Chapter 7
Seven
After sitting on edge for the entire class, the bell finally rings. Ryder is up in a flash, bustling out of the classroom like he’s being chased by the cops.
“Alice,” Ms. Patterson calls as the other students file out. “Could you stay for a moment?”
I approach her desk as the last of the other students leave.
“I wanted to welcome you properly to Ashworth Academy,” she says, organizing papers on her desk. “I know transferring schools mid-year can be challenging, especially under difficult circumstances.”
She knows. Of course, she knows. All the teachers probably got a whole briefing about the tragic orphan girl who’s come to live with her eccentric aunt.
“Thank you,” I say, not sure what else to add.
“I also wanted to let you know that if you need any academic support, or just someone to talk to, my door is always open. Sometimes it helps to have an adult who’s not family to bounce things off.”
For a moment, I’m tempted to take her up on the offer. She did come to my rescue when Brooks and Ryder started airing dirty laundry.
But I just nod and say thank you again.
“And you were okay with the materials that were sent to you for tutoring?” she asks.
“Yes, it’s fine. I’ve already read the book.”
Ms. Patterson brightens. “Marvellous. If you’ve read ‘What We Carry’ for fun, you and I are going to get along great.”
Something tickles against my heart. Like enthusiastic recognition wants to light up, but I’m just not ready to feel good about anything yet.
Ms. Patterson dismisses me for my next class, and I wander into the hall with no idea where I’m headed. I unfold my crumpled class schedule and feel less intensity about finding my next class.
I’m fifteen minutes late to biology, and in a blur, I’m finding my way to history. I’m a bit of a curiosity as the new girl, but as the day progresses, rumors from English class morph into wilder stories.
At lunch, I face my biggest challenge yet. The cafeteria.
It’s not like the cafeterias in movies, with obvious cliques and clear social hierarchies.
It’s worse. Everyone here is rich and privileged, with subtle distinctions I can’t read.
Designer handbags peek out from under tables, and expensive watches catch the light.
Casual conversations drift past about skiing in Switzerland and summers on private islands.
Making a safe choice, I get a salad, a bottle of water, and a small packet of chips. I look around for somewhere to sit, and that’s when I spot Ryder.
He’s at a table in the center of the cafeteria, surrounded by people you’d expect a famous musician to hang out with.
Model-esque girls with silky hair, who effortlessly make our uniform look chic.
Guys who make the standard-issue blazers look like they were custom-made on Savile Row.
They’re all throwing their heads back in carefree laughter.
The kind of worriless life where the biggest hardship is deciding which party to attend on the weekend.
Ryder looks in his element. Money, privilege, and beautiful people.
I find an empty table in the corner and take a seat. My salad looks fresh and full of colorful vegetables that would have had my parents’ approval.
The kind of food I should eat.
But I can’t bring myself to touch it.
Instead, I tear open the chip packet and eat them one by one. The salt and artificial flavor coat my tongue. They taste like nothing and everything at the same time. Like settling for less and not deserving better.
My parents would have made me a proper lunch with love and care.
But they’re gone, and eating processed food is all I can handle.
Halfway through my salty, garbage food, I pick up a fork and stab at my untouched salad. I push lettuce around with my fork, breaking it into smaller pieces. Maybe someone will buy I ate some of it?
I’m so focused on my pathetic lunch performance that I don’t notice someone approaching until a voice says, “Mind if I sit?”
I look up and find a girl with short, strawberry-blonde hair and a sweet smile. Her uniform looks like it came from a different planet than mine. Every line is perfectly pressed, her tailored blazer fits like a glove, and her skirt falls at exactly the right length.
“I’m Madison,” she says, not waiting for permission before sliding into the seat across from me. “Madison Pierce. You must be the new girl everyone’s talking about.”
“Alice,” I say, quickly pushing the chip packet aside and the salad closer. “Alice Winter.”
“How’s your first day going? Ashworth can be a bit overwhelming.”
There’s something in her tone that suggests she actually means it. Her smile reaches her eyes, and she’s not looking at me like I’m some exotic creature that wandered in from the wilderness.
“It’s... different,” I admit.
Madison laughs. “That’s one way to put it. I remember my first day here. I was so intimidated I hid in the bathroom during lunch.”
“You? But you seem so...” I gesture vaguely at her appearance.
“Put together? Trust me, it’s all an act. Fake it till you make it, right?” She glances at my barely touched salad. “Not hungry?”
Heat flushes my cheeks. “Just... adjusting to cafeteria food.”
“Fair enough. The salads here are actually pretty good, but I get it. Everything feels weird when you’re the new girl.” Madison leans forward conspiratorially. “Want some advice? The key to surviving Ashworth Academy is finding your people. The ones who won’t judge you for eating chips for lunch.”
For a moment, I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe I won’t be completely alone here after all.
Madison shows me her phone. “And it helps if you can make something of yourself.” She scrolls through her social media page, and my eyes enlarge at the thousands of views labeled under each video. “Once I got my influencer rep and a few brand deals, it was like I became one of the masses.”
I scan the surrounding tables. “Does this school have a lot of influencers?”
“You’re either here because you come from a family of somebodies, or you make yourself somebody.”
I exhale hard, queasy at the thought of it.
“So,” Madison continues, her voice casual but her eyes sharp with curiosity. “I heard you’re living with Ryder Hamilton. That must be exciting.”
And there it is. The real reason she sat down.
“We just shared a ride,” I say carefully.
“Oh, come on,” Madison says with a laugh that now sounds forced. “You can tell me. How do you know him?”
“I don’t.”
She deadpans me. “You rode in the same car.”
“So?”
“So, what?” she presses. “Are you friends? Related?”
I stab at my salad, adding more force every time she adds another syllable. She’s trying to work me out. Am I somebody, or nobody?
Can’t a nobody just sit at a lunch table and be ignored? Please. Please give me that option.
“Come on, I live for this stuff,” Madison says, tapping her fingers along the tabletop. “It’s so fun chatting to anyone with celebrity adjacency.”
“Celebrity adjacency?”
“Sure. You didn’t think you were special, did you?” Madison rests her chin in her palm. “Let’s see, there’s the girl who started dating the Ashworth heir.”
“The what, now?”
Madison giggles. “Thomas Ashworth the third.”
“The third?”
“He goes by Ash. And, well, he’s the top-tier celebrity at this school. He and his sister, but she graduated early.” Madison’s eyes lazily wander the cafeteria. “And then there’s the girl who started dating Wyatt Hayes.”
“Wyatt Hayes? The singer who stars in all those corny rom-coms?”
“Yeah, he went to this school before he got famous. I mean, blink and you missed it. I sure don’t remember him from back then.”
“Okay, wow. So Ryder isn’t that special?”
Madison winces. “I wouldn’t say that. He’s literally blowing up right now. Everyone wants a piece of him. So they can say they hang with the rockstar.”
“Oh boy. So does everyone hate me for having a flimsy connection to him?”
Madison swats a hand like it’s no biggy. “You’re just today’s rumor. Don’t stress too much.”
“And did those girls with celebrity boyfriends only stress for one day?”
Madison’s teeth sink into her bottom lip. “Umm, well…”
I shake my head. “Thanks.”
“But as for you, Alice.” She flicks her hair, her voice getting wispy. “You’re one big question mark. Like, I heard Ryder went off about you in English. Someone asked about it in third period, and apparently he warned, like, everyone to stay well away from you.”
I drop my fork with a clunk. “Then why are you here?”
Madison grins with her chin glued to her palm. “Because there’s gotta be a good story behind him hating you so much.”
I fling my salad across the table and kick my chair back as I stand.
Madison grunts, flinging lettuce off her blazer. “Ugh. What’s wrong with you?”
“I could ask you the same thing, Madison.” I hate the way my voice trembles. “You were already warned to stay away from me.”
I leave the lunch table, feeling the sting of multiple eyes following me. Laughter and gossip trails behind me, speculating about my abrupt outburst.
Just get out of here, Alice. Get out.
I burst into the bathroom, turning the heads of two girls at the sinks. They look me up and down and then return to their conversation.
Phew.
I make my way to a stall, when one of them asks, “Oh, hey, aren’t you that girl?”
I push the stall door open. “Nope.”
“Which girl?” the other girl asks.
“Hello?” her friend replies. “The one Chase and Brooks said to stand ten-feet away from.”
I close myself inside the stall, hoping their gossip distracts them from the fact I’m in here.
“Oh my gosh!” one of them pounds on my stall’s door. “Is it true you’re stalking Ryder Hamilton?”
What? Who asks a person that?
“Oh my gosh, Whitney. As if she’s gonna confess.”
“You don’t know. I don’t think stalkers are very smart.”