CHAPTER SIX
It’s the first day of school—my very first since I arrived. I finished my last school year early, knowing Dad was getting deployed. I certainly didn’t want to start a new school the last two weeks of the year. No thanks.
But now, I’m nervous. I’m wearing this royal blue, white, and burgundy pleated skirt, a white short-sleeved button-down blouse, white knee socks, and these black Mary Jane shoes Audrey picked out. I told her there was no way I was going to wear the kind with the heels. She may think differently, but for me school is not worth the pain my feet would suffer. I found a great pair of Dr. Martens Mary Jane shoes. They’re chunky but still girlie. Audrey said they were acceptable—like she has the final say. She also said we can’t wear Chucks. I’m not sure I believe her, so I tuck my royal blue pair into my backpack.
Wait. I forgot the best part—enter sarcasm here—the Spanx. I kid you not. Spanx. You know, just in case these hormone-ravaged teenage boys feel the need to play dress-up day like they did in kindergarten. I’ve seen some of these boys. I wouldn’t put it past them.
I look at myself in the full-length mirror.
“Jesus. I look like one of those school girls on TV.” Maybe I should have left my hair down, but I like it up. I even did it differently for Audrey today. I French braided it, with two braids merging into one. I did a pretty good job.
Jewelry. I’m not getting all “richied” up just because I’ll be surrounded by them. I wear my normal thumb ring, middle finger ring, and my septum piercing. Aunt Ruthie made sure it was okay. Personally, I think she paid someone off to let me get away with this. I put in tear-drop royal blue earrings and declare myself done. I’m even wearing makeup. I think I’ll pass Audrey and Isla’s muster.
I don’t think the segregation will be as bad as people think. The only difference between uniform colors is where SBH has burgundy, SBA has red. Should be easy blending the two.
My stomach growls and I look at the clock. Shit. Only ten minutes until Audrey shows up—I’m counting on her being ten minutes early. She’s way too excited about starting school.
I put my backpack on the counter, making a loud thud. Books. Notebooks. Folders. Pens. Pencils. Calculator. An extra set of clothes—just in case—and my Chucks.
“That sounds heavy,” Aunt Ruthie says.
“Yeah. First day is always like that,” I murmur, heading to the fridge.
“I made scrambled eggs.”
“Excellent.” I’ve been craving cinnamon raisin bagels, so I pop one in the toaster then go scoop up some eggs. I look at Aunt Ruthie’s plate and curl my lip. “I don’t know how you can eat that. It’s disgusting.”
The woman puts ketchup on her eggs—ketchup! We’re not talking just a little dab on the side, either. It’s like, take that ketchup bottle and make sure you have enough so no egg will be untouched. Gah.
She shrugs. “I like it. I mix a little salsa in, too.”
“Salsa, I can see. Ketchup, no. Just no.”
My bagel pops up and I butter each half, put them on my plate with my eggs, and take a seat at the small kitchen table.
“I poured you some juice and coffee,” she tells me.
I look up from inhaling my breakfast. Sure enough. “Thanks. Time is getting away from me. Audrey’s way too excited.”
“I used to love school, too. You get to socialize and learn at the same time.”
“I’m worried about the socializing. These two schools, from what the girls said, do not get along. There are fights and bullying.”
“Are you worried about getting bullied?” she asks.
I snort and nearly choke on an egg. I take a quick sip of apple juice and shake my head. “No. Not really. I’ve seen bullies in action. The words can embarrass and humiliate but turnabout is fair play.”
“Just be careful. Those aren’t just any kids,” she warns.
“I know. But what they don’t know is I could buy and sell them a couple times over.” No one knows this. Not even Isla and Audrey. It’s not really a secret, just not something I wave in others’ faces.
“You could, as could I. But that’s not how we play it.”
“No, it’s not. It’s none of their business how much money we have. If that’s how they base their friendships, that’s pretty sad,” I murmur, taking a drink of coffee that’s just cool enough not to burn. Perfect.
“I agree, but that’s how it is at these prep schools, though SBH isn’t anywhere near the level of snobbism as SBA. Wasn’t it like that in Wisconsin?”
“On some level, yes. But it varied. It wasn’t the whole school who judged by that criteria—only the snobbiest of them all. Besides, most of my friends were in public school. I got along with them way better than the prep schoolers,” I admit.
