by Wendi Wilson
I slipped into my hideout and plopped down onto the carpet roll. Using an old lighter I found in the gutter, I lit the candles and grabbed a romance novel from my meager collection. It was very melodramatic and a little corny, but it was the one I loved best out of all of them.
About a girl kidnapped and swept away by a pirate king, it held a level of escapism that the others lacked. The heroine was impoverished and lonely, like me. Her abduction ultimately brought her adventure, self-discovery, security, and love, and while I could do without the love part, the adventure and security appealed to me and touched me on a soul-deep level. I’d read it four times already.
What seemed like a moment later, a buzzing sound rang out from the school building, letting me know the lunch period was over and I needed to sneak back inside and head to my next class. Closing the book with a sigh, I placed it carefully back on the stack and stood.
Opening the door a crack, I peeked through the slit. Not seeing anyone, I crept out and hauled ass to the main building, slipping in through the same side door I’d exited from. I moved into the flow of people with my head down, my eyes on the floor.
Everything was back to normal as I navigated the hallways. I didn’t feel any eyes on me or hear any of those malicious snickers. Hope bloomed in my chest. Maybe the others had grown bored with their games, and I was back to being invisible.
That bubble of hope burst as I entered the classroom and took my seat. Lauren Blackburn sauntered in and took the desk in front of me, her blonde curls swinging around and nearly swatting me in the face. She held her personal tablet up in front of her face and slightly to the left, ensuring that I could see the screen as she pretended to use the camera function to fix her hair.
But there was no image of her face on the screen. Instead, a popular social media site was pulled up, the screen constantly changing as comment after comment popped up under the initial post. My eyes widened as I focused on the photo in the post.
A swath of long, black hair disappearing through the door of my hideout.
My eyes snapped to the poster’s handle, narrowing as I read Lauren’s name next to a picture of her smiling face. The caption over the picture of me read, who is December Thorne meeting in that nasty old shed? And what are they doing in there?
A zip of equal parts fear and despair zipped through me. Fear that Gretchen and Todd would somehow see the post, earning me a severe punishment, and despair that my secret haven was not so secret anymore. My eyes scanned the comments section, where the replies were adding up quickly. Guess after guess as to who my secret lover might have been. Rude remarks about my appearance…my face, my height, my body, my clothes.
Crude suggestions as to what my imagined partner and I might’ve been doing while everyone else was eating.
I could feel my heart gaining speed, pounding against my sternum in a syncopated rhythm—thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump.
My breathing accelerated to match my heart’s pace, and my fingers began to tingle. I’d never had a panic attack before, but I imagined it must’ve felt something like that.
All I could hear was the blood rushing through my ears, and all I could see was Lauren’s head full of perfect blonde curls in front me. They bounced as her shoulders moved up and down. Some rational part me recognized that she was laughing, which raised my blood pressure several extra notches. I could almost feel the blood boiling under my skin.
I wanted to strike out at her, to grab a handful of her hair and yank it out by the roots. My mouth fell open at the sense of satisfaction the idea gave me. I’d never been vengeful or bloodthirsty, content to keep my head down and let the little things roll off my back.
But this wasn’t some little thing. Lauren had not only made me a target for ridicule with that picture, she’d exposed my hideout, my safe haven. The only place I could go to be alone and just be…me.
And that was unforgivable.
My breath huffed in and out, faster and faster until I felt like I might pass out. Lauren looked at me over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth turned up in a victorious smirk.
Heat flashed through me as my temper spiked even higher. Lauren Blackburn was the devil in disguise. I hated her, with her cherry-glossed lips. I hated her perfect body, with curves in all the right places. I hated her normal, feminine height and her shiny, golden mane.
“I hope all your hair falls out,” I hissed.
My mouth snapped shut with a click of teeth and I reared back, unable to believe what I’d just said. Not only were the vindictive words completely out of character for me, I actually spoke them…out loud. My palm slapped across my mouth as I sucked in a harsh breath.
Lauren turned around in her seat, the smirk still firmly in place. Her eyes shot daggers at me as she swung her hair over her shoulder and began running her fingers through the tangle-free tresses. One eyebrow cocked upwards as she watched me, watching her, with regret coursing through me.
If I thought dealing with her was hell before, I was in for—
Lauren’s shriek cut me off mid-thought. She jumped from her seat, holding an empty hand out in front of her before wriggling her fingers with a wail. As quick as lightning, her hands were back in her hair, running down its length. She brought both hands in front of her, tears coursing down her cheeks as her eyes followed a path from her fingers to the floor. Again and again, she repeated the actions as the other students watched, frowns creasing their brows as they tried to figure out what she was doing.
“You did this. You did this.”
She uttered the words between clenched teeth, so quiet, I was sure I was the only person who heard them. I watched her with some kind of morbid fascination—hands through the hair, then in front of her, fingers rubbing together like she was sprinkling sand across the floor.
That’s when everything clicked. It was hair. She thought her hair was falling out, and that I had somehow caused it. My eyes widened as I watched her rub her palms across her head as the breath huffed in and out of her in her panic.
“It’s all gone. It’s all gone,” she chanted, her hands rubbing circles in her hair which was, very obviously, still attached to her head.
“Ms. Blackburn!”
The shout broke everyone from their entranced stupor, desks rattling as each student turned to face the front. Lauren spun around to face the teacher, who had called her name several times, instructing her to take her seat, before resorting to yelling to gain her attention.
“Please take your seat, Lauren,” he said, peering at her over the top of his glasses.
“But, December…” she started, but her words trailed off as she rubbed her hands over her head, her fingers tangling in the golden locks that were still very much attached to her head.
“What?” she muttered. “I don’t understand.”
She whirled back around, pinning me to my seat with a venomous stare, one that threatened retribution in the worst possible way. She spun again, plopping down into her seat, her hands squeezing big fistfuls of hair, like she was afraid it might disappear if she released it.
Students around us reacted in different ways, some snickering at Lauren’s looney behavior, others still staring with lowered eyebrows, like they were trying to figure out what she was playing at. A few people tugged at their own hair, mimicking her anguished facial expressions as our teacher wrote our assignment on the board, his back to the room.
One good thing came out of all the chaos. With everyone’s focus on Lauren, I’d gone back to being invisible.
Chapter Four
4
I managed to make it through the rest of the day without running into Lauren, and my final class was almost over. I tapped my fingertips across the surface of the desk, watching the clock as time seemed to stand still. Our teacher had wrapped up her lesson fifteen minutes early, giving us free time to catch up on homework, study, or just sit quietly.
Normally, I would take full advantage of the study time, but I couldn’t focus. My mind kep
t replaying that scene over and over again, trying to work out a plausible explanation. I had mumbled the words, expressing a desire to see Lauren’s hair fall out. They were just words spoken in anger, a juvenile reaction to Lauren’s cruel prank.
But, somehow, right after I uttered the words, she was convinced they had come true. She saw clumps of hair in her hands, felt her bald head, watched the strands fall to the floor. She was distraught, and terrified, and everyone laughed at her.
And I was screwed.
If I knew one thing about Lauren Blackburn, it was that she would not rest until she had her revenge. She heard my angry words and, as ridiculous as it might have been, she found me responsible. I had made her look foolish in front of the whole class. I’m sure she was cooking up a plan to make me pay.
“Ms. Thorne.”
The sound of my name being called jerked me from my rampant thoughts. My eyes snapped up, focusing on the woman standing in the doorway. It was Mrs. Karcher, the school’s principal. Her light brown hair was pulled up into a tight bun, and she was wearing her no-nonsense face.
I froze, panic racing through me as worst-case scenarios flooded my mind. Maybe Lauren convinced Mrs. Karcher I was somehow responsible for her freak out. Maybe she saw the photo of me sneaking into the shed at lunch. Maybe I was going to be punished, and the principal would insist on calling my parents.
My heart literally stopped beating before resuming its job at twice the normal speed. If Mrs. Karcher called Gretchen and Todd, and they had to come to the school to discuss my behavior, I was dead. I didn’t have much left that they could take from me. Just a few clothes, my shoes, my dignity. It was that last bit I was most worried about.
“Ms. Thorne,” Mrs. Karcher repeated, “please come with me.”
I stood and gathered my things, and a few voices rang out with “ooh” as I shuffled toward the door. A sharp glance from Mrs. Karcher silenced them as I stepped past her out into the hall.
I shifted my weight from foot to foot, nervous, waiting for her to tell me what was happening. She turned and walked away, confident that I’d follow. The tap, tap, tap of her low heels against the floor seemed to ring a death toll as I shuffled along behind her.
“Mrs. Thorne, relax,” she said as we approached her office, and I looked at her.
Her face emanated kindness, understanding, and empathy. Like maybe she knew what I was going through and understood. Like, really understood because she’d been in my shoes.
Then she swung open her office door and the moment was broken. Holding out her arm, she motioned for me to precede her through the opening. I headed in, then froze in my tracks, spotting the blonde head of the woman sitting in a chair with her back to me.
Dead. Murdered. At the very least, completely degraded and mortified. That’s what I saw in my immediate future. If Gretchen was already there, then she must have known what I’d done. Or what Lauren believed I’d done. And since Gretchen always insisted on seeing the worst in me, she’d believe I’d somehow made Lauren think all her hair was falling out.
The woman turned toward me as Mrs. Karcher headed around to take her chair behind the desk. Relief flooded through me, heating my frozen veins and allowing my blood to flow freely once more. It wasn’t Gretchen. I was safe…for the moment, anyway.
“Hello, December,” the woman said, standing and holding out a hand to me.
I forced my feet to move me forward and took her hand in mine, pumping it up and down. I tilted my head to the side, studying her face. She was quite beautiful, with thick, blonde hair that cascaded freely over her shoulders, a pert little nose, blue eyes and a smattering of freckles.
“I’m Celeste Greenly,” she said, then motioned toward a chair. “Won’t you please have a seat?”
Her words were a question, an offer, and as her melodic voice tinkled out the words, I felt heavy and tired, like taking a seat was the best suggestion I’d had all day. I plopped down into the chair with a sigh, slouching against the padded backrest and let my eyes drift closed.
Something inside me snapped, like I was jerked awake during a vivid dream. I yanked myself upright, my eyes rolling around in confusion at my own behavior. I would never act so disrespectfully in front of my school principal, much less a stranger I just met. Scared though I was to look, I met the woman’s eyes. They were filled with kindness and something else…something that looked suspiciously like humor.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Karcher,” I said, looking over at her before refocusing on the woman next to me, “Ms. Greenly.”
“Please, call me Celeste,” she insisted, that bell-like voice putting me right at ease once more.
“Celeste is here to talk to you about Oberon Academy,” Mrs. Karcher said.
“Oberon Academy?” I asked, the confusion evident in my voice. “What’s that?”
“Oberon Academy is a private school, my dear,” Celeste responded.
“I’ve never heard of it,” I said, my eyes shifting back and forth between the two women.
“We’re located in the hills north of here, outside the city limits. The school is very exclusive, accepting only the brightest and the best, and we’ve had our eyes on you, December. We think you’d make an excellent candidate to attend our school.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
I flinched a little at the shock and disbelief in my tone, but the words were already out and there was nothing I could do but shoot Celeste a contrite look before mumbling out an apology.
“It’s quite all right, dear,” she replied. “I know it’s a shock, me showing up out of the blue like this, but I assure you, my offer is real. Here.”
She handed me a glossy brochure and I was stunned for a moment. Not by the photo of the huge building with spires and columns, or by the very large, very green garden pictured beside it. It was the brochure itself that had me in awe.
I knew what it was. I’d read stories about companies in the old days printing out glossy pages by the thousands. Pages filled with advertisements and information that inevitably ended up in the trash. Trees wasted. Unnecessary pollution created.
I rubbed the paper between my thumb and fingers, my skin gliding over its smooth surface. I knew I was being stupid. A strange woman showed up out of nowhere, invited me to attend some exclusive school I’d never heard of, and all I could focus on was the fact that I was holding paper.
“It’s not real paper,” Celeste said, as if reading my mind. “It’s a synthetic material manufactured by the school.” When my eyes lifted to hers, she smiled. “Don’t worry, no trees were hurt in the making of this pamphlet.”
The way she grinned told me she was making some sort of joke. I smiled in response, even though I didn’t understand it. I tried to hand the brochure back to her, but she shook her head and told me it was mine to keep.
“Thank you for your offer,” I said, shoving the pamphlet into my backpack, “but there’s no way I can afford to go to some fancy private school.”
“December,” Celeste said, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward, “what I’m offering you is a full ride. Oberon Academy offers a limited number of scholarships each year. Your scholarship would include enrollment, class supplies, full room and board, and a stipend for clothing and other necessities. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything.”
Warning bells went off in my head as I studied her earnest face. In my experience, anything that seemed too good to be true, usually was. Free school, free living quarters and food, plus they would give me money for necessities? What did this Oberon Academy get out of the deal?
“Why me?” I asked, voicing my concerns. “Why come here today, weeks after the start of the semester and offer all this to me?”
“You don’t think you deserve a break?” Celeste asked, answering my question with a question. When I stared at her without answering, she huffed out a breath and said, “Mrs. Karcher submits her very best students to us three times per year. You were at the top of the list on the last two submissions
.”
I looked over at Mrs. Karcher and she nodded with a smile, confirming Celeste’s claim.
“Our admissions team looked at your transcripts. Despite being shuffled from home to home and attending nine different schools, you’ve managed to keep your grade point average up, attaining a near-perfect score in every class. That kind of intelligence and determination is just what we look for in a candidate for Oberon Academy. You’re perfect for our school, December.”
“Perfect?”
She nodded, the corners of her lips turning up. “Perfect.”
Chapter Five
5
I decided to accept her offer and attend Oberon Academy, then promptly talked myself out of it. It was ludicrous. Things like that didn’t just happen to people like me. I didn’t get big breaks or generous offers. I got Gretchen and Todd Holt…verbally and emotionally abusive foster parents using me for the money they got from the state.
I told Celeste I needed to think about it, and she readily agreed to give me a day or two to consider her offer. I didn’t like giving her false hope—I had no intention of accepting that scholarship—but I also didn’t want to disappoint her. She seemed really nice.
Fear of the unknown was one of my greatest flaws. Maybe it was because my reality changed at least yearly. Going from home to home, family to family, never knowing where I’d end up or what my new “parents” would be like. With the Holts, I might not have had much, but I knew what to expect. At least, I thought I did. They were definitely questionable human beings, caring only about themselves and their own pleasures. The thought sent a shiver of revulsion through me.
I only had to make it one more year.