I giggle. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Here we are.” She waltzes through the doorway of our first class and hands a man who I can only assume is Mr. Brenner a late-pass. My gaze scans the room for available seats as I wander in behind her. The stares of twenty-something pairs of eyes bore into me. It sucks being the new kid.
Mr. Brenner’s gruff voice barks. “Ellie Cartwright. Welcome to Hell’s Bend. There’s an available seat in the back.” He raises his hand and points at an empty desk in the corner.
I offer a curt nod and stroll to the back. “Nice outfit, Barbie,” someone mocks under her breath. A round of quiet snickers follows. Silently cursing the sound of my own shoes, I drop my bag on the floor beside my desk and swing into the attached chair.
A kid with tumbling blond curls turns and rests his elbow along the back of his seat. “I know you. The crypto scandal, right? Your mom was that chick.”
My mouth goes dry. I open it to speak, but nothing emerges.
“Enough, Austin,” Mr. Brenner scolds. Safe for now, but it’s just a matter of time until the entire school knows my shame. My mother was a big deal, but I was hoping it would take people longer to put two and two together. So much for flying under the radar.
An ache swirls low in my gut. I miss my old school, my old life. But mostly, I miss my mom. I know children lose parents all the time, but you never expect it to be yours. We think of our parents as indestructible gods who’ll always be there. Until they aren’t.It rattles the core of our foundations. I took everything I had for granted. If only I knew then what I know now.
Pressure begins to build between my brows. I perch my head on the tips of my fingers as Mr. Brenner drones on about the Vietnam War and hippie culture. I’d hoped in a town as rural as this, no one would have heard about the unethical behavior surrounding my mother’s death. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter. Be it the ends of the Earth or Timbuktu, I can’t escape it. The incident will follow me wherever I go.
Forty agonizing minutes later, I find myself back in the hall with Chris by my side. She doesn’t ask about my mother or the supposed “scandal” Austin let out of the bag. Instead, she makes polite conversation en route to my next class.
“Look, it’s Paris Hilton!” The cry comes from somewhere inside the crowd of people ushering in the opposite direction.
A second baritone follows suit. “More like Kim Kardashian, except with half the ass.”
Howling erupts. Chris hooks her arm in mine and drags me away. “Ignore them.”
“I can’t believe how mean people are,” I say with a pout.
She cocks her head and deadpans, “Maybe they’ll loosen up if you come dressed as a normal person tomorrow and not an Instagram model.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I shouldn’t have to pretend to be someone else. They should accept me for who I am.”
Her laughter stings more than it should. Except for Cindy, she’s the only person who’s been nice to me since I stepped foot off the plane. I hate to admit it, but this strange boyish girl may be my only hope for an actual friend.
“People round these parts see you lookin’ the way you do, and they’re automatically gonna assume you think you’re better than they are. Them red-bottom shoes cost a week’s pay for mostfolks, and you’re wearin’ ’em to walk a public high school with those people’s kids.”
My conviction melts like ice on hot pavement. “I don’t think I’m better than anyone, but I’m not from here.”
“That’s right. You’re an outsider, which means you gotta try twice as hard.”
Her advice sticks in my mind for the remainder of the morning. It weaves around Jace’s warning that I don’t belong. I thought I could do this. I assumed I would effortlessly blend in and quietly finish my senior year without any issues holding me down, but maybe Jace was right. I don’t belong here. I don’t fit in, and I never will.
By the time lunch hits, my stomach’s too twisted to even eat. I shuffle down the line, pushing the brown plastic tray along the rollers as I eye my choices behind the glass. Gray burger patties wilting on flat buns with a sad pile of tater tots as the side dish. I swallow the bile beginning to bubble and opt for yogurt and an apple instead. At the end of the line, I set a can of Diet Coke on my tray and offer the lunch lady a ten-dollar bill. “Lunch accounts only.”
My gaze snaps to hers. “I’m sorry?”
She points at the swipe machine sitting between us. “We don’t take cash. Lunch accounts only.”
Snickers titter through the line behind me. I wrap my fingers around the tray to hide the trembling beginning to take root. “It’s my first day. I don’t have a lunch account yet.”
The lunch lady’s face remains impassive. “You’ll have to report to the office. We aren’t set up for cash.”
The guy behind me pushes through. “Excuse me,” he snaps, swiping his card. I watch in horror as each kid swipes and stomps away, leaving me rooted to the floor in shock. No one mentioned a lunch account when I enrolled, nor did the womanat the office when I checked in this morning. Now I’m standing here with a tray of food and no means to pay for it.
Heat burns my cheeks, but I refuse to cry. I’ll let it all go when I get home, but I won’t dare shed a tear in front of these people. I’m better than that.
Just as I’m about to lose that battle, Jace saunters through the wide-set double doors. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Jace and I haven’t exactly gotten off on the right foot, but he did give me a ride in this morning. Surely, he won’t let me starve.
“Can I leave this here?” Without waiting for an answer, I slide my tray in beside the lunch lady and scurry to my only saving grace before he gets lost in the crowd. “Jace! Um … I don’t have a lunch account … any chance I can borrow yours just for today? I can give you the cash. It’s just, they won’t take it, and I have this tray of food … and…”