“Cool bag.” She lowers her voice in a confidential tone. “Prada, right? Is it the real deal?”
I’m not sure how to respond but decide to go with honesty since it’s usually the safest route. “Are you kidding?” I force what I hope looks like a confident smile. “Why waste good money on something that’ll be out of style by Christmas?”
She laughs loudly. “Exactamundo!”
I almost comment on her odd choice of expressions, but stop myself and simply nod. No sense in alienating anyone — especially when I’m still the new girl here.
She sticks out her hand. “I’m Isabella Marx, senior class president.”
I cock my head to one side. “You mean you’ve already had student body elections?”
She shrugs in a slightly sheepish way. “Okay, that’s just an assumption on my part. But I was freshman, sophomore, and junior class president . . . so I suppose it seems likely I’ll win it again.”
“Wow, that’s impressive.”
“And one responsibility of being class president is welcoming new students. So consider yourself officially welcomed. Uh, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.” I smile. “I’m Adele Porter.”
“Welcome to Stanfield High, Adele Porter.” And then to my surprise, Isabella kind of takes me under her wing. First she introduces me to a couple of the faculty helping with registration, then she helps me get a good schedule of classes, and finally, she even gives me a quick tour of the campus. “This way you won’t have first-day-of-school nightmares about not being able to find your locker.” She chuckles.
I blink. “Do you have those too?”
“Not since before my freshman year.”
It seems the tour is done now. So I thank Isabella for her time and am ready to make what I hope will be a graceful exit and head back to the bus stop, but she stops me.
“You need to come meet some people.” She leads me over to where a small group of kids are drinking sodas in a shady area of the courtyard, and just like that, she introduces me to her friends. I feel almost like I’m dreaming as these kids chat openly and naturally with me, like it’s no big deal or they’ve known me for years. It’s pretty surreal.
“Adele is into journalism,” Isabella informs a petite redhead named Lily Bishop.
“Me too.” Lily tells me what classes she has, and I pull out my schedule to discover we both have journalism the same period.
Then a tall guy named Ethan Daniels looks over my shoulder. “Hey, you’re in calculus with me.”
“And if you need any help, Ethan’s your man,” Isabella says. Then she introduces me to a guy I swear looks just like Jude Law. “This is Jayden Hammaker.”
Jayden points to the schedule still in my hand. “It looks like we have resource together.”
“What is that anyway?” I ask.
“Your free period,” Isabella says.
“You have to check in,” Jayden informs me, “but then you can go to the library or whatever.”
“Right.” I nod like none of this is the slightest bit overwhelming to me . . . like this is totally normal . . . like I am used to fitting in. But am I in shock? Maybe some kind of culture shock? I remember reading about this once. But something about being received like this, feeling genuinely welcomed by kids I’ve never even met before . . . well, it’s all pretty weird. But also cool. And I like it.
As I ride the transit home, I feel strangely hopeful. Like all the things I’ve been imagining for the upcoming year are really going to come true . . . like this is going to be a life-changing year, after all. And so far, my mom seems happy with her new life, too. It’s only been a little more than three weeks, and although some of her earlier enthusiasm has worn off, she’s still talking positively about her job. So, really, why should I be worried?
Dark Blue: Color Me Lonely with Bonus Content Page 18