“Great.”
“It’s not all bad, though.” She shrugs. “The pressure really gets to people. We have some rager parties. The headmaster’s deadbeat son will supply weed and alcohol for a price.”
“Really?” I question. “Don’t people get caught?”
“Nah.” She smooths back her long brown hair and knots it at the base of her neck with a hair tie. “I mean sometimes. But usually the teachers here don’t pay attention. There are a couple you have to avoid, but for the most part, a lot of shit flies under the radar. Last year, when I was sneaking into my boyfriend’s dorm, I crossed paths with my math teacher, who was sneaking into the married science teacher’s house. We both just stopped and stared at each other, then went on our merry way. Neither of us ever said a word.”
“Holy crap.” I glance around the mammoth-sized campus, noting the distance between buildings. In the dark, I guess it wouldn’t be too hard to fly under the radar, particularly with teachers who are too busy looking the other way to care.
“Yeah, and that’s not even the worst of it,” she says. “There are quite a few hookup spots around campus. Let me just say that more than a couple of teachers have been caught making out in the dark too. I guess they get just as sick of these confines as we do.”
“I’ve heard stories about boarding school,” I admit. “I just never put much stock into it.”
“What do you expect when you put a bunch of kids with affluenza and little parental supervision into one giant melting pot?” Sybil shrugs.
“True.” I nod. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
She considers the question for a second before she starts pointing out the dorms and rattling off their reputations. “That’s the coke dorm. Don’t ever go there. If you needed Adderall to cram for a test, which you don’t, you could get it from Lyon’s Hall. And if you do ever decide to sneak into the boy’s dorms, always work out a system with someone on the lower level. It’s so much easier to climb through an open window and work your way to the top inside.”
“Right.” I smirk. “I’ll remember that.”
Except boys aren’t even a fleeting thought in my mind right now. I have more important things to worry about. Like keeping up with my academics this year and focusing on the extracurriculars I’m expected to cram into my schedule. Long after my father left this afternoon, his words have continued to haunt me. Iput everything on the line to send you here.
“Well, I think that about concludes the tour.” Sybil cranes her neck from one side to the other, stretching it out with the elegance of a dancer. “You ready to venture into the dorm? We can go over our class schedules.”
“Sure.”
Lawrence Hall is already at full capacity when we arrive, and most of the students have gathered in the common room. Chatter about their summer activities floats through the space, but an undeniable cloud darkens the room when I step foot inside. They look at Sybil, and then their eyes fall on me, deadly and sharp as they appraise me from head to toe.
“Ladies, this is Stella LeClaire,” Sybil announces. “Or Cherrybomb, as I like to call her. She’s a transplant from Greenwich.”
Silence. That’s what I’m greeted with. Until the girl who I can only assume fancies herself as queen bee decides to pipe up. “Who let the scholarship student in?” She snickers.
Red creeps into my cheeks as my fists curl at my sides. Before I can say anything, Sybil answers on my behalf.
“Careful, Louisa. You’re letting your green-eyed monster show. Stella’s not a scholarship student. Her father works for the Arthur Group, and her mother is Lila Monroe. You know, the model?”
“Right,” another girl with a yellow blazer chimes in. “I think I’ve heard of her. Wasn’t she famous in like… the eighties? I heard she’s more into day drinking than runways these days.”
“It must be hard to swallow what your own future will look like,” I bite back. “After all, that’s what this machine is all about right? Churning out suburban housewives whose husbands cheat on them while they raise the next generation of trust fund brats to be just like you.”
Sybil snorts beside me, but I know I’ve hit the nail on the head when the trio of girls at the front pierce right through me with looks that could kill. “You better watch your back, Cherrybitch. You’ve just lost any chance of making friends at Loyola. You’re blacklisted.”
“Let her reputation forever rest in peace,” another girl adds, dabbing at her eyes theatrically.
“I’m shaking in my Doc Martens.” I roll my eyes.
“Looks like you won’t have another spineless clone to follow you around this year, Louisa.” Sybil smirks. “You’ll have to let one of your other bots do the grunt work.”
We leave them standing there, slack-jawed and fuming while we venture toward my room. Vaguely, I hear Sybil congratulating me on surviving my first standoff with the self-proclaimed Loyola sisterhood. But internally, I can’t help feeling like it wasn’t an accomplishment at all. Deep down, I know there will be a lot more where that came from to contend with this year.
CHAPTER FOUR
STELLA
“DAMN GIRL.”Sybil whistles as she pulls up a seat at my table in the cafeteria. “Your outfit is on point today, and I think everyone in here has noticed.”
I glance down at my clothes, wondering what the big deal is. According to my Pinterest board, my white blouse, navy blue cardigan, and polka dot tights are all standard issue boarding school fashion. The only difference is that my dress code compliant pleated skirt is crimson, not black. A signature splash of color to match my Mahogany red hair and iconic lipstick. If there was one thing my mother imparted on me, it was my own sense of fashion. While she always insisted I should wear green, I rebelled by buying everything red I could get my hands on.