Chapter Eight 

 

 

At precisely six o’clock the next morning, my alarm goes off.  With a groan, I roll over and grab my phone before hitting snooze.  Even though I’ve been awake since five, I stayed in bed, hoping to fall back asleep. 

No such luck. 

Those two snots from the store are all I can think about. 

My greatest fear is that they’re the norm and not the exception.  How will I survive an entire year of that?  The thought is enough to make my stomach tighten with nerves.  They roil in the pit of my belly making me feel like I might throw-up. 

After I returned home from the store last night, I dropped off Austin’s supplies.  With a laugh, he had asked if anything eventful happened in town.  For a split second, I considered telling him about the girls, but immediately nixed the idea.  He’s already pissed off about being here.  There’s no reason to add fuel to that particular fire.  If I know my brother, he’ll stride into Hawthorne Prep with an even bigger chip on his shoulder than there already is.  And that’s the last thing we need. 

When the alarm goes off for a second time, I realize there’s no delaying the inevitable.  I drag my ass to the bathroom and jump in the shower.  As warm water sprays over my body, I’m hoping it’ll wash away the lingering dread that fills me.  Once I dry off and slip into my panties and bra, I grab the outfit that was waiting at the house when we arrived yesterday. 

Mixed feelings churn inside me about being forced to wear a uniform.  I’ve always attended public school and could wear whatever I wanted within reason. 

I pull on the navy, green, and gold plaid skirt until it settles around my waist and then shove my arms through the sleeves of the white button-down before tucking the excess material into the waistband.  I run my hands over both the shirt and skirt to smooth out any visible wrinkles.  I shrug into the navy blazer with the gold crest stitched on the upper left corner and pull on the matching knee-high socks before staring at the bathroom mirror. 

The girl who meets my gaze in the reflection brings a smirk to my face.  If my friends could see me now, they would be on the floor rolling around with laughter.  And I can’t say that I would blame them for it.  I look like I stepped off the set of Gossip Girl. 

I rotate one way before turning to the other side to check myself out from every angle.  When I catch a glimpse of my ass, a frown pulls at the corners of my lips as I tug at the material in back. 

Why the hell is this so short? 

Isn’t showing off this much skin at a private school considered sacrilegious?  All I have to do is put my hair in pigtails with matching plaid bows and I could star in a creepy schoolgirl porno.  That’s definitely not the look I’m going for.  My plan is to fly under the radar, the last thing I want to do is invite unwanted attention.  At least all the other girls will be wearing the same thing. 

Not in the mood to mess around with my hair, I pull the inky-colored strands into a topknot and fasten it with a rubber band along with a few strategically placed bobby pins.  I swipe on a bit of golden eyeshadow and some pink lip gloss before calling it a day. 

On my way down to the kitchen, I rap my knuckles against Austin’s closed door.  When it’s met with silence, I call out, “You up?” 

All I get is a grunt in response.  It’s not like I’m excited and in some big rush to get to school, but I don’t want to be late for the first day either.  My goal is to blend in with the masses until I can get the lay of the land. 

I head down to the kitchen where Mom and Dad are enjoying their coffee at the table.  Sunlight filters in through the bank of windows overlooking the backyard.  Mom is wrapped in her fluffy white robe and her ebony-colored hair is a tangled mess around her shoulders.  Dad is already dressed in a gray suit and looks ready to take on the day. 

They both perk up as I enter the room. 

Mom quietly surveys the outfit.  It doesn’t take long for her shoulders to shake with silent mirth.  A smile quirks Dad’s lips. 

“Don’t say a word,” I mutter. 

“Ahh, the old Hawthorne uniform.  I see nothing has changed in that regard.”  He eyes the hemline with a frown.  “Seems like the skirts have gotten a tad shorter.” 

“Yeah, I noticed that,” I grumble before tugging self-consciously at the fabric, but it doesn’t budge an inch.  My legs are on display for everyone to see.  I ran cross-country and track my freshman and sophomore years, so I’m used to shorts that leave little to the imagination.  The difference is that I wasn’t walking around in school with them. 

“My advice is that you try not to bend over, sweetie.  I’ll call the office and see if we can get you a skirt in a larger size.” 

“That’s not the problem.”  I slip my fingers beneath the waistband and tug it away from my abdomen.  “It’s the length.  I need a tall or extra long.” 

Her brows scrunch as she considers the situation.  “Maybe we can let out the hem an inch or two.”  She drums her fingertips against the table.  “We’ll play around with it when you get home from school.  Unfortunately, for today, you’re stuck with it.”  A smile lifts the corners of her lips.  “It’s one of the curses of having long legs, I guess.”  She pauses.  “I was about to start the griddle and make pancakes for your brother.”  With her coffee in hand, Mom rises from the chair.  “Do you want a couple?”  Before I can answer, she tacks on, “I have a fresh pint of blueberries.  We can add them to your pancakes.” 

Under normal circumstances, I would be all over that offer, but not this morning.  Food of any kind sounds like a disastrous idea. 

I wrinkle my nose and shake my head.  “No, thanks.  I’ll stick with coffee.” 

Mom clucks her tongue in disapproval.  “Are you sure?  I want you to be well-fueled.  Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” 

“Yup, I’m positive.”  I go to the glossy cherry cabinets before pulling open the first door and peering inside only to find plates and bowls.  I slide over to the next cabinet and try door number two only to find a stack of glasses. 

Irritation bubbles up inside me.  “Mom, where are the mugs?”  How is this place supposed to feel like home when I don’t know where anything is?  It’s like I’m a guest in someone else’s house, forced to live someone else’s life. 

You know what? 

I want my old one back.  I want to go home and stop this farce.  But that’s not possible.  So I do the only thing I can and stuff all the sadness and frustration deep down inside where I can’t dwell on it. 

“Next one over.”  She points, oblivious to the misery swirling inside me. 

I huff out a breath and pull open the cabinet only to find a row of neatly stacked mugs.  I grab an oversized one, already able to tell that it’s going to be a shitty day.  With my mug in hand, I pour a gigantic cup of coffee and dump two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into it before stirring.  Today, I’m going to need all the help I can get.  My eyelids flutter shut as I take my first sip and allow the java to course freely through my veins. 

Better.  Much better.  If I’m lucky, it’ll be enough to help me survive Hawthorne Prep. 

As I lift the mug to my lips for another sip, Austin strolls into the room wearing his navy blazer, crisp white button-down, and tan pants.  His dark hair has been combed into an effortlessly messy style. 

“Well, don’t you look all School Ties,” I can’t resist mocking. 

“Huh?”  He blinks as his forehead wrinkles in confusion, not getting the movie reference. 

Our parents snicker before Mom says, “Let’s hope real life doesn’t echo cinematic expression.” 

True that. 

I search my brain for an updated reference he’ll understand.  “You’re channeling Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl.” 

Not thrilled with the comparison, he scowls his displeasure.  I’m saved from a barbed rebuttal when Austin’s attention gets snagged by Mom flipping a fluffy pancake onto a plate next to the stove. 

My brother stabs a finger at the three-stack tower already glistening with butter.  “Please tell me that’s for me.  I’m starving.” 

“All yours,” she says with a smile. 

“Awesome.”  He grabs the plate and a fork from the drawer before settling at the table.  We all stare silently as he plows through the hot cakes with record speed.  It’s almost impressive the way he can demolish a plate of food in a matter of minutes.  I’ve never witnessed anything like it.  Somewhere out there is a food challenge circuit missing their crowned champion. 

Once he pops the last bite into his mouth, he glances up.  “Are there anymore?  That didn’t even make a dent.” 

With a strange mixture of amazement and disgust filling her face, Mom shakes her head.  “How is it that you don’t weight three hundred pounds?” 

Austin flashes a grin before patting his flat belly.  “Fast metabolism.”  It’s a rare bit of happiness from him that we’re dazzled with. 

For a moment, it’s like everything is normal again. 

“Well, you certainly didn’t inherit that gene from me,” she grumbles. 

After my brother demolishes another plate of pancakes, we grab our backpacks and head to the front door. 

“Wait a minute, I almost forgot,” Dad says, tossing a set of keys at us. 

Austin snags them from the air before I have a chance.  He smirks before opening his palm.  I expect to see the keys to the Volvo with their familiar four-leaf clover key chain that my dad has had forever, but it’s not there. 

My brother frowns before we both glance at our parents in confusion.  “What are these?” 

Huge smiles break out across their faces. 

Dad shrugs, enjoying every moment of this surprise.  “Beats me, maybe you should look out front.” 

Austin and I stare at each other for all of two seconds before scrambling through the kitchen to the foyer.  The slap of shoes striking the marble echoes throughout the house.  When we reach the front door, Austin elbows me out of the way and flies through the entrance before skidding to a halt under the portico.  I slam into the wide expanse of his back before peeking around him, trying to catch a glimpse of the surprise. 

“Holy shit!” Austin exclaims, hands going to the sides of his head as if to keep it from exploding.  “No way!” 

There, in the middle of the brick drive, sits a shiny black Mercedes G-Class SUV. 

I grin and wait for Mom to reprimand Austin for his language, but she ignores it. 

“This is just a little thank you.  We know that neither of you wanted to uproot your lives and move here.  Hopefully, a brand-new set of wheels to share will make everything a little easier to contend with.” 

All I can say is that it doesn’t hurt. 

“I can’t believe you bought us a G-wagon!” Austin crows, echoing my thoughts exactly, before whipping out his phone and snapping a few pics to add to his Insta story. 

“Thanks,” I say, rushing toward my parents before throwing my arms around them. 

They squeeze me tight before Mom whispers, “All right, you two better get moving.  We don’t want you to be late for your first day.” 

Since Austin is already sliding behind the wheel with the keys in hand, I head for the passenger side door before settling onto the buttery soft leather seat. 

Mom bites her lip before waving a hand at us.  “Should I come with and make sure there aren’t any problems with your registration?” 

Good Lord, no.  Sometimes Mom forgets that we’re not in kindergarten anymore. 

“Nah,” Austin says, dumping his backpack into the backseat, “we’re good.” 

My brother and I grin at each other as he slips the key into the ignition.  The engine purrs to life, smooth as silk.  That new car smell inundates me, making me almost dizzy.  It’s all sumptuous leather, smooth natural grain wood trim, and expensive additions.  I can’t even imagine what this vehicle costs.  Or that my dad bought it.  He’s been driving our Volvo for at least ten years.  Austin turns on the radio and cranks up the music as we roll to the end of the driveway.  Mom and Dad wave before heading inside the house. 

As we’re about to leave, a red convertible flies past us going way over the subdivision speed limit.  My brother slams on the brake and grumbles under his breath as I whip forward against the seat belt.  If Austin had pulled out a couple seconds sooner, we would have been T-boned. 

I stare at the red taillights and wonder if that was the neighbor I heard having a party last night.  My assumption is that anyone who lives in a fancy subdivision probably attends Hawthorne Prep rather than the public school.  As long as it’s not those nasty girls from the store, I don’t give a damn who it is. 

“Sweet Mustang,” Austin mutters, begrudgingly admiring the car as I try to get a look at the driver. 

As soon as the sports car is a couple hundred feet away, Austin’s lips pull up into an impish grin as he presses his foot against the gas pedal and the Mercedes shoots onto the road.  When the Strokes come on, he cranks up the volume until its eardrum splitting as we belt out the lyrics.  It’s doubtful Julian Casablancas has anything to worry about as far as us taking over the band.  

Twenty minutes later, we turn onto the paved drive that leads to the school parking lot.  There’s a line of traffic waiting to get in.  With wide eyes, I stare at the elaborately gated property.  On either side of the driveway are ornate stone pillars.  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but nothing this fancy in the middle of nowhere. 

“Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” my brother murmurs, breaking into my thoughts. 

I almost snort. 

No, we most certainly are not. 

I notice the red Mustang that had whizzed past earlier is a few cars ahead of us.  The top is down and all I can make out is that it’s a boy with short dark hair.  As intrigued as I am by our neighbor, I’m more concerned about how the next couple of hours will play out. 

Austin drives through a sea of high-priced sports cars and SUVs.  He crows in disbelief, rattling off the price tags of vehicles as we pass them.  It takes a few minutes for us to find an empty spot and park.  These people are in a league all of their own and I don’t understand how we’re going to fit in with them.  As if in a dream, I turn and fumble around in the backseat for my bag before hauling it onto my lap.  Not making a move to exit the Mercedes, I glance at my twin who stares silently out the windshield. 

“Austin?” 

My gaze slides from him to the sprawling gray stone building looming in front of us that looks like it could belong on a vast estate in England.  There’s something charming and idyllic about the ivy that clings to the walls. 

“Why are they staring?” Austin mutters from beside me. 

“Huh?”  I rip my gaze away from the three-story building and realize there are pockets of students watching us.  If it were simply curiosity on their faces, it would be one thing.  Their expressions remind me of the girls from the store last night.  A shiver of unease slithers down my spine. 

“I don’t know.  Maybe they don’t get a lot of new people here.”  Let’s hope that’s all it is.  I glance at my phone and realize that we need to get moving.  “We’re supposed to be in the office already.  It took us longer than expected to get here and the first bell rings in fifteen minutes.” 

Austin hands over the keys since I’ll be driving home by myself while he stays after for football practice.  I drop them in my bag and take a deep breath before forcing myself to get out of the vehicle. 

Now that we’re standing in the parking lot, more people stop and stare.  They bend their heads close together as their lips move.  Hushed tones fill the air but don’t quite reach our ears.  The strange fascination they have with us continues to grow as we move toward the entrance of the imposing stone building. 

From beneath my lashes, my gaze scans the crowd.  There’s not a friendly face to be found.  This feels like a nightmare and a punch of nausea hits me full force.  Thank God, I didn’t eat breakfast.  Blueberry pancakes making an encore appearance on the front lawn is not the first impression I want to make.  

I throw a worried glance at my brother.  The smile he had been wearing ten minutes ago has been replaced with a scowl and a hard-edged stare.  Thick tension radiates off him in suffocating waves.  My brother is no stranger to fistfights.  And he doesn’t have a problem throwing the first punch.  Or the second and third. 

When we were younger, Austin took a lot of shit for being slow.  What our classmates didn’t understand was that he wasn’t stupid, he learned in a way that made him different.  It took him a little longer to figure things out.  After a while, it got to a point where if anyone made a comment about him not catching on quickly enough or they pointed out a bad grade, they would get pounded an inch within their lives. 

I don’t want to see Austin slip back into that mindset again. 

My fingers flutter to his arm.  When his head twists toward mine, I hoist my lips, wanting to give the illusion of being unconcerned.  After a moment, he gives me a terse nod as if he understands my silently conveyed message.  We’ll call it a twin thing and leave it at that. 

As we walk past more clumps of people, chatter and whispers hit my ears until the tips burn in mortification.  This town must be seriously lame if our arrival has sparked this much interest. 

“Bunch of fucking hicks,” Austin grumbles as we walk up the wide stone stairs before yanking open the glass door to the building. 

I give him a tight smile, hoping things get better and we’re not treated like pariahs for the rest of the day. 

My steps stutter as my gaze sweeps over the entryway.  I’m just as bowled over as when we arrived at the house yesterday.  I want to stop and take everything in all at once.  The floors are a sea of glossy black-and-white checkered marble tile that stretches down the corridors.  Near the staircase in the entry is a bust of a man displayed on an ornately carved pedestal.  My guess is that it’s a likeness of Herbert Hawthorne, who founded the school.  Gold framed pictures dot the upper portion of the cream-colored walls while the lower part is paneled in a black cherry wainscoting.  I glance up at the timber-covered ceiling and the massive gold chandelier that hangs from above. 

Students force their way past us, their gazes crawling over our bodies, but none offer help and I’ll be damned if I ask for it.  There has to be a sign somewhere.  My gaze travels around the corridor until it lands on black lettering etched onto a frosted glass door. 

Relief floods through me as I point.  “There’s the office.” 

Austin remains quiet as we move through the crowded hallway.  The further into the school we walk, the more out of place I feel.  It’s a disconcerting sensation.  One that makes the hair at the back of my neck prickle with unease.  My brother and I are dressed exactly like everyone else and yet, we’ve been marked as outsiders. 

With fingers that tremble, I grab the knob and push the door open, wanting to escape from the hallway and get away from all the prying eyes that are watching us.  Once we step inside the office, I’m tempted to lean against the door in relief.  I never want to go back out there again. 

“Why hello there, you two,” a kindly voice greets from behind a massive desk strewn with papers. 

It’s the first friendly face we’ve encountered since rolling into town yesterday. 

I blink, wanting to make sure the older woman is speaking to us.  When my gaze locks on hers, a smile wreathes her wrinkled features.  Her grey hair is pinned up in a bun and a navy-colored cardigan is draped across her shoulders.  Whenever I’ve pictured what a sweet old lady would look like, this was it.  In other words, the complete opposite of my grandmother. 

Her friendly gaze shifts between us.  “I assume you’re Summer and Austin Hawthorne?” 

“Yes!”  I snap to attention before shaking my head in embarrassment.  “Sorry.” 

“My name is Mrs. Baxter and I’m the office secretary.  I pretty much do everything around here, so if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”  Her lips lift as she claps her hands together with excitement.  “It’s so thrilling to have another generation of Hawthornes roaming these halls again.  It’s been,” her brow furrows as she does a bit of mental math before giving up with a sheepish shrug, “well, since your father was here.  We’re all delighted by your arrival.” 

The quick glance Austin and I exchange speaks volumes. 

Thrilled is not the word I would use to describe how we’ve been welcomed.  It’s more like we’re lepers freshly released from the colony.  I’m tempted to tell her so but hold my tongue at the last minute.  In no way do I want this woman to think we’re ungrateful for her kindness or that we expect to be greeted like royalty. 

“Anyway,” Mrs. Baxter continues, interrupting my thoughts, “I’m sure you would like to see your schedules for the semester.” 

“Yes,” I agree while Austin remains his stoic self, “that would be great.” 

Humming under her breath, the older woman shuffles around a few papers before discovering what she’s searching for.  “Here you go, young lady.”  She gives me the slip before turning to my brother.  Her movements stall as she blinks at him. 

“My goodness, you certainly are a handsome young lad.”  The secretary waggles a finger at him as I attempt to rein in my laughter.  “You’re the spitting image of your father at the same age.”  She shakes away the memories.  “Remarkable.” 

A dull red color stains Austin’s cheeks as he squirms beneath her open perusal.  He’s grown accustomed to the staring, but not the forthright inspection.  Most take one look at his sulkiness and give him a wide birth while admiring him from afar. 

“Um, thank you?” 

Now that we have our schedules, we study them in silence.  I have—English lit 12, calculus, physics, AP French, AP environmental science, and a blow off class, AP psychology.  It’s identical to what I would have had in Chicago, which is reassuring.  I peek at Austin’s class list and notice that his is also the same.  Pre-calculus, chemistry, English lit 12, physical education, regular psychology, French III, and study hall.  I can help him with all of those classes if he needs it. 

“I’ve asked two students from council to stop by and show you around.”  She flashes another pleasant smile as if trying to put us at ease.  “Hopefully, that will help your first day run smoothly.” 

“Thank you,” I say, voice brimming with gratitude.   

“It’s not a problem.  Everyone here wants you to feel at home.”  She waves away my appreciation before glancing toward the closed office door inside the spacious room.  “The headmaster was looking forward to greeting both of you.  Unfortunately, he was called into a meeting.  It’ll have to wait until another time.” 

Let’s hope not.  It’s been a long-standing joke in our family that my parents should bite the bullet and rent office space for Austin next to our former principal since he was a frequent visitor.  As those memories roll through my head, the door leading to the hallway opens and a petite blonde with soft blue eyes walks in.  

“Good morning, Mrs. B,” she greets. 

“Morning, Delilah.”  The older woman glances at the clock on the wall.  “You’re right on time.” 

Mrs. Baxter waves toward my brother and the girl turns to us with a ready smile on her face.  Austin straightens to his full height.  I give him a bit of side eye and notice the way he’s staring at the new arrival. 

“This is Austin.  If you wouldn’t mind giving him a brief tour before first hour and showing him where his classes are located, that would be helpful.” 

Delilah’s eyes widen as color rises in her cheeks before she glances away.  My brother takes a step toward her before grinding to a halt.  A strange tension crackles in the air between them that changes the energy in the office. 

Uncomfortable with Austin’s unwavering interest, Delilah clutches her books to her chest before clearing her throat.  “Can I see your schedule?” 

Even in the silence of the room, her voice is barely audible.  She’s not the first girl to get tongue-tied in Austin’s presence and she won’t be the last.  I almost want to pat her on the shoulder and advise her to steer clear.  I love my brother more than anything, but the guy can be kind of a man whore.  And this girl looks way too sweet to survive him.  He’ll chew her up and spit her out before she even realizes what’s happening. 

Instead of handing over the schedule, Austin closes the distance between them, crowding into the girl’s personal space so she is forced to look at the paper as he holds it in his hand. 

I almost roll my eyes at his antics. 

“It looks like we have a few classes together,” Delilah croaks, turning redder by the second. 

Poor girl.  I can’t tell if she’s thrilled by the prospect or dreading it. 

“Great,” my brother murmurs.  “You can walk me to class.” 

Her gaze darts to him before skittering away.  Another hot stain creeps into her cheeks.  She clears her throat and glances anxiously at Mrs. Baxter before her gaze touches upon me.  “Should I show her around, too?”  A hopeful note threads its way through her voice. 

The secretary shakes her head.  “Sloane should be along momentarily to pick Summer up for her tour.” 

Delilah’s slender shoulders fall as she gnaws her lower lip.  “I guess we should go.” 

“Yup.”  My brother grabs the office door and jerks it open before a charming smile curves his lips.  “After you.” 

Uh-oh.  I recognize the predatory gleam that has entered Austin’s eyes.  I don’t envy this girl one bit.  My guess is that she has no idea how to handle a guy like my brother.  Sadly, I think she’s going to find out. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs, shooting us a look full of dismay as she steps over the threshold into the bustling hallway.  Austin stays close before tossing a glance my way.  “I’ll see you at lunch.” 

I nod in bemusement. 

That girl is toast. 

After the door closes behind them, the secretary says, “Your brother is going to be trouble, isn’t he?” 

I snort as a smile tugs at the corners of my lips.  My guess is that Mrs. Baxter will rue the day Austin drove through the gates of Hawthorne Prep.  Girls will be in the counseling office bawling about their broken hearts and fighting with each other over him. 

Now that my twin and his student guide have taken off, the older woman frowns before consulting the clock on the wall.  I follow the direction of her gaze and realize the bell will ring for first period in five minutes. 

“I hope Sloane didn’t forget to stop at the office,” she mutters before huffing out an exasperated breath.  “I should have asked someone a little more—” 

The office door is thrown open as a tornado of energy rushes in.  “Sorry I’m late, Mrs. B!  The parking situation was crazy.  The front row of the lot should really be reserved for seniors.  That would make life so much easier.” 

I wince before my belly does a painful flip. 

Oh, God.  Please...not that voice. 

All last night, it circled around in my thoughts like a hungry shark.  My nerves, which had settled, seize up with dismay. 

“The parking is the same as it’s always been, Sloane,” the secretary says wearily. 

“Well, that might be true, but it’s the platform I’m going to run on for senior class president.”  

Not bothering with a response, Mrs. Baxter clears her throat and points in my direction.  “This is Summer Hawthorne.”  Her kind gaze settles on mine.  “Sloane will give you a quick tour before first hour begins.” 

“Welcome to Hawthorne Prep!”  The rude blonde from the store last night whirls toward me.  “It’s so nice to meet you!” 

I blink, knocked off-balance by her warm greeting and the toothy smile plastered across her pretty face. 

This is the same girl from the store, right? 

“Summer?”  Mrs. Baxter prompts when I remain silent. 

“Sorry.”  I force my lips into a slight smile.  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” 

Sloane’s beaming face transforms into one of sympathy.  “I’m sure this is all super overwhelming for you.  New town, new school, no friends...” 

“Summer already has a copy of her schedule,” the older woman interrupts. 

“Great!”  The blonde plucks the slip from my fingers before her gaze slides over it. 

“You should probably get moving,” Mrs. Baxter encourages.  “There isn’t much time before first hour begins.  Perhaps you could help Summer locate her locker in the senior hallway and then head to class?” 

“Sure thing, Mrs. B!” she chirps.  “Maybe we can do more of a tour at lunch.” 

“That’s a wonderful idea!” the secretary says, nodding her approval. 

 The other girl’s lips stay quirked as she turns to me.  “Ready to go?” 

“Yup.”  I blow out a steady breath, unsure what to make of the situation.  I’m almost positive it’s the same girl from last night, but it’s like she’s had a personality transplant.  I don’t understand what her deal is.  Maybe she doesn’t recognize me? 

Sloane grabs the door and holds it open before calling out a jovial goodbye to the office secretary as the bell rings.  Anyone loitering in the hallway scurries to class until it’s empty.  Once the door closes behind her, the lock clicking audibly into place, Sloane’s smile melts from her face.  A spiteful expression morphs in its place before she crumples my schedule in her hand and drops it to the tile at her patent leather heels. 

“Good luck, bitch.  You’ll need it.” 

That being said, she elbows me in the arm and leaves me standing alone in the vacant corridor.