drop-off and family day. He’ll probably lie low for as long as Trish and Carter are around. It seems like it’s important to him that neither of them see him for what he really is.
But I see, and I have no intention of ever letting my guard down around him again.
Trish insists on joining me for a tour around the school, marveling over the architecture and grand facilities, as if her excitement might be enough for the both of us. And I try hard not burst her immaculately crafted bubble even if it kills me. I’m here because, for better or worse, she has always wanted what’s best for me.
And Black Lake Prep is undoubtedly the best, but she’s way more excited about any of this than I’ll ever be.
Although, I should thank her for forcing me on that shopping spree over the weekend. Even though all the students at Black Lake are required to wear uniforms: midnight blue plaid skirt for the girls and pressed trousers for the boys, collared white shirt with the school’s crest embroidered the breast and a matching striped necktie in the school’s colors of gold and blue, the uniform isn’t all they wear.
There’s a pair of Italian loafers here or a set of diamond earrings with matching tennis bracelet there. I have on a brand new pair of Oxfords that were purchased new in the box from Nordstrom even though they weren’t on sale and a gold necklace with my birthstone in a pendant around my neck. And just like the others, my uniform has been hemmed and tailored so it fits me.
I can at least look like I belong here.
When it’s finally time to say goodbye to Trish, I have to fight back tears. It’s not that I’m so pathetic that I can’t be separated from my mommy, but somehow I just know that there’s nothing good in store for me once I no longer have her here as a witness.
Her hug still smells the same as it always has, even though so much has changed. She’s been using the same perfume for as long as I can remember, the scent woody and floral with the slightest hint of baby powder. She spritzes it on her bedsheets as soon as they’re pulled still warm from the dryer and dots a single drop right at the center of her chest every morning. That smell always reminds me of home.
Trish gets back into the old Mustang that stands out starkly beside the Bentleys and Mercedes that fill the parking lot. She had to remind the poor valet attendant to mash the clutch and put the thing in reverse before the engine would turn over.
And I have to shake off a sudden feeling of foreboding as I watch her drive off. I’m really here alone now.
Luckily, I haven’t had the misfortune of running into Asher the Asshole. And I can only hope that continues for as long as possible. I won’t ever forget the look of hatred that I saw burning in his eyes when he told me to leave while I still can, even if I don’t understand how you can hate someone you just met so intensely
I’ve been assigned to attend the new student orientation, and the room is full of obvious freshman. Even though I’m technically a junior, Black Lake’s administration makes every new student attend the orientation. Since they rarely accept students past the ninth grade, this must be their way of getting me up to speed, even though I stick out like a sore thumb. No one in the room has ever met me, but I get the sick sensation that every single person knows that I don’t belong here.
The auditorium is nearly full when I get there and I take a seat in the back on instinct, letting the chatter wash over me like white noise. Even though everyone in the room is a freshman and therefore new to the school, many of them seem to know each other. That shouldn’t surprise me, there are probably only a handful of primary schools in the country that feed into a place like Black Lake.
An older man with salt-and-pepper hair steps out onto the stage and the entire room falls silent. I’ve never seen a hundred rowdy teenagers respond that quickly to anything, it’s if the man flipped a switch in all of their brains at once.
“As most of you know, I am Dean Felton. Please let me be the first to welcome you all to Black Lake Preparatory Academy.” A cheer goes up in the crowd and I wince at the sudden increase in volume. “All of you are sitting in this room because you are among the best that this great country has to offer. And you are here to take the first step toward accomplishing great things. Of course, that’s true of some of you more than others.”
Even in the darkness of the auditorium, I sense that Dean Felton’s gaze lingers briefly on me. I try to assure myself that it’s just my imagination as he continues.
“Black Lake Preparatory Academy is where you will become what you are destined to be. The relationships you make here and the lessons learned will stay with you forever. I urge you to become a true part of our wonderful community and seek always to learn and grow together. On behalf of the faculty, welcome to Black Lake.”
The end of his speech is met with a polite round of applause as another speaker takes the stage and talks about the day-to-day schedule of the school. I only listen to most of it with half an ear. I haven’t even received my schedule because I registered so close to the beginning of the school year. I’ve already been informed by the harried woman at the guidance office counter that I won’t have any choice in my electives.
&nbs
p; God, I just want to be out of here.
“Hey!”
I turn to see the friendliest face that I’ve encountered since my arrival on campus. Curly strawberry blonde hair that’s bright as a fire engine and just as loud surrounds a cherubic face with a wide smile on it that spreads from cheek to cheek. This girl looks like she should play an orphan in a musical or the plucky heroine of an adventure story.
“Hi,” I say, a little taken aback by her enthusiasm. “I’m Lily Murphy.”
“Please tell me you’re not a freshman. I really need to talk to someone who isn’t still breastfed.” She winks at me like we’re already at the point of sharing inside jokes, even though we’ve only just met. It makes me like her immediately. “You have a very mature air about you. I’m never wrong about these things.”
“I’m a junior,” I confirm. My tone is droll, even as I feel the first smile of the day pulling at the corners of my lips. “I assume you aren’t a freshman either.”
“No, thank Christ. I’m a third year just like you. Have you seen the list of rules that they have for the first years? The curfew is almost two hours earlier and they aren’t allowed out of uniform on the weekends. Showing up here as the new kid really sucks, but I’d rather be new than have to deal with all that.”
My next impression is that this girl talks really fast, like she’s trying to get every thought out of her head before she runs short of oxygen. “Sorry, what’s your name?”
“Oh, I’m Charlotte. Charlotte Chaplin. My mom is a huge fan of alliteration or 1920s film stars, depending on when you ask her because she likes to call me Charlie.” When I don’t seem to get the joke, she looks at me with wide-eyes. “You know, Charlie Chaplin, silent film star. He rocked a Hitler mustache before that was a terrible idea. Never mind.” She waves that away and is already on to the next thought, a little manic but friendly enough that I’m willing to put in the effort to keep up. “Just call me Charlie.”
“Okay…”
“And just for your information, because people will think you don’t know anything if you get something this simple wrong, we don’t use words like freshman or sophomore at Black Lake.”
My eyebrows go up in surprise. “Why not?”
“According to the teachings of Socrates, there is no such thing as a senior in knowledge. So we just refer to it by years — first year, second year, third year, that kind of thing.”
As if this place could get any more pretentious. “Got it.”
“Sorry, I’m not trying to be rude pointing that out. I just thought you’d want to know so you don’t sound like a total infant, or something.”
“No, it’s fine. Thanks for letting me know. If you’re new, then where were you last year?” I ask, interest piqued. “I thought Black Lake doesn’t usually admit students after the first year.”
“They make an exception every year for the Franklin Scholar.” At my blank expression, she explains further with a laugh. “Franklin is the name of a nearby high school. Every year Black Lake offers admission to one high-performing student from Franklin High. And a full scholarship, of course, because it’s not like anybody from my neighborhood could afford to pay the tuition. This year, the lucky student is me.”
She says it in a very self-effacing way, as if it was all just a matter of chance. But I get the impression that Charlie worked really hard to be sitting here. It’s not like I can exactly say the same thing.
“That’s awesome” I reply, meaning it. School has never really been my strong suit so I have mad respect for anyone at the top of their class. “You must be really proud of yourself.”
Charlie shrugs like it’s no big deal when the truth is clearly the total opposite. “My mom also says that it’s a good thing that my mind can keep up with my mouth, otherwise I’m going to end up in serious trouble.” She slides into the wooden seat beside me with a sigh as the heavy backpack she’s wearing lands on the floor with a thud. There has to be at least thirty pounds of books in there. “But I’m just happy to have found someone else that seems normal. Where did you transfer from?”
“P.S. 119.” When she raises surprised eyebrows, I rush to explain. “I grew up in the Bronx. But my mom got remarried over the summer and we moved to Connecticut, so now I’m here.”
Her curls practically quiver as Charlie leans forward with interest. “Who did she marry, a Saudi Prince?”
For reasons I can’t quite explain, admitting to it embarrasses me. It’s not like marrying a guy with money is a crime, even if there is an age gap big enough to account for several wars. “Carter Bellamy.”
She lets out a low whistle even as I inwardly cringe, but her tone remains pleasant with no trace of derision. “Well that explains it. You know we’re sitting in Bellamy Hall at this very moment, right?”
“Please don’t remind me. If I could have stayed in the Bronx, then I would have. Coming here was so not my idea. It’s pretty clear that I don’t belong.”
“Carter Bellamy is like a billionaire.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’m not taking money from him or anything. And it’s not like I asked him to send me here.”
But her smile is reassuring as if she understands my struggle without me having to explain it. “At least you’re not here on scholarship. Don’t tell anybody, but my mom had to buy my uniform off of a graduating senior because we couldn’t afford to get one brand new. I totally get it. Something tells me fate wants us to be friends.”
I think back to Asher’s words to me and suppress a shiver. You won’t survive the first semester. But just because he’s an asshole doesn’t mean he knows anything. If the first person I’ve met is this friendly, then how bad could things possibly be?
If only I’d known the actual answer to that question, I could have saved myself a lot of pain.
But for now, it’s impossible not to return her infectious smile. “Agreed.”
“Where’s your schedule?” she asks, rummaging in her too large backpack. An explosion of papers and other detritus threaten to burst out as she zips it open. “Mine is in here somewhere.”
“I don’t have a schedule yet, but I’m supposed to go pick it up later today.”
Her smile turns downward. “Oh, that’s not good. Just hope you don’t get stuck in a bunch of classes full of Diamonds. They’ll make your life a living hell just for the fun of it. You need to stick with the other Grays as much as possible.”
My own eyebrows go up at that. “What are grays and diamonds?”
Charlie lets out a shriek of surprise so loud that some people seated closest to us turn back to look although she doesn’t seem to notice. “Oh my God, are you not on the Inner Circle?”
“Yeah no, like you just said I’m a nobody.”
“You don’t get it,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes. She whips out her cellphone and holds it to my face so I can see what she has pulled up on the screen. “The Inner Circle isn’t a euphemism. It’s an app, only for students of the school. A senior created it years ago as a project for his Sociology class and it’s been around ever since. He’s a Silicon Valley millionaire these days from what I hear.”
“You mean like when an amusement park makes an app with maps and stuff? I don’t get it.”
She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “The Inner Circle is so much more than that. It’s like the functionality of every social media site you can think of, but just for us. It’s only students, even the dean doesn’t have access. You want to know where the hot party is or who’s cheating on who, all of it is on the Inner Circle.
Of course a school like this has its very own social network. Nothing as run-of-the-mill as a Facebook group is good enough for the students of Black Lake Preparatory Academy. I’m not big on social media at the best of times, so the appeal of it is probably lost on me. What could be happening here that’s interesting enough to justify an entire app devoted to it? “Sounds kind of boring.”
Charlie’s face turns almost as red as her hair, making her
look like she’s about to explode. I’d laugh, if her expression wasn’t so completely serious. “You don’t even understand the most important part. The Inner Circle is everything.” She leans in a little closer and pitches her voice low, as if she’s sharing some secret. “Everyone in the school uses the app to vote on who the most and least popular people are for each class. Grays are people like us, not enough votes to be in the top or the bottom. Diamonds are at the very top and there can only be eight of them, four girls and four guys. They get access to the Nexus, which is some ultra-secret part of the app with features the rest of us don’t even know about.”
“I really don’t get it.”
She sighs and makes a big show of flipping through the different features of the app on her phone, showing me her friend list and groups. “It’s all about social capital, get it? The more things you do that people like, then the higher your score can get. Every semester, the whole class votes for who they think are the most and least popular students. The whole class is ranked based on their scores. I think it was originally intended to be some kind of social commentary on the power of opinion, but the system is totally fair. If everyone thinks you’re on the top, then you are. And your score determines everything — what groups you get access to, where you can go on campus, even which extracurricular activities you can choose. It is literally everything.”
My innately curious nature forces me to ask, even though I know I’ll probably regret it. “And what about the people who are on the bottom?”
A strange expression passes over Charlie’s face. “Prolis.”
“Prolis?”
“I think it’s supposed to stand for proletariat, someone’s idea of a joke. But you really don’t want to be one. Like I said, your score is everything. Even what happens after graduation. There isn’t a single person with a score that low who’s made it to a competitive college, most of them don’t even graduate.”
“I thought you said that the administration doesn’t have access.”
