“It’s been a long couple of days,” I respond while yanking a brush through my tangled locks.
“Have the States not been kind to you, my dear? You haven’t been back too long.”
“More like I feel like a foreigner in my own home town.”
“That’ll happen. But at least you’re able to sleep in your own bed, and not the lumpy pieces of shit we have over here.”
“Touché. I miss you, though. Who am I going to pester during biology now?”
“You’ll find a new bestie and forget all about me before the day is out.”
“Unlikely.”
“I have to run, but let’s chat when you get home. I want to hear all about your first day back with all the riff raff that inhabit your Yank-ass school.”
“It’s a date.”
Tossing my phone onto the armchair in the corner of my room, I pull at the fabric of my new uniform. At least I don’t have to wear a plaid skirt anymore. Once I finally force myself to get dressed, I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess. Nothing that some dry shampoo can’t handle. The slightest hint of makeup covers my face. I fix the smoky eye with a Q-tip in the mirror over my vanity. The clothes fit well. Good enough.
My stomach flips.
What if I see him right when I get there? What if I already had and didn’t even know it?
Forcing down the unpleasantness, I amble down the stairs with my backpack clutched in my hand. It is practically empty. A copy of Proust’s Swann's Way, sunglasses, notebook, pen, pencil, and calculator were all I could think of to bring with me. I don’t have my books yet. I don’t even know my schedule. This is going to be a catastrophe.
My parents are having their coffee and reading the paper in the parlor just off the kitchen like they do every morning. The sunlight is blaring. I want to put my glasses on to shield my bloodshot eyes and cool the headache. It feels like a tiny dagger is lodged in my temple.
“Ready for your big day?” Charles Hawthorne, the man of the house and my father, is glancing up at me from behind the financial section of The Wall Street Journal. When did he get in? The years haven’t been kind to him as far as aging goes. His hair is graying and thinning rapidly. There are bags under his eyes. I can tell that he hasn’t been sleeping.
“As ready as I will ever be.” I force a pleasant smile while popping my favorite K-cup into the machine. At least my folks kept the cinnamon roll pods that I love so much stocked. Actually, let’s be real. Moira was the one who did the shopping for the house. She was the one who remembered which flavor coffee is my favorite.
“You’ll have a great time, sweetie. Maybe even make some new friends. I’m sure you’ll see some familiar faces. That’ll be nice.” My mother is in her pink silk robe beaming over to me. Her words sound sincere but they are so damn fake.
Fat chance.
“Yeah, I guess,” I lie through clenched teeth, trying my best to force out a smile at my mother. In all reality, there’s no one at Ridgeview Prep whom I care to see, or even care to remember. It’s filled with fake ass people with black charge cards and chips on their shoulders. No, thank you.
My father forces out a sigh, removing his glasses. “Just try to do better here than you did at the Westminster School.”
Cocking my head to the side, I raise an eyebrow at my father. “What?”
He stands from his chair, walking right over to me. Filling his coffee mug, my father narrows his deep blue oceans at me. He’d drown me in them if he could, I can feel it. My body buzzes from his looming presence. I can feel his disappointment radiating out of every pore before he even has to say a word. “I don’t want to get the same damn calls about you skipping class or showing up wasted. Am I clear?”
I swallow hard. I didn’t think he really took notice of that shit while I was gone. It wasn’t like Charles Hawthorne took the time to call his daughter. Even with all the partying and crap I did while I was in London, I still managed to get straight As. Didn’t that count for something?
Bowing my head, I know the only thing I can do is agree. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl,” he sneered before taking his seat again.
I glance over at the clock on the far side of the room.
Shit. I am going to be late if I don’t get a move on.
Transferring the thick java into a travel mug, I grab a cheese danish off of the dish laying out on the counter.
“See you later,” I offer over my shoulder. The small talk was over anyway. My parents didn’t have any other pleasantries or snide remarks to chirp. One would think that they would take notice of my red eyes, disheveled hair, and skin that was still drenched in vodka. But they didn’t. Why would they? It’s not like they really care. The only thing my parents care about is reputation. As long as we kept up the appearance of being the pristine family, everything is fine. Step out of line, cause the tiniest bit of disappointment, and all bets are off.
I take one more glance at them, consumed by the newspaper. They didn’t even have the decency to look up for one last time. I was bothering their morning routine. One that I was no longer part of.
Rushing out the front door, I find Rolland already waiting for me. He holds to door for me as I dive into the backseat. “Thanks.”
He trots around to the front seat, putting the car in gear right away.
“I am going to drop you in front of the administration building…” he starts to explain as we pull out of the long drive. “You are supposed to go and check in there. They will give you your schedule, and apparently a student from your class will walk you to your first period.”
“It’s not like I am a new student, just a returning one. Why do I need an escort?” I ask, still a little peeved from my parents.
Sorry, Rolland. I don’t mean to take this crap out on you.
“School rules, Charlotte. And they have done some remodeling since you were last a student at Ridgeview,” he answers quickly, ignoring my sharp tone.
“Fair enough.”
Rolland is always one for details and rules. I am sure he went to the school on my behalf weeks ago to get all of that information. It wasn’t like one of my parents could be bothered to take that kind of consideration.
Ridgeview Preparatory High School. It is only ten minutes from Hawthorne Manor. I could have walked, but Rolland would never have let me. The sprawling campus comes into view of the back window. I swallow hard. There’s nothing like being the new, but old, kid on the first day of senior year.
If romantic comedies could be any indicator of the disastrous day I have in store for me, I was in serious trouble.
I had grown a lot while I was in London. Learned to branch off on my own. With most of my schoolmates heading home for the holidays and the summer, I was forced to jump out of my comfort zone often. I explored the Spitalfields Market, stepped back in time at Prince Charles Cinema, sang my heart out at the Karaoke Box Mayfair, saw all of the sites, from Westminster to Horse Guards. It was freeing.
I also partied. A lot. It wasn’t that I even really cared for it. It was just something to fill the void. Anything to make me feel something. Help me be a little more normal for a change. Not the reject kid whom no one wanted.
Scanning all of the kids getting dropped off and darting around the grounds, I hold my breath. The dark, storming eyes from the night before crash into my mind again. Fuck him.
Ever since I left, I tried to reach out to him. Feeble attempts to call and text always left my heart gushy with sadness. That sadness quickly hardened into loathsome rage over the past year and a half. He had never unblocked my number. Countless times I sat down to write him letters. I could never finish them. What was the point? If he wanted to hear from me, he would have called. He would have reached out. Mostly, I wanted to tell him off. Call him the prick that he was. Rip the rose-colored glasses off of his face and make him see how much devastation he left in his wake that night.
Rolland pulls up to the curb of the drop-off line. “I can get my ow
n door this time.”
“As you wish, miss. But don’t tell your mother.” Rolland shifts in his seat to smile at me through the partition.
“Your secret is safe with me.” I offer a quick, twisting smirk before I swallow the lump that was building in my throat.
“I will be here at four sharp to collect you.”
“See you then.”
“Have a wonderful first day. The first step of a grand new adventure for you.”
Adventure. That was one way to put it. Taking a train to Edinburgh for the Harry Potter Magical Guided Walking Tour was an adventure. This? This was going to be torture.
“Charlotte? Is that you?” a familiar voice hollered at me as I exited the car.
I squint through my shades. I see the bright smile of a boy I knew in my former life: Blaine Montrose. He was the jock of all jocks, and if memory serves correctly, one of the most popular teens of Ridgeview. His family was a lot like mine. Old money dripped out of their pores. My father always tried to thrust Blaine and me together at parties and various functions. But we never clicked like Xander and I had. Blaine was nice and all, but he was a little too pretty and preppy for my taste.
“Blaine?” I trot over to him, thankful to see a friendly face.
“Didn’t know you were back in town,” he explains as we start walking toward the administration office.
“Haven’t been home long.” I am terrible at small talk. I feel awkward and have no idea what to say. I don’t know these people anymore. And honestly, I didn’t know if I ever wanted to.
“Well, I have to drop off my gear in the locker room. Hopefully, we’ll have some classes together. See you around.” Blaine motions to the large duffle slung over his back and the hockey stick in his hand. I was so hungover and consumed by all of the kids rushing by us and trying to keep my head on straight, I didn’t even notice them.
“See ya.” I wave goodbye before turning to enter the office.
* * *
Check-in was quick and painless. Thank fucking God!
I have my class schedule and a map of the campus ready to go.
First Period - AP English.
Second Period - AP French.
Third Period - Calculus.
Lunch B.
Fourth Period - AP Physics.
Fifth Period - Economics.
Sixth Period - Gym.
I am so thankful that gym is my last class of the day. I hated having to shower and go to the rest of my classes rumpled, messy with wet hair, and tired from a workout. Also, there was no way that I wouldn’t hurl on the spot if someone tried to make me run right now. Bile creeps up. My late-night escapade is getting the better of me. Dammit all to hell.
“Are you Charlotte?” a sweet girl asks from behind the desk, obviously the student who is going to show me to first period, and she is a few inches shorter than me, not that that matters.
“I am.”
She comes around to stand next to me, taking my class schedule out of my hand.
“Nice, we have the same first class and lunch. I’m Eleanor. You can call me Ellie.”
“Nice to meet you, Ellie.”
She starts for the door, holding it for me. “Nervous?”
“Hungover,” I admit with a little grumble.
“Nice. Me, too.” she giggles, pulling a couple of caffeine pills out of her bag. “Take these. They’ll help.”
“Thanks.” I throw the round tablets to the back of my throat.
“I was the new kid last year. It’s not too bad here.” She motions down the hall and we start walking to our first class.
“Where are you from?” I ask, taking a stab at forced small talk. It’s the polite thing to do.
“All over, really. Army brat. My dad wanted to retire close to family, so here we are. I’m just glad to be in one place for a while. What about you?”
“I’m from here, but I was in boarding school for the last year and a half. I went here for freshman and part of sophomore year.” It felt weird to admit. I had been shipped off. All of a sudden I felt naked.
“Oh, then you are familiar with a lot already. Thanks for making my job easy. They added a new wing onto the main building and a new gym, but other than that, not much else is different. This is it,” she elates, standing outside of our first-period classroom. “I haven’t had Weaver yet, but I hear she’s a little bit of a hard ass.”
“Will you sit by me?” I plead. Damn, I sound like a complete loser. But I didn’t want to be completely alone. I was alone enough in my life.
“I would really like that.”
We take seats in the back of the class. Only half of the seats are filled. One by one, as each student enters the room, I hold my breath. None of them are Xander. It should not be surprising to me. I can’t imagine him in any advanced placement classes. But times have changed. He could have finally let himself believe how smart he was. I tried to drill it into his thick skull, but it usually fell on deaf ears.
I take in the classroom. It’s simple, yet elegant. Framed posters line the walls of some of the most famous literary giants our world has ever seen. It did feel like Sylvia Plath’s eyes were following me, which I had to admit is a little creepy, but oh well. In big block lettering Mrs. Weaver’s AP English was shining bright on the smart board in the front of the classroom.
When our teacher walked in, I couldn’t help but do a doubletake. I was half expecting an older, blue-haired, short teacher to walk in. But, Mrs. Weaver was young, looking too young to even have a teaching degree, if you asked me, with a short light brown bob, a gorgeous teal dress and taupe kitten heels. Peeking out of her right sleeve was a small quill tattooed on her wrist.
“Settle down, everyone. We’re about to begin,” Mrs. Weaver instructs, pulling her leather notepad out of her messenger bag.
Pulling out a brand-new notebook and Swann’s Way, I settle in to start taking notes.
This is going to be good.
English class is my favorite.
“Teacher’s pet,” someone snickers behind me.
Before I can even dart my gaze over my shoulder to the cackling douchebag, our teacher throws her hand up sharply, her lips hardening into a line.
“Not now, Mr. Collins. Just because other students like to expand their minds with great literature doesn’t mean you can act like a jerk in this class. I will not tolerate anything of the sort. Nice choice, Miss…” Mrs. Weaver trails off, eyeing me for a second, trying to place my face.
“Hawthorne, Charlotte Hawthorne, ma’am,” I respond to my new teacher.
“Have you read Proust before?” she asks, her eyes lighting up as I nod my head.
“He’s one of my favorites,” I admit as my cheeks start to feel hot.
“Take a page out of Miss Hawthorne’s book, people. I wouldn’t mind seeing more Proust, Brontë, or Austen filling up your desks as long as they don’t distract from our course load.”
After her quick nod to my love for reading, making me giggle from her little pun and boldly standing up for me, our teacher went into the first day of school normal speech. Introducing herself, explaining what we were going to be reading over the semester, giving homework.
“Do you want to meet up before lunch? I have something that might help with the first-day jitters,” Ellie whispers, revealing a one-hitter hiding in her bag.
I nodded with a knowing smile. She and I were going to get along swimmingly.
The bell rings while Mrs. Weaver is in the middle of explaining the Shakespeare assignment that we will be starting with.
“Don’t forget to stay on top of the reading listed in the syllabus. You don’t want to get behind. See you all tomorrow.” Mrs. Weaver takes a seat behind her desk as I lean over to Ellie.
“See you later?”
She purses her lips. “I’ll look for you outside of the cafeteria.”
“Sounds good.”
My other two classes drone together. Meeting teachers. Getting homework and books. Feelin
g overwhelmed.
As the bell rings for my lunch hour, I am overjoyed for the break. With two textbooks and three paperback novels stacked in my hands, I make my way for the cafeteria.
“Hey, girl,” Ellie chortles, coming up to my side. “Over here.”
I follow her around the back of the large building and under the closest set of bleachers.
She packs her bowl with rank-smelling weed. It wasn’t my go-to. Coke and alcohol were always at the ready in London. The upper and downer cocktail was my favorite, but I wasn’t complaining. My head was still raging. The herb would at least take care of that.
She hands me the small pipe while sucking in a long drag of smoke. “It’s at least decent.”
“I appreciate it.”
“So, what’s your story, Charlotte?”
I choke a little on the harsh bud. “What do you mean?”
She leans back on the heels of her hands. “What’s your deal? You seem too preppy to be in to this shit.”
I couldn’t hold in the booming laughter. “That makes sense. Don’t let the makeup, curls and expensive bag fool you. I do not belong here.”
“Amen to that, sister. Well, we can suffer through this hell-hole together. I’m starving. Let’s go see what is on the menu.”
My stomach growls.
“Sounds like the best plan ever,” I giggle. One hit and I was flying. My eyelids are heavy, my mind is calmed. I could get used to this shit.
The hall is buzzing with students reconnecting and clicking together around tables. I don’t recognize any of them. I am the complete fish out of water. I feel homesick for my makeshift home. I should be back with Abby in London. At least they pretended to give a fuck about me and let me attempt to fit in when I really didn’t. I don’t fit in here anymore.
We make our way to an empty table in the back of the cafeteria. The smell of pre-cooked food would have normally wrenched my stomach, but right now it’s the most intoxicating smell in the world.
Spoiled-rich kids always get the good stuff.
Must help to make up for the other shit they’re lacking.
Or maybe that’s just the story of my life.
Puppet: Ridgeview Prep Book 1 Page 4