Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [2]
We were early—frozen in an ornate entrance hall where, off to the right, was the office I was supposed to check into as a new student. There were a few kids around—students who looked like they were posing for the Vincent Academy brochure. Girls strewn about here and there, draped over high-backed chairs while they studied from thick textbooks. There were a few boys too, in dark pants, white shirts and mostly undone ties, lounging on a wooden staircase with a scrolled banister, or carrying a basketball and pushing open the double doors in the rear to what looked like a fairly large quad.
Vincent Academy was one of the only coed private schools in Manhattan, a fact, as I looked around, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be happy about or terrified of. As I looked more closely at the girls, I saw that they matched their pristine uniforms with heels and expensive-looking boots. I looked down at my black tights and scuffed Mary Janes through my overgrown bangs—which were cursed with a cowlick—and grimaced. Big diamonds glittered in the ears of a long-haired, fake-tanned blonde, who was scrutinizing a calculus textbook and managing to look glamorous while doing so. In my ears? A row of three tiny imitation-silver hoops that I got at Hot Topic. On sale.
I decided to be happy. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, since they tend to do pesky things like asking about your life and all that. I just wanted to be anonymous. And if this chick was any indication of what my classmates looked like, I was zero competition for any of these girls, who probably spent their morning putting on makeup and arriving at school in chauffeur-driven cars.
Ashley walked with me through the palatial hall to the office, her eyes eager to see a little bit of the hero she used to worship when we were kids. I smiled weakly and made a lame slit across my throat with my index finger. She laughed and I headed inside.
“You must be Miss Connor.” The woman sitting behind the tall wood counter regarded me with iron-gray eyes. They matched her gray hair, pulled into a tight, no-nonsense bun at the nape of her neck. She was even wearing a gray cardigan. I glanced at the nameplate on her desk.
No. Way. Ms. Gray? I blinked and looked again. Mrs. Gary. Close enough! I bet she was wearing gray granny panties, too.
“Yes, um, yes,” I stammered. “I’m Emma Connor.” How did she know who I was? “How did—did you know that?”
She smiled, and a very faint hint of warmth crept into those steely eyes.
“You’re the only student I don’t know, and there’s only one new student due today.” She smiled. “Let me get your schedule for you.”
I groaned internally. I had forgotten how small Vincent Academy was. Keansburg High had 650 students. How could I hide in a school that barely had 200?
“Here you are, dear,” the gray lady said, handing me my schedule. “Your first class today is on the third floor.”
But my locker, well, my locker was in the basement, in a row of old lockers so out of the way, they were always the last to be assigned, falling to latecomers like me and unlucky freshmen.
“Stay there and smile,” the gray lady instructed as I stood in the same spot, scrutinizing my schedule. “Miss Connor,” she snapped, her voice sharp.
“Huh?” I looked up, and she was standing behind some large beige contraption. Suddenly there was a flash. It surprised me—it was too bright, and I saw spots everywhere.
“You can pick up your ID after lunch. In the meantime, please fill these out.” Oh, great, that’s going to be an awesome picture. So sexy.
The gray lady handed me several small yellow forms, telling me to give them to each teacher as I walked into the room. I realized there was no way I was going to avoid the awkward “Hey, kids, we have a new student here” nightmare.
Please, oh, please, don’t make me have to introduce myself. Don’t make me tell them something about myself.
Hi, I’m Emma. I’m basically an orphan and my life sounds like a Lifetime Original Movie. My dad left when I was six. My twin brother died when I was fourteen.