Page 4

With my head down, I adjust my uniform—that I purposely ordered one size too big—and walk down the hallway through the sea of people. I knew I had an appointment with Mr. Grandle at 8:30 AM sharp, but I still have ten minutes, so the intercom announcement was entirely unnecessary.

I had a tour of the school a couple of days ago, where they gave me their welcome packet and access to my locker. The whole time I was equally mesmerized and annoyed by the lush leather seating, the marble flooring and gold-plated trophy cases, and all the other over-the-top amenities this school holds, while I’ve spent the last eight years in a concrete jungle in the inner city of Portland—just something else my father ripped away from me.

I’m not bitter, but I wonder how my life would be different if I never left.. My mom gave me a good life—the best life she could, given she had to start over in her early thirties. Not New Ocean Prep good, but better than most. It seems like I’ve gone full circle, as I ended up here, anyway. She pushed a lot of her childhood dreams onto me, ballet mainly. I loved all of it, until I didn’t.

Until it hurt—until he hurt me.

Never again.

I returned because a man stole a piece of my youth. And I’ve returned to a place I vowed never to step foot in again. It seems like fate, almost.

More like desperation.

I’m nearly at the office when a hip juts into me, nearly toppling me over. A group of girls in blue outfits pass by, and Naomi and I exchange looks. She has a smirk on her face and her blonde ponytail swings as she struts away. The others in uniforms cover their mouths and chuckle, giving me a once over as they trail behind her.

I ignore the pain in my hip, not wanting to show them fear. These girls are wolves, and I am a lamb to the slaughter. I resist the urge to pounce on them because I know that won’t solve anything. I’m more hot-tempered than a fighter, as my mom would say. Maybe I’m just as primal as they are. Slithering through them, I head straight to the large oak doors of the office. I try not to look back as they whisper and laugh.

Naomi obviously has a bone to pick. This is not normal new girl hazing; it’s personal for her.

Not a good start.

I step inside, and a middle-aged woman with a tight bun and glasses hanging off her long skinny nose peers up from behind a desk.

“Can I help you?” she asks, pulling her glasses up and looks at me cross-eyed. I recognize the nasal voice; she obviously knows who I am.

My eyebrows arch. “I’m London King,” I respond with an equal amount of enthusiasm.

She nods but focuses on her computer. “Of course. Have a seat, Miss King. The Dean will be with you shortly.”

The Dean.

I can’t help but smirk at how elitist that sounds, given we are still in high school. I throw my backpack onto a plush-looking leather couch and sit next to it, huffing out a breath. The secretary taps her pencil, and I focus on her heavy breathing as I tamper my nerves.

This place has me on edge.

The office is as elegant as the rest of the school, with rich mahogany wood panels, fake plants, and expensive decor with dim chandeliers.

After about five minutes of keeping me waiting past eight-thirty, the receptionist stands. “Mr. Grandle will see you now, London.”

I rise and throw my backpack over my shoulder, then follow her through two more large oak doors and into Mr. Grandle’s office. He’s sitting behind his oversized desk and stands as I walk in, reaching out his hand. He’s a middle-aged, gray-haired man who fits the bill of exactly who I would think would hold the title Dean in a conservative town like this. The office smells like old books mixed with his heavy musk scent.

“Miss. King, welcome to New Ocean Prep. We are happy to have you.”

I’m sure he is. He knows how wealthy my dad is, and the tuition for this school isn’t cheap. I sit across from him with a tentative smile and notice a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Likely at my stark similarities to my father, whom I know he knows well.

My father claimed he pulled a lot of strings to get me in last minute, and he doesn’t hesitate to remind me of it. But it’s not like he had to move mountains when I asked him if it was possible. My dad has a hefty bank account, and he golfs with Mr. Grandle at the country club. Each student brings in thousands of dollars in tuition revenue per month. I think he was surprised I asked him, and I actually agreed to step foot in this town again, or speak to him, for that matter. Barely anyone is speaking to me back home, so it was nice to have some company.

He looks me right in the eye. “I check in with students on their first day for a smooth transition. Many of our students have been together for most of their lives, so it may be harder for you to adapt here than what your used to.”

I pull my hair behind my ear and shift in my seat while he peers down at a black folder in front of him. “I’m up for the challenge, Mr. Grandle.” I’ll be more than happy to pretend to care for ten months.

I have some catching up to do, anyway.

The journalism program I have my heart set on is hard to get into, and after my mishap last year, my grades fell behind. Especially since I only recently decided writing is what I wanted to do. I was convinced last spring that I would eventually join the New York Ballet, but that is out of the question.

He raises his eyes to meet mine. “It looks like you’ve practiced dance, but I don’t see you signed up for any of the tryouts. May I ask why?”

“I’m not interested, sir.”