Chapter 4
Despite my body being convinced the end was nigh, we got through the rest of orientation with zero casualties. We even made a couple friends with fellow students in our year, and then gorged on tonkatsu ramen for dinner in Honey’s room while we memorised the campus layout and compared our timetables.
By the time I went back to my room, via the shower room that had blessedly private cubicles, I was feeling more optimistic and the spectres of my past were very far away. My bed was even warmer thanks to my pilfered blankets, so I didn’t shiver when I climbed in and opened Youtube to watch videos of cute ducklings and decompress from the day.
I survived. I did it. Tannie was right—I could accomplish anything.
I let out a deep sigh and relaxed into the mattress, relieved it was actually plush and comfortable unlike most dorm beds, but I leapt out of my skin when a terrifying scraping came from my door.
I jumped onto the bed with a yelp, climbing to my feet, expecting rats or ghosts of old pagans and—
I frowned at the envelope that had been pushed under my door. With a soft what the fuck? I climbed down to investigate, grabbed the envelope—heavy and made of quality cream paper—and opened the door, scanning the hall to see who’d left it.
Was this a threat? Had someone singled me out as easy prey already?
There was no one out in the hall, but across from me the door opened and a black guy I’d seen at orientation poked his shaved head out, doing the same as me.
“You got one, too,” I realised, the words blurting out when I saw the envelope he held.
“Yeah,” he agreed, frowning. “What the hell is it?”
Down the hallway, other doors opened until we all hovered—me, Byron, Honey, my adjacent neighbour, a redhead girl I thought was called Rhona, and a Pakistani girl named Milani Hussain. We all held an identical envelope.
“This is weird as fuck,” Byron remarked, glancing from Honey to me.
I cracked open the wax seal on my envelope but before I could read the contents, Rhona—or whatever her name actually was—let out a squeal. “We’ve been invited to the party.”
Oh, joy.
I sighed, wilting against the doorframe and praying to every introvert god in existence that I could get out of this. No such luck. One look at Honey’s face and I knew she’d make us go. Besides, I didn’t want to stand out as being miserly so soon after getting to Ford. Blending in was the wisest course of action.
I read the invitation and suppressed a groan. Even better. It was a costume party, and I hadn’t brought a costume to med school because I wasn’t insane.
“I’m not going shopping with you,” Byron said before Honey had even opened her mouth. He glanced at me and added, “You’re on your own with this one, Cat.”
Charming.
Luckily for Byron, shopping was one thing I’d never complain about. When we all disappeared back in our rooms, despite the threat to my introvert ways, my optimism returned.
Tomorrow was going to be a good day.
Tonight was goingto be hell.
Honey and I had spent the day vying for elbow room in the single shop in the village of Ford’s End that sold costumes—a dizzying collection of rooms that seemed to go on forever and contained everything from shovels and rope to wind chimes, wholesale Pepsi, pet supplies, friendship bracelets, and all manner of vaguely useful junk.
Despite being our designated extrovert, Honey still struggled to fight through the cramped rooms to the costume section where Ford students were already packed like sardines. They behaved like vultures, swooping on the carcases of clothing rails, snatching up whatever entrails were left and clutching them possessively to their chest. Oh, did I say they? I meant we, because I did the exact same thing.
The only costume left in my size that wasn’t hellishly boobaceous was a floor-length, silk-adjacent dress covered in detailed albeit scratchy lace. I snatched it up desperately, and only realised the strange ruffle of lace hanging down the back wasn’t a ruffle but a veil when I joined the cluster of people near the single, well-used checkout. Great. I was going to my first med school party as a bride.
“Ooooh,” Honey said, joining me with excitement dancing in her eyes and a brand new friend trailing in her wake.1 “A wedding dress. Your dad will be thrilled.”
I gave her a deadpan look. “I’m going as the bride of death.”
It was that or the bride of Frankenstein, and I didn’t have enough green eyeshadow to cover my entire face.
“Creepy, I love it,” said Honey’s new friend, a squat bronze-skinned woman with bright amber eyes behind heavy rectangular-framed glasses, long brunette hair, and a violently red coat, scarf, and hat combo. Her lipstick was the same pillarbox shade. “I’m going as a zombie.” She held up her costume on its wire hanger and gave the decayed green dress a wiggle. “But with massive cleavage obviously, because I’m a woman and I couldn’t possibly wear a costume without both nipples poking people in their eyes.”
I snorted. I liked her.
I’d just begun to smile when a shoulder rammed into mine, throwing me aside, and I hit a shelf full of porcelain teddy bears fishing in a koi pond so hard that pain exploded down my side and I gasped a cry.
“Hey, watch it!” Honey snapped, instantly at my side. I was surprised to find a hand with violently red fingernails helping me back to my feet, sweeping dust off my coat where I’d slammed into stock that definitely hadn’t been rotated in the past six months.
“Are you alright?” she murmured, peering into my eyes.
I nodded. “Thanks…”
“Darya,” she supplied. “You’re Cat, right? And the guy you were with at breakfast is Byron? Honey was talking about you.”
“That’s us,” I agreed, and snapped around to face Honey when a rough male voice raised in volume.
“Do you know who you’re talking to, worm? I’m Orwell Ford. As in, I own this island. So when I want to get past, you move out of the fucking way.”
Honey squared her shoulders, but she didn’t fight him. She just muttered, “Asshole.”
Without a word, Darya and I flanked Honey, and I kept none of my emotions off my face when I faced the arrogant bastard. He probably got everything he wanted because he was from a family with a fancy name and endless money and he had passable looks. Not the tall, dark, handsome vibe of his cousin, and the sneer made him uglier, but I knew the type. Entitled, superior, cruel.
Make him regret sneering at your friend. You know his type. You know the damage boys like him can do if left unchecked.
“There’s a thing you might not have heard of,” I said before I could stop my mouth, anger overriding any anxiety that might have hit if I’d actually thought before acting. “It’s called a queue. Do you need a moment to Google it? I’ll wait.”
Orwell laughed, somehow still managing to sneer. “And who the fuck are you?”
“Someone standing in the queue who won’t be walked all over.” I had a fancy name and money too, and I was so fucking sick of men like him, who thought they could bully their way through the world. Memories flashed, but I shoved them away, angry enough to battle my mind into submission for once.
A long arm slung over Orwell’s shoulder, and Duncan Ford appeared like a movie star stepping out of the shadows, his megawatt smile making my stomach curdle.
“Let’s not make enemies before term’s even started, shall we, Orly?” Ford threw a beatific smile at me, Honey, and Darya. “Nice to meet you ladies.”
His smile lingered a little too long before he guided Orwell away, his eyes staying on me a beat too long for comfort. And I didn’t miss the fact they’d both made their way to the front of the line anyway. Duncan was just a pro at doing what Orwell had clumsily tried to achieve.
And I got the sense that neither of them would forget us talking back despite Orwell being the ass the shoved me into a fucking shelf.
“Great,” I muttered, checking my wedding dress was still intact. “I’ve pissed off the guy hosting the damn party. Tonight is going to be great.”