Meeting my bug-eyed expression in the mirror over the sink, I shake my head. “Craziness,” I whisper through the biggest smile I’ve ever worn.
I mean, it really is crazy.
I’ve never had my own bathroom before.
Half my life, I haven’t even had my own room and was forced to sleep on couches or in sports memorabilia rooms that belonged to whoever Jenn was banging at the time.
Leaving the bathroom, I return to the hall and start moving the boxes inside. I’m on the last box when something streaks across my foot.
Something small.
And furry.
I leap up onto the desk and scream with all my might.
3
I’m still screaming when my door flies open and a very tall, very beautiful girl with light brown skin and long, curly black hair rushes over the threshold.
“Dorito!” she cries, diving under my desk. I stare in shock as she wiggles around on her belly for several moments. Suddenly, she pulls herself back out into the open, a tiny striped kitten clutched in her hands. “There you are, baby! I was so worried about you.”
The kitten mewls and nuzzles the girl’s thumb.
“Um … excuse me,” I murmur, unsure how I should respond to the intrusion.
I glance from her to the kitten for such a long time, she eventually twists her lips and stands up. “You’re not allergic, are you? My stepsister claims to be, but I don’t trust a word that leaves Twatiana’s mouth.”
“No.” Reaching out, I trace my knuckles behind Dorito’s ear. He purrs softly, cuddling the side of my hand. “I-I just thought he was a mouse,” I admit on a throaty chuckle.
And while I consider myself pretty damn resilient, I draw the line at mice and rats. We once lived in a shitty, one-bedroom trailer across from a cornfield that was infested with them. Mom just waved it off like the presence of rodents was nothing, but for the longest time, I had nightmares about the little bastards scurrying around behind the refrigerator and stove.
The girl backs away to give me room to slide off the desk. “Oh God, I can already imagine the scandal if someone saw a mouse. Angelview would go down in flames because the elite were exposed to such squalid conditions.” Winking, she plops down on the edge of my bed and fluffs her fingers through her curls that I’m already envious of. It takes a pound of hairspray for my hair to even consider holding a curl. “I’m Alondra James,” she announces.
James. It’s such a common name, but my chest still squeezes taut. For a moment, I don’t see Alondra because all I can picture is my James. The boy who was my best friend. A year ago, it was him sitting at the edge of my bed, on the most uncomfortable mattress in Rayfort, in the first real house Mom and I ever lived. I’d given him hell about his unkempt auburn hair and stinky football socks. He’d teased me about the way I looked at his older brother.
It seems like a lifetime ago. He seems like a lifetime ago.
“You’re not having a seizure, are you?”
I snap out of the memory to find concern pinching Alondra’s lips. Keeping my head down, I stalk toward the uniform boxes I left in the center of the room. “No, I’m fine. My name is—”
“Mallory Ellis,” she interrupts, then tsks Dorito when he paws at one of her dangly canary yellow earrings. At my groan, she narrows her dark eyes. “What? I passed the sign on your door about twenty times since I got here on Thursday, so it wasn’t too hard to figure it out.”
“I … I was just waiting for you to remind me that I’m a charity case,” I say, a flinch issuing from my shoulders.
She wrinkles her nose, and I mentally prepare myself to hear something rude, but then she shakes her head slowly. “Why would I do something like that?”
Is it just me, or does she sound a little stung that I would even suggest it?
“I don’t know, I just…” Grabbing a box, I take it over to my desk, sending an apologetic smile over my shoulder. “Sorry if I seemed bitchy, Alondra, just a little on edge after this girl I met tried to make me feel like crap about it.”
“Just call me Loni and hold up a second. That’s what you call bitchy?” She chuckles darkly and shakes her head, her hair bouncing around the thick white straps of her sundress. “Oh, my sweet, beautiful child, you’re in for some next level, stab-you-in-the-back-with-a-fencing-sabre-and-laugh-over-your-corpse shit.”
“That bad?”
She winks. “Only if you get in their way.”
“Good thing I don’t plan to.” Fishing a nail file from my purse, I start sawing through the tape on the box.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, who gave you hell about the scholarship? Just so I can know who else to avoid this year.”
“The school sent two members from the student counsel to pick me up from the airport and the first thing the girl did was point out that I’m a charity case. She was … something,” I say.
“Hmm. Sounds about right. Did she tell you about her parents and ask for your full ancestry report, too?” She points her nose in the air and says in a crisp, refined voice, “Hello, my name is Lilith. My father, Satan, is the CEO of Hell Enterprises. You might have seen him on the cover of Forbes last month where he talked about the recent layoffs in the third circle and how he played golf with Dracula last week. Daddy’s kind of a big deal. Now, tell me about your family so I can decide if you’re worthy.”
Nailed it.
Lips twitching, I tug at one cardboard flap, prying the box open. “She told me about her family, but I doubt she cares much about mine.” And what would I have said if Laurel had asked? That I’m the product of a long line of paternal abandonment, have no reliable relatives unless I counted Carley, and that my mother is a former addict turned dealer who’s wanted in two states.
I mean, I guess I could have churched it up and claimed Mom is a shady businesswoman.
Alondra leans back, plucking the blinds over my bed apart to peer down into the courtyard. “So, who was it? Carrington Lively? Saydi Marlow? Jessica—”
“Laurel Vanderpick.”
“You met the Laurel Vanderpick of the House Vanderpick, first of her name, the unfeeling, spreader of gossip and other nasty bullshit?” Snapping the blinds back in place, she spins toward me so fast, Dorito tries to leap from her lap, but she pulls him close to her chest. “Laurel is, and excuse my basic bitch lingo, the worst.”
“Sounds about right. In the thirty minutes I was forced to spend with her, she told me that the academy has lowered its standards, whined about the cleaning service she’s hired for her dorm, and vowed to have ICE arrest her stepmother.”
She blinks several times, then throws her head back and roars with laughter. “God, I can’t….” Tears of merriment glint at the corners of her eyes when she lowers her head. “I think Dorito and I need to make a trip to Jacoby House so he can roll around on her bed.”
I draw a stack of neatly folded uniform shirts, complete with tags, from the box and take them to the dresser. “Why? Is she allergic—” When it hits me, my heart drops all the way to my kneecaps. “Oh no, please don’t tell me she’s your—”