Chapter 3
ALIZE
I got assigned to a dorm called Hemlock House.
I’m not sure what to expect yet, but judging from the way things look outside—it’s a huge old building that looks a lot like a castle—I’m assuming the rooms are at least comfortable. The flight has left me tired and thirsty.
I need to find my room soon. I can’t lug this suitcase around for much longer.
The halls are wide, with polished wooden floors so shiny I feel bad for rolling my suitcase over them.
Subtle notes of jasmine and freesia waft through the air.
Pedestals bearing expensive-looking sculptures line the hallways, with an enormous portrait at the end of each corridor.
The traditional European décor reminds me of the Monaco hotel we lived out of for a few months when I was younger.
The memory makes me a little uncomfortable.
Monaco was the worst—the staff always mistook me for a trespasser, even though we were booked into the most expensive suite at the hotel. I didn’t let my father know because I was afraid of what he would do. In hindsight, I probably saved those hotel workers’ lives.
A door opens ahead, jolting me out of my thoughts.
Despite the well-decorated interior, the dorm is a ghost town. The two girls that exit the room are the first people I’ve seen apart from the housekeepers.
I try not to stare at them but can’t help myself.
They look like carbon copies of each other—tall and blonde with perfect proportions.
They’re even wearing different colors of the same cropped blazer and collared A-line dress.
When they get closer, I realize they’re not twins but just…
trying hard to look like each other? That makes it even weirder.
Even their heels click in sync with their bouncing ponytails.
Pressing my back to the nearest wall, I keep watching them because it seems like they haven’t noticed me. Just as I’m convincing myself it’s because I’m quite a bit shorter than they are, so I’m probably invisible to them, one of the girls stops and turns toward me.
I don’t even have time to act like I wasn’t just gawking at them.
“I love your hair,” she says in a chirpy voice, looking at me from head to toe. I flinch when she reaches out to wrap one of my curls around her finger. I hate when people touch my hair without permission. “It’s...quaint.”
She stares at me so intently it’s like she’s seeing through me. I can’t tell if she’s being sincere, but I smile. It’s all I can manage; I’m frozen in place.
Before I can respond, her friend giggles. The girl who spoke does too.
“We don’t usually get girls like you on Hemlock,” the other girl says. She’s less sincere than the first, using a manicured finger to smooth down an errant strand of her hair. “How long do you think she’ll last, Liz?”
Liz, the girl who touched my hair, glances between her friend and me. “A month, at best.” She looks me over again, this time with more disdain. “Maybe a week if Cassidy has her way. You know how she is about the mongrels.”
They share another look with each other, then laugh and continue down the hall.
I stand there stunned for a few moments, trying to make sense of the exchange as the sound of their heels fade behind me. Heat blooms in my ears, and I crush the printout into the pocket of my cardigan.
I take a deep breath, trying to push aside my feelings.
Uncle Laurent did say that these people would be ruthless. I guess, I didn’t figure they would be racist too. As I continue searching for my room, I try to stop looking so harried. I straighten my posture and take more purposeful steps.
The last thing I need is to come off as prey.
An hour later, I’ve found Room 2502. It ended up being in a completely different wing of the building. I was reading the map wrong the entire time. My feet and arms are burning, and all I want to do is drink a gallon of water and collapse into bed.
My physical therapist would have been thrilled to know that I managed so much activity so soon after being discharged.
The heavy wooden door swings open as I’m fiddling with the lock.
Standing on the other end of the threshold is my roommate—I think. She’s wearing a huge smile on her red-glossed lips. I tilt my head to make eye contact; even she is taller than I am. It seems I’ll need to get used to that.
Though I smile back, I’m wary after my encounter with those girls in the hallway. She doesn’t really look like them, though. Instead of a preppy outfit, she’s wearing a band tee and ripped shorts. Her hair isn’t nearly as blonde, either.
“I’m Tara,” she says, reaching over to take my suitcase from me. She takes my wrist and pulls me into the room. “What’s your name?”
“Allie,” I say with a little hesitation.
We go deeper into the room and she closes the door behind us.
It’s a huge space with a grand crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceilings, probably twice the size of my room back home. Brocade wallpaper the color of seafoam lines the walls.
Though the room is open plan, it’s very obviously separated into two spaces. There are pairs of everything—beds, desks, sofas, closets, and televisions. There’s a shared reading nook and breakfast bar.
Doors on either side of the room lead to what I assume are bathrooms.
It’s better than I was hoping for and nothing like the dorm rooms I’ve seen on TV. I was expecting a single bed and a communal bathroom, not a king-sized four-poster bed and a private bathroom.
I’m happy it’s comfortable, because I plan to spend as much time here as I can. Uncle Laurent didn’t say I couldn’t hide.
“This is my side,” Tara gestures to the half of the room that’s already decorated.
Her four-poster bed is decked out in black and red lace sheets, and almost the entire wall is covered in posters from various rock bands.
She’s got a bookshelf filled with books, some of them with bare-chested men on the cover.
There’s a human skull on her desk too, and a chill runs up my spine because there’s a good chance it’s real.
Tara’s green eyes twinkle. “Too spooky for you?” She walks over to the skull and picks it up. “I can put it away if it freaks you out.” There’s the hint of an accent when she speaks. Spanish, if I had to guess.
I shake my head quickly. “No, it’s just different, that’s all.” I never got the chance to go shopping for my room decor ever, so I don’t even know what I like. “I think it’s cool.”
What I mean to say is that I think it’s cool she knows enough about herself to express it that way.
She grins, putting the skull back.
My side of the room is bare but clean. The bed is comfy and the white sheets smell fresh. That’s all I really need right now. I open my backpack and start arranging my toiletries on the nightstand.
“So, Allie…” Tara flops onto my bed. “Where are you from?”
Ever since Uncle Laurent told me I would have to lie about myself, I thought of how I would answer this question. The last lie I told was almost a decade ago. My father made sure I never told another one—I have the scar on my leg to prove it.
If Allie Clarke is the character I must play, I’m going to make it fun.
“Vermont,” I say, focusing my attention on making sure my perfume bottles are symmetrical.
On the way over here, I figured that the easiest way to get through this was to tell people the almost truth, like saying I’m from the state beside the one I’m technically from.
I hold my breath, but Tara doesn’t seem to even realize that I’m uncomfortable.
“I’m from Cartagena,” she says. “Colombia.”
I make a sound like I’m in awe. “Do you miss it?”
On the ride over, Uncle Laurent told me that the best way to distract people from asking you questions was to ask them about themselves first.
Everybody likes talking about themselves.
Tara nods hard. “It gets colder than a polar bear’s tits here in winter,” she grimaces. “I hate it. Do you know how annoying it is to see the sun shining but still have to wear three layers?”
“I’m used to the cold,” I say. “It gets pretty chilly in Vermont.”
I move to my suitcase and start transferring my clothes to the closet beside my bed. Silence stretches between us, I can feel Tara’s eyes on me. So far, she doesn’t seem mean but I’m a little uncomfortable with her attention.
This is the longest conversation I’ve had with a stranger in years.
“You’re not who I was expecting when they said a freshman would be my roommate this year.”
I pause in the middle of putting a t-shirt on a hanger.
“Who were you expecting?”
Tara props herself up on an elbow. Her long caramel-colored hair pools on the bed.
“Freshmen rarely get placed on Hemlock. I was expecting someone a little less…” she pauses, looking me over with a finger on her chin.
After a few heartbeats when she doesn’t finish her sentence, I speak.
“A little less of a mongrel?”
Her jaw slackens a little, and I see the embarrassment wash over her features. It’s blunt of me, but I think we should get it out of the way. If my roommate is racist too, the sooner I know the better.
“No…I,” Tara stumbles over her words. Her cheeks look like tomatoes. She pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’m guessing you ran into some sisters on the way here.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes,” I huff.
Tara bolts from the bed, closing the space between us quickly. She takes the hanger from my hands, places it in the closet and takes my wrists.
“I’m so sorry, Allie,” she begins. Her words feel genuine, but I flinch away. She’s ignoring my personal space completely. “I’m not like them, I swear. The sisters are brutal, especially to the newbies.”
“Racist, you mean.” I loosen myself from her grip.
She nods. “Once you don’t fit their image of what a Hemlock House girl should be, they pick at it.” Tara doesn’t try to come any closer to me, and I’m thankful. “They teased me about my thick accent and my hairy arms."
She has neither of those things anymore.
“It’s just how things are until you get initiated.”
“Initiated?” I quirk an eyebrow.
Tara’s hands fly to her mouth as if she said something she wasn’t supposed to. I’m not even sure I heard her right, because it sounds a bit ridiculous. It’s a dorm, not a cult. What the hell does initiation have to do with where I sleep during my studies?
Uncle Laurent was right: this place is strange.
Tara fiddles with her fingernails. “It’s not my place to tell you all this. It’s a bit too late if you don’t already know. Just work hard to earn your spot. Everything will be fine.”
Gosh, everyone is so cryptic around here.
This is like the third time I’ve heard some variation of this weird way to wish me luck, when I don’t even know what I’ll need the luck for. It’s frustrating and I’m confused, but I’m not sure what I can do about it.
I make a mental note to do some more research on this school when I get the chance. For now, I push it out of my mind. I’m already so exhausted. The last thing I need is another thing to be anxious about.
“Don’t worry about it.” Tara’s mood shifts. “If you got placed on Hemlock, it means that your family must have roots within the House. That’s a leg up already.”
My stomach falls because none of those things are true and I’m literally cosplaying as someone else in a school filled with the children of killers. Tara has a human skull as decor and a necklace of teeth hanging around her neck.
Now that I’m here, I have no idea how Uncle Laurent thought this was a good idea.
Anxiety thrums in my throat.
Tara turns to my closet, and I do too. It looks sparse, even to me. I lost most of my clothes in the blast, and then Uncle Laurent had me discharged so quickly I left behind most of the little I had left. Most of what I have he bought for me at the duty-free store in the airport.
Tara wrinkles her nose, and I’m not even mad at her.
“Some better clothes will make things easier for you,” she says, picking at a nearly threadbare t-shirt. “That’s how I survived the first year. I made sure I always looked better than them.” She gives me a wide smile. “I’ll take you shopping.”
I nod and smile back at her. I’ve never been before.
“Then it’s settled.” Tara claps, then puts her hands on my shoulders. “I’m sure there’s something in my closet that you can wear to the party tonight.”
My smile falters. “Party?”
She nods. “Yes. The Freshman Welcome Party is tonight, and you’re not allowed to miss it.” She jigs her shoulders in excitement.
A fresh stake of terror drives itself through my chest.
I’ve never been to a party before. Everything I know about parties I’ve learned from movies and television. Are they actually like that? Would I have to dance? I don’t know any moves, or even any popular songs.
Frankly, it sounds horrific, especially since I’m so tired.
But I can’t let Tara on to my trepidation. I have yet to think of a way to explain my lack of social skills and real-world knowledge that wouldn’t spark more questions. My cover is already flimsy as it is. I’ll have to figure this out along the way.
On paper, Allie Clarke is a social butterfly. I’ll have to fake it till I make it.
“That sounds great. I can’t wait!” I say, wiping my sweaty hands on my cardigan.