by L. A. Sable
When the class finally ends, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. I didn’t realize how tautly I’d been holding my body until it finally relaxes, so aches and pains spring to life. It took all of my mental focus not to cast Jayden even a single glance and the effort showed in my messy notes. I’d even drawn a tiny heart instead of an equal sign in a couple of places. My stupid brain still has Jayden on the mind, even as I try to fight it.
There are no school bells at Black Lake. The orientation packet described that sort of noise as disruptive to the learning environment. Instead, students are expected to manage their own time in a way that ensures they leave one class and arrive at the next in an appropriate amount of time. It’s going to take me a bit to get used to the change.
So all my stuff is still spread all over the desk when everyone else stands up to leave. I quickly stuff my notebook and pens back into my bag, eager to be out of the room before Jayden can potentially waylay me. Luckily for me, the actor turned pain-in-my-ass moves with the speed of someone who has all the time in the world.
Deliberately avoiding looking to the side, I head straight for the door. The hallway beyond is like a beacon of light in the darkness.
“Lily, hold on a minute,” Mr. Cardill says when I’m almost to the door.
Jayden passes me as I turn back. But I catch only a brief glimpse of the curious look in his eyes as the door closes and I’m left alone with Mr. Cardill.
At first I think he’s going to scold me for arriving to his class late, but his face remains open and friendly. “You’re not the new scholarship student, are you?”
I kick the scuffed toe of my shoe against the floor, wondering if it’s that obvious to everyone that I don’t belong. “No, that’s Charlotte Chaplin.”
“Ah, I wondered because we don’t normally get new students in the third year. Sorry for the mix-up.”
“No problem,” I reply, hoping my face isn’t burning with embarrassment.
“Well, I was a scholarship student here more years ago than I want to admit, so I try to look out for the ones who might not have the lay of the land yet. You let me know if you need anything, okay. This place can seem a little overwhelming at first, but you’ll get used to it.”
I’m surprised by that, maybe Black Lake hired a teacher so young because he’s an alumnus. I wonder if that’s why he seems so much more comfortable here than the other teachers do, despite his younger age. The guy can't be more than a few years out of school.
“Thanks.” It’s nice to know that not every member of the faculty has been completely brainwashed by the wealth of the student body. “I really appreciate it.”
“Just keep your head up and you’ll be fine,” he says, sounding way more assured than he probably should.
I sincerely doubt that just keeping my head up is going to get me through the year, but I appreciate his sentiment. “Thanks, Mr. Cardill. See you tomorrow.”
His eyebrows go up. “Tomorrow? Do I have you again today?”
“You’re on my schedule for Diving I.”
“Nice. Have you ever dived before?”
“Nope. Apparently, I got last choice for electives.” I only realize how that sounds after the words have already come out. My face flames. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mr. Cardill laughs, not seeming at all offended. “I think you’ll like it more than you think. Better head off before you’re late for next period.”
Trying to ignore what will probably be a perpetual state of embarrassment, I heft up my bag and head for the door. “Thanks. See you.”
When I look back from the door, his gaze is still on me and assessing in a way that I don’t quite understand. As soon as he sees me watching, his face clears into an expression that's still friendly but carefully blank. “Bye now.”
At least I have one member of the faculty who seems to be on my side. I’ll just have to wait and see what good that’s worth.
Chapter 8
My next period passes without incident, luckily I don’t have any potential Diamonds in my French class. I assume they’re all taking Mandarin or Ancient Greek for their foreign language requirement. It’s not like my public school offered anything more complex than German. I settled on French because I’ve always wanted to visit Paris.
I decide to skip lunch because I’m not up for another go around with Asher and his ilk. We’re allowed to keep non-perishable snacks in our rooms so I can eat a protein bar if I get hungry. Plus, breakfast was a full English, and I ate enough to feed an entire stable of horses. It won’t kill me to skip one meal. I decide to go back to my dorm and regroup.
The lunch period is over an hour long at Black Lake, which is a luxury that I wouldn’t have been able to conceive of when I was in public school. There’s enough time to make into town and back, if you want. Fourth-year students are allowed to have cars and can go off campus for lunch, but younger students aren’t allowed to ride in cars with them. So even if I had a friend with a car, I'd still be stuck here.
I haven’t been checking the Inner Circle but my phone has vibrated in my bag all day with notifications. With both dread and sick fascination, I wonder how many of the recent posts are about me. I tell myself that I'm not checking because I don't care, but I really just don't want to know.
The hallways are nearly deserted as I walk down the quiet corridors, shoes clomping loudly on the marble floor. Some Diamond prospect girls insist on wearing shoes with skinny heels that clack against the floor with the same sound that horseshoes make on cobblestones. I want to tell them that I imagine a herd of horses pulling a carriage through Central Park whenever they go by, less Glamazon and more a bunch of quadrupeds wearing manure bags on their butts.
Although let’s be honest, none of them care much what I think.
Almost everyone here is ridiculously rich, but it’s obvious even to an outsider like me who’s in the running for the top slots. Even though I see herds of girls with schoolbags sporting personalized embroidery and designer labels and they’ve all been seeing a dermatologist since the age of 12, there’s something different about the ones at the very top.
The way they walk at the head of a pack like the point in a flock of geese, bearing regal as if they already know everyone around them is just there to worship at their feet. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding girls like that, if just for the sake of my self-esteem, and now I'm supposed to compete with them to avoid being a complete social outcast.
Part of me wants to delete the app and embrace my status at the bottom. How bad could being Proli possibly be? Then I remember the dead girl whose name nobody seems to know. At Black Lake Prep, the bottom of the social ladder is a dangerous place to be.
Not for the first time, I consider calling Trish and spilling everything. If I tell the hotel it's an emergency, they'd probably patch me through to her room. But what are the chances she'd believe any of it? I barely believe it. And Asher will be right there to assure her that everything is just fine. She'll believe him because he’ll say what she desperately wants to believe. I'll be the one who looks like an idiot. And I'll still be stuck here, but everyone will know I'm a narc which is pretty much the opposite of lying low.
Outside the sun has finally come out and shines bright, in complete contrast to how I think this place should feel. If the environment were to match the true nature of the school, it would be all dark clouds and fog, like the beginning of a horror movie. But the grass on the Pavilion is as green as an army of landscapers can make it with flowering trees arranged in a deliberately random pattern casting pretty shadows. Even the smell is perfect out here, like floral perfume with just a hint of summer rain.
Some guys are tossing a Frisbee back and forth on the grass, but aside from them the Pavilion is deserted. I can’t fight the continuing impression that this place is creepier than it should be. I studied the map of the campus they handed out during the new student orientation and the first thing I had noticed was how removed we are from the rest of the
world. The nearest town is almost twenty miles away, and the campus is surrounded by a dense thicket of trees that leads to a long expanse of farmland. A tall, wrought-iron fence surrounds the property with only two gates for access, one at the front entrance and another near the back of the school for deliveries.
Anything could happen here and no one would ever know.
For the dozenth time, I think again about the link that was sent to me on the Inner Circle and I still wonder who’s responsible. Even though I barely know any of the details, somehow I’m convinced that the girl’s death was no accident. And I don't even know her name. With it, I might have better luck figuring out exactly what happened to her.
A cool breeze blows over my skin, raising the tiny hairs on my arm and giving me goosebumps. Even with sun shining above me on one of the last gorgeous summer days before fall, I feel a keen sense of foreboding. It’s like I’m some heroine in a Gothic romance when she first arrives to the creepy, old mansion in the pouring rain and tries to decide whether she really wants to work for the mysterious widow. If that girl was smart, she’d listen to her instincts and run right back to where she came from. But running isn’t an option for me.
Shaking off the dark thoughts, I traipse toward my room, deliberately walking down the center of the grassy Pavilion where the sun is shining brightest. The guys playing catch don’t wait for me to pass and a Frisbee whips dangerously close to my face as it whizzes by.
I turn to glare at them. “Watch it.”
“Sorry,” one of them calls with a laugh, sounding anything but sorry. “Got to keep your head up around here.
Truer words have probably never been spoken, even if that guy is an asshole. To make myself feel better, I try to imagine what these yuppies would do if they had to transfer to my old school. Most of them wouldn’t survive long enough to get past the metal detectors.
When I reach my room, I notice that the door is slightly cracked, just enough that I only realize it when I'm close enough to put my key in the lock. The importance of that doesn’t really dawn on me until I push the door open and find a scene of total chaos.
My brand new clothes are everywhere, pulled out of the drawers and ripped from the closet then strewn around the room. I pick up a shimmery top and realize that it’s been completely shredded, like someone started with scissors and then ripped it apart with their bare hands. When I grab up other pieces, it’s obvious that all of them have been completely destroyed. Store tags litter the floor like confetti.
Luckily my laptop is with me in my bag, because almost all of my other belongings have been damaged or destroyed. My toiletries our dumped out onto my side of the double-sink and my bath towel hangs out of the toilet as water soaks from it onto the floor. I have to stand up on tiptoe to avoid soaking my shoes as I turn back into the room.
The school has janitorial staff, but they only service the dorms once a week. We’re supposed to keep everything neat so they can come in to vacuum the floors and scrub down the bathroom. I really don’t want to explain that I need someone to bring a mop and likely a plunger, too. Whoever did this definitely took the opportunity to flush something I care about down the toilet.
At least I did myself the favor of not bringing anything of real value with me to Black Lake. All of my baby pictures and childhood mementos are safely packed in boxes back at the mansion in Greenwich. Even before I met the social-climbing monsters at this school, I knew better than to bring my old journals or keepsakes with me here.
If only I’d been smart enough to figure out how to avoid coming here at all.
On the desk, there’s a single sheet of paper with what looks like a barcode printed in the center. Upon closer inspection, I realize it’s a one-way bus ticket back to the city that’s been issued in my name.
Funny.
Part of me is actually tempted to just leave as I survey the wreckage of my room and fight back angry tears. This is so much more than just making a fool of me in the lunchroom or calling me names. Vandalizing my room is practically a physical attack, what would they have done if I’d come back in the middle of it.
Kill me and throw my body in the lake?
As I try to keep my breathing from increasing to the point that I risk passing out, my mind spins out the terrible possibilities. They can get into my room, invade my personal space in the most fundamental way. If I’m not safe behind a locked door, then nowhere here is safe.
The only clothing I have that's still intact is the uniform I'm wearing. There's not much in my bag, just my laptop and a handful of notebooks. Even my textbooks litter the floor with their covers ripped off and loose pages scattered around them like a constellation of stars.
Whoever did this was smart enough to contain their activities to my stuff. Aside from clogging the toilet, none of the architecture of the room has been touched. The walls are clean and the furniture remains intact. Apparently, whoever did this cares more about maintaining the quality of the room than anything inside of it that belongs to me. To the people here, I’m not even as valuable as the wood-paneled walls.
It’s a sobering thought, even aside from the fear rising in me. I bet there are people here who could watch me die and think nothing of it. That’s how little value anyone not at the very top of the social stratosphere has.
The scariest part is that I don't think Asher did this. Sneaking into my room like a thief in the night to destroy my stuff isn't really his style. Especially, when the money that paid for a lot of it came from his grandfather in the first place.
Who else would want to fuck with me this badly?
The bed is the worst off, my little collection of nail polish has all been spilled out onto the lace coverlet, a stench of acetone still in the air. As if that isn’t enough, a message has been scrawled with the darkest polish, a deep red that my mom had picked out.
GO HOME GOLDDIGGER!
Charlie rushed to my room, abandoning her lunch, after I’d sent her an urgent text message. Now, she surveys the damage and lets out a low whistle.
“It looks like a tornado blew through here.”
“More like a rich brat.” I point to the words scrawled across the bed in clearly feminine handwriting. “This has to be Chloe and her friends. Nobody else hates me this much.”
“You sure know how to pick an enemy.” She tries to make it sound like a joke, but her expression is concerned. “Do you have any idea how she got into your room?”
“No. I’m positive that I locked the door.”
“Who has the room next to yours?”
I actually don’t know the answer to that question and a sick feeling rises in the pit of my stomach. “You think that’s how they got in?”
“I don’t know, maybe.” Charlie goes into the bathroom and lets out a low whistle. “They really got to everything, huh? It doesn’t look like the latch on your bathroom door is broken, maybe you forgot to lock it when you left.”
Maybe I did, it hadn’t occurred to me that whoever I shared the bathroom with would let a bunch of bitches come in to my room and vandalize everything I own. Stupid me.
“I have no idea how I let that happen.”
Her expression is sympathetic, but even I can see in her eyes that she wouldn’t trade places with me for a million dollars. “That’s one of the first rules here, never let your guard down.”
“There are a lot of rules to this place,” I reply, anger burning in my voice even though I know Charlie isn’t the one I should direct it at. If Chloe were to show her face in here at this particular moment, it would be for a fateful meeting with my right hook.
But that’s exactly what she wants, I realize. This act of vandalism is meant to goad me into acting without thinking. She knows I can’t go to the administration, especially without proof it was her. Chloe wants me to turn into the Bronx bitch that’s hiding inside of me, just so I start a fight. She can play the innocent victim and have me expelled.
I might be too stupid to leave this place, even though I sho
uld, but I’m not that stupid.
“So what do I do?” I ask, striving to keep my voice from breaking. Because I am better than this, I tell myself. “How do I make this stop?”
Charlie’s eyebrows go up. “You’re asking me?”
“Is there anyone else standing here?”
“Girl, you have pissed off all the wrong people—”
“Just by existing.”
“Still," she sighs. “It all started with Asher, didn’t it? One domino falls and all the rest go with it. If you can make peace with him, then maybe the rest will work itself out.”
I think about the hatred I see burning in his gaze whenever he lays eyes on me. As if I'd even want to make peace with that asshole. “Not likely.”
“Well, that’s all I got.” Her words are harsh, but it’s obvious that she doesn’t mean them to be. Charlie is just being honest, which is all I can really ask for in a circumstance like this. “He’s almost certainly going to come out as the top male Diamond for our class once we have the vote. If he’s decided to make your life a living hell, your only choice is to put up with it or leave.”
I sink down onto the bed, right next to the words scrawled in red polish across the bedspread I’d picked out from Bloomingdale’s, the first time I’d ever had the chance to shop for new bedding and much less from such a nice place. And now it's ruined. “You really think I should leave?”
“I’m not the one who should answer that question,” she softly replies. “Is that what you think?”
But I’m already shaking my head, trying to convince both her and myself. “If I had any choice, then I’d already be gone. I’m here. I have to make the best of it.”
Charlie’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “What do you mean, you don’t have a choice? You could just go back home.”
“I don’t have a home.” And that admission, inexplicably, is enough to bring the burn of tears to my eyes that only worsens when I try to keep them from falling. Home doesn’t have to be a physical place, but I don’t even have that while Trish plays around Europe on her honeymoon. “My mom is out of the country and our apartment already has somebody else living in it. I have nowhere else that I can be right now. Black Lake Prep is stuck with me.”
