“Maybe. But couldn’t I just lower my self-worth for one night?” she asks. “Is it really that big of a deal?”
“I don’t think …” Lily trails off as her gaze finds me. Then her eyes go huge. “Holy crap, you look like Grunge Barbie.”
“Hey, so do not,” I protest, rising to my feet. “I don’t even have blonde hair.”
“Not all Barbies have blonde hair,” Lily comments while eyeing me over. “Man, I so wish I could pull off the grunge look.”
“You can do whatever you want,” Wren tells her while assessing me. “And so can you. But I feel like I should warn you that if you go to the party tonight dressed like that, you’ll be treated like fresh meat.”
“Thanks for the warning, but I can handle my own.” I stand up, tugging at the hem of my skirt. “I need to be me. It’s important.”
Wren nods. “I can respect that. And I don’t think it will necessarily be a bad thing. I just think you’ll be hit on a lot, because you’re new and different.”
“And hot,” Lily adds with a shake of her head. “Man, I wish I could pull off that look.”
I turn toward her. “Who says you can’t?”
“My pasty skin and blonde hair.” Her shoulders slump as she sighs. “Whenever I’ve tried the all-dark vibe, it washes me out.Whatever. I’ll put on a boring pastel dress or something,” she mumbles then goes into her room and shuts the door behind her.
“Now I just feel bad,” I mumble, tugging at the hem of my skirt.
Wren laughs under her breath. “Don’t feel bad. That’s just how Lily is—overdramatic about everything. But she’s loyal as hell, even to a fault almost.” She sits down on the armrest of a nearby chair and considers something. “Can I ask you kind of a personal question?”
“Um … sure.” I retake a seat on the sofa. “I mean, you can ask, and I’ll decide if I want to answer.”
“Okay.” She mulls something over. “How did you get the scholarship here? It’s been driving me crazy, because Royal Academy has never, ever allowed scholarship students in before, but then they suddenly decide to this year, and you’re the only one who gets accepted? It’s just driving me crazy.” She briefly pauses. “Not that I’m saying it’s a bad thing. I wish they’d let more in. It’s just my journalist side has been trying to piece together the whys behind it.” She crosses her legs as she rotates toward me. “This school has a history of doing suspicious things—dusting shit under the rug, doing coverups for assaults and hazing—and my goal as a writer is to bring to light some of these dark secrets they’re trying to hide.”
“Aren’t you worried that might get you into trouble?”
“Oh, I know it will. But it kind of comes with my job. And yeah, I get that I don’t have to write about it, but I want to.” She heaves a weighted sigh. “Despite what my parents want me to do, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being a gossip columnist. I want to write about things that matter, and I want to start with this school and its corruption.”
“And you think my scholarship has to do with that?” I question, unsure whether to be offended or not.
“Truthfully, I don’t know. All I know is that it’s completely out of the ordinary for them to let northside students in on scholarship, especially when this place prides itself on being a prestigious place where only the wealthy and best students go. At least, that’s the shit they feed everyone. I don’t think for a second that being wealthy means you’re the best. In fact, some of the most shady people I’ve met are the most wealthy and powerful.”
“I believe you,” I say, thinking about my aunt. “People are shady on northside, too, but not all of them, so I get that there’s multiple layers to all sorts of social classes.”
“I know, right? And so many people don’t get that.” She sticks out her fist. “Fist-bump for seeing things clearly?”
I tap my knuckles against hers while laughing. She laughs, too.
“And to answer your question about my scholarship …” I decide to tell her because I feel like maybe I can trust her. And even if I can’t, what can she do with the information? Everyone is already aware that I’m a northside scholarship student. “I don’t know who gave it to me or why. Some lawyer just showed up on my doorstep about a week ago with an envelope congratulating me on my scholarship. I had to go to the city to sign papers, but again, this was all through a lawyer, and the person/people who gave it to me wanted to remain anonymous. I’m not even sure why they chose me or how they even found out about me. It was probably just random.” Even when I say the words aloud, I don’t fully believe them. Too much random stuff has been happening to me lately to actually be random.
“That’s weird that they wanted to remain anonymous,” Wren states as she absentmindedly digs a tube of lipstick out of her bag. She applies it then puts it away again before saying, “I have an uncle who’s a lawyer. He helps me out with storiessometimes. I could ask him about this and see if he has any theories about it. If that’s okay with you, I mean?”
“Yeah, go ahead.” I fleetingly consider asking her if her uncle can look into who bailed me out of jail, as well, but that would lead to a whole other level of confession time with her, and I’m not about to do that.
Sure, she seems open-minded, but if I told her I’ve been arrested—twice—it could lead to judgment. Even Finn and River don’t want people to know they spent Friday night behind bars.
“Cool. I’ll let you know what he says.” Wren zips up her bag and rises to her feet right as Lily walks out of her room.
She’s rocking a short, silver dress, matching shoes, and diamond earrings. She’s also sporting a pout.
“I’m starting to really hate my wardrobe,” she gripes while flipping her hair off her shoulder. “I look like a beauty queen in this thing.”
“Beauty queens are pretty,” I tell her as I stand up.
She continues to pout. “I know, but I don’t feel like I want to be beauty queen-ish tonight. I’m so sick of looking like that. The only reason I ever went with this look is because my mother made me.” She slumps against the wall with her arms crossed. “I don’t even know who I am. Not really. I finally have a chance to figure it out, and I just need some help because I have no idea where to start.”
