I somehow manage to get through my first day of lessons, finally finding a reason to be thankful that my mother forced me to do the International Baccalaureate when we first moved to the U.S. She’d said back then it was because I might want to go to an English university and spend time with my dad later on—how could she have predicted that it would come in handy for her a year early? While I am grateful for it today, for the ease of transferring to Hope, it’s also the only reason she was able to send me here. If I’d been in the American school system, transferring to Europe for my final year of schooling would have been close to impossible. I’d still be back in California, working from home, submitting assignments and teaching myself from textbooks so I could stay in school without actually having to face everyone. Then again, maybe my teachers’ patience for my situation would have wavered by now and they’d have made me come back. I’d have dropped out before I did that, which is probably what my mother was afraid of.
“People’s tolerance wears thin,” she’d said. I’d always assumed she’d been talking about her own.
Ren spends the day dutifully chaperoning me to classes, and by the time she drops me off in prep, I’ve started to worry about her own tolerance. I sure as hell wouldn’t have been as patient with someone as quiet as me. And yet, when she leaves me outside the conservatory to go to the art room with the promise that she won’t be long, she looks almost apologetic.
The conservatory is already full of students dotted around at long, rectangular tables over four different levels. It is even more majestic than it seemed from the outside—wooden spiral staircases lead up to each level on thick bands of balcony. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on every floor. The room is warmly lit with yellow freestanding lamps, and I loiter awkwardly next to one with a blue tasseled lampshade that is crooked and dented out of shape, like it has been knocked a few too many times by passersby.
The inquisitive looks this morning, the other students wondering who the girl who arrived a week late to school was, have started to fade. After a while, I recognize familiar faces at nearby tables—an upside to starting at a small school, I suppose. But I’m conscious that the more I linger out in the open, the more curiosity I’ll arouse.
“Come and sit over here,” a voice calls out.
I search for the source of the voice: the two girls I met in the bathroom last night, Joy and Hannah, are sitting at a table by the window. I move toward them against my better judgment. Better than being stranded.
“Sit down,” Joy commands.
I do as she says because I can’t think of a good reason not to, but my minute sense of gratitude quickly fades.
“Hannah and I have been talking,” she continues before I can think of something to say.
I look over at Hannah, who nods with a fixed, rapturous look on her face.
“We think you deserve to know…”
“Deserve to know what?” I ask, a swooping feeling of foreboding in my stomach.
“Well,” Joy starts up again, “we realize you didn’t have any say over who you shared a dorm with. I mean, no one has wanted to share with Ren for years; it’s not your fault she was the only one with a spare bed.”
I watch them both, surprised by the flicker of irritation within me.
Joy leans toward me across the table, inviting my confidence, like she’s doing me the honor of letting me in on their secret. “Ren…well, she doesn’t have many friends….None of the girls like her.”
I don’t miss the implication behind her words. There’s truth there, of course. From what I’ve seen, Ren only seems to hang out with Fred and Hector. So what Joy is saying is that Ren is a boys’ girl, right? But that doesn’t quite sit right with me either.
I lean back in my chair, annoyed that Hannah is just sitting there, rapping her perfectly manicured fingers on the table between us, letting Joy speak for them both. “Thanks, but I think I’ll make up my own mind about Ren.”
There’s a flash of something behind Joy’s eyes, then she attaches a sickly sweet smile to her face. “Oh, of course! We just thought you should know….It’s only fair….People will wonder about you, if you know what I mean.”
Before I can react, a book slams down between us, and Hector is suddenly there, towering over the table with an expression I can’t quite make out.
“Evening, ladies,” he says in a voice that is all charm but doesn’t quite match his expression.
Joy’s smile slips off her face. “What do you want?” she asks in a voice dipped in ice.
He stares indifferently at her. “I’ve got something of vital importance to discuss with California here, if you can spare her?”
I’m relieved, but I’m also reluctant to follow him. If I go with him now, won’t he start where he left off this morning and continue to pry?
“Trust me, it’s important.”
I decide to risk it, so I stand up.
A nasty hiss escapes Joy’s lips, but the other girl, Hannah, is the one who finally speaks, directing her words straight at me. “Don’t forget what we said….”
I turn away and follow Hector across the room and up one of the spiral staircases. “And what did they say?” he asks, twisting around to face me.
“Nothing interesting.”
He narrows his eyes, then continues to a deserted table on one side of the second floor.
I slide onto the bench across from him, watching him busy himself with a stack of books already laid out. Hannah and Joy’s table is perfectly visible from this spot; I wonder how long he waited, watching, before deciding to intervene.
“What’s so important?”
He props his elbows on an open textbook and leans toward me. “Oh, nothing. You looked like you needed a hand, that’s all.”
“Well, thank you,” I say through gritted teeth, “but I was doing just fine.”
“Didn’t want you stuck with the evil twins on your first day…”
I study him for a minute. “They don’t like you.”
“A fine observation,” he replies, turning to the math homework we’ve both been given. When I don’t say anything else, he looks back up and surveys me for a moment. “Joy and I had a bit of a thing,” he explains. “Didn’t end that well.”
“You and her?” I don’t know why my tone is tinged with surprise. The good-looking boy and the pretty, popular girl always find each other, don’t they? That’s what happens where I come from.
Hector clears his throat. “It was a misjudgment on my part.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I’ll say.”
He starts to flick his pen on the desk, smirking. “Well, California, you are surely elated that you have almost survived your first day. And a full house for you, at that.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, you were in every one of my lessons.”
With one last glance down at Joy and Hannah, their heads close together, I pull out my own homework and pretend to read the first question. He’s right—he was. And although we haven’t spoken since the meeting this morning, I’ve felt his curiosity across every room.
I feign disinterest. I’ve had enough practice to nail it down. “And your point is…”
He shrugs. “Spectacular first day for you, that’s all.”
“If you say so,” I say, making sure to avoid staring at him, and his smirk, at all costs. I’ve known boys like him before. Before, he would have been the one to go after, but now he’s the kind of person I have to avoid.
After a moment, I push my homework to one side. It’s impossible to concentrate with the low echo of voices in the cavernous space. Almost the whole school seems to be here, and for a moment I’m graced with a sense of anonymity. I realize there’s a certain advantage to being an unknown, one of the masses—I haven’t had that feeling for a while.
“Need help?” Hector asks, gesturing to the homework and pulling my gaze from the room.
“I’m perfectly capable, thank you,” I say in a clipped voice. If I could give it my attention, it would make sense to me, as math always has.
My response elicits a low laugh from him. “I’m sure you are.”
I resume my attempt to ignore him, looking over at a bookshelf by the wall of glass where Fred is loitering, alternately pulling a book at random from the shelves and sending an occasional glance our way.
Hector follows my line of sight. “Subtlety is not Fred’s finest quality,” he says, raising a hand to beckon him over. Fred turns his back to us and pulls out another book.
“Am I being sized up?”
“He just doesn’t want to get too close in case I don’t decide to keep you.”
It’s a strange thing to say—said for a reaction. I raise my eyebrows, unable to resist responding, “You do know I am a person, not a toy.”
There is a mischievous glint in his green eyes. “We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”
I clench my teeth, irritated. Did he take me away from Joy and Hannah just to goad me? “Your arrogance isn’t endearing you to me, you know?”
“Unequivocally,” he says, drawing out the word and maintaining eye contact, as though challenging me to break it. “I’ll admit I am surprised you caught on this quickly, though. Much quicker than most.”
“If this is a game to you, it’s pretty unoriginal.”
And yet, as I say the words, I feel something else. For some reason, I find myself compelled to play it with him. For my reaction to surprise him. In fact, my reaction surprises me. There might be some fight in me left.
He laces his fingers together on the table, cracking the knuckles in quick succession. “Call it what you want. Perhaps I’m just trouble. Did you consider that?”
I stare emotionlessly at him. “Of course.”
He tilts his head and holds my gaze. With his good looks, I imagine the stream of girls’ answers when confronted with the same question. I’m sure that’s not true….You’re just pretending to be trouble to cover up who you really are. I don’t give him the satisfaction.
Then, just like that, all amusement drains from his face. “Well, in that case,” he says, serious now, “you should watch out.”
At that moment, Ren reappears, sinking onto the bench next to me and looking at us with an expression that’s somewhere between concern and curiosity.
And all I can think is No, it’s both of you who should watch out.