Elle
Present Day. Fall Term
This is all a dream.
It has to be…
When Beaulieu’s congratulation pamphlet came just two weeks ago, I didn’t think the academy was even still an option. Now, here I am dressed in the signature navy blue uniform, with my penny loafers crunching over the charcoal pebbles as Mum and I make our way to the massive entry staircase. Still, reality hasn’t sunken in despite the sensory overload of the sprawling green campus, and the intoxicating woodsy scents of the surrounding fir trees.
From this high point, I can see a glistening lake on the fringes beside a Victorian-looking, massive greenhouse. It’s so stunning that for one second I forget my fear of water.
Tears of sheer joy prick at my eyes, and an itch creeps across my nose as I take it all in with shallow breaths, trying to hold it together. There’s no way I’m going to cry in front of my new classmates already.
As I ascend the grand staircase, the surrealness of my personal fairytale only intensifies. Like, I’m Cinderella entering the ball, except I’m not hoping to meet a prince. I’m looking toward my future, and Beaulieu would open a lot of doors.
Just last year, I’d been living in a homeless shelter and working part-time at the deli on weekends with Mum. Eventually, we earned enough to get a small one-bedroom flat. Mum gave me the bedroom despite my refusal, setting herself up in the living room for the past nine months. Now that I’m moving into a freaking castle, that bedroom she’d worked so hard for would be all hers because Jarett never came back. His last message almost two years ago was vague as to his whereabouts. Mum thinks the Auclairs got him. I think he merely left town with all the money in his and Mum’s joint account, which wasn’t much to begin with. He’s probably happy as a clam somewhere along the coast, scamming tourists, and screwing someone else’s wife.
I wish Mum would just divorce him. If she’d file the paperwork herself, it wouldn’t be too costly. But the mention of divorce sent her into a meltdown and I haven’t brought it up since. Still, I’m happy for us both. She’d get some alone time and hopefully more free therapy at the community centre, while I got some therapy of my own; the professional ballet training I’ve always craved.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mum asks, gazing up at the beautiful archways bordering the courtyard ahead of us. Wisteria vines curl around each, before hanging down like beautiful curtains of periwinkle and lilac. “You don’t fit in here.”
I follow her roving eyes back to the car park strewn with Bentleys, Porsches, and G wagons. I watch as a beautiful girl with mocha skin and pin-straight black hair gets out of a white Rolls-Royce where a driver holds the door open. It’s one of those doors that opens backwards, the epitome of, “this car costs more than your home.”
Her eyes are long and beautifully slanted, her irises as steely grey as the sky overhead. I could only assume that she’s mixed Black and Asian. Like all the other students, she has the essence of a runway model, with the clothes to match. I’m the only student around who showed up in the uniform. Everyone else is dressed like they’ve just come off an old-money aesthetic, Pinterest board.
Behind her, two younger girls trickle out of the car. They’re carbon copies of who I presume is their big sister. They stroll past Mum and me without the slightest bit of interest in us, despite my gawking at their beauty. Noses in the air, they file into the courtyard, the heels of their loafers clicking up the stone steps.
“Not yet,” I admit, watching as the older girl air kisses the younger two before heading off in the opposite direction. “But I will. I’m determined to make this work. I have to.”
Mum smiles weakly. “I want you to have what you want, Ellie. Really I do, even if I don’t understand it, or rather I feel like a fish out of water.”
She never understood ballet either, but she always supported me, even allowing me to return to the town she’d feared for the past two years. Sure, I can argue that at eighteen the decision isn’t up to her anyway. I’m an adult now, and with or without her permission, I’m attending the academy. Just like I put my foot down to do that news interview to bring awareness to my old school’s defunded dance program. She’d nearly had a stroke then.
Still, her pushbacks had only been out of fear, not because she was trying to crush my dreams of becoming a pro ballerina-like everyone else who mocked me.
For once, I feel like she’s putting my happiness first.
Because Jarett isn’t around to put him first. I shake away the intrusive thought.
She isn’t perfect, and neither is our relationship, but she’s trying. She’s healing and I hope this new space will allow us both to blossom despite past transgressions.
Maybe a year of a budget eat, pray, love journey will finally make her realise that she needs to divorce Jarett and say goodbye. Forever.
“I have something for you,” Mum sniffs, digging into her pocket. When she fishes it out, my breath catches at the sight of a golden necklace with a ceramic ballet slipper charm. It’s handmade, with tiny imperfections that make it absolutely perfect. Carved into the back is a tiny tree with a jumping fish over it.
“The gold isn’t real,” Mum says hastily as if to quell my bubbling excitement, but it can’t be dampened. “I know you’ve always wanted one. When I can, I’ll swap it for the real thing.”
I’d desperately wanted a necklace like this since I was eight, up until I turned twelve. Thirteen-year-old me probably would’ve said it was too babyish and that the same girls that rocked it a year prior would make fun of me. But eighteen-year-old me already craves these micro bites of nostalgia, that innocent, untarnished girlishness as I ease into new adulthood.
“I don’t care if it’s made of tinfoil. I love it,” I say, sweeping my hair to the side and allowing her to fasten the clasp behind my neck. “I’ll paint the links with clear nail polish when I get settled.”
Mum’s smile tells me she’s both embarrassed and relieved by my reaction and it breaks my heart as I fiddle with the pink charm.
“Why didn’t you tell me you joined a ceramics class again?” I ask softly.
Apparently, ceramics was Mum’s calling before she ever had me. Or at least, it used to be. Still, she’s always making things. Even if they’re just paper stars, her fingers are always in motion.
I think back to her mug, the one with the red-haired little girl she’d painstakingly glued back together. I know it’s a dream of hers to follow in your parent’s footsteps. Well, perceived footsteps.
“I didn’t actually,” she says with a blush. “The first class is free to test out. I’m still not sure if I can justify the cost.”
“I don’t see how you can’t justify it. It’s your personal therapy. An essential. With me gone, the laundry and food bills will drop by half and some funds can be shifted around. You deserve it.”
Mum smiles, but it’s bittersweet as she gestures around us. “And you deserve this, and so much more. Way more than I…than I could ever give you.”
Tears well in my eyes again. “I can’t cry in front of the whole school already,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “I’ll miss you.”
“Me too, Elle Bell.”
I squeeze her tighter before pulling away. “I wish the flat was closer so I could visit on the weekends.”
“I know. I’m still looking around for closer options, but to be honest, I don’t want to move too close to the city limits, nor do I want you to leave the campus often. The school’s crawling with security guards and staff, so I have some peace of mind that you’ll be safe here. But me? In some dinky apartment all alone? No, I better play it safe in the next town over.”
“Mum—”
She shakes her head, and her ginger bob flutters with it. “They could still be watching us. We have to be careful.”
I know she means the Auclairs and I struggle to not roll my eyes.
“We’ve never heard a word from the Auclairs, or Jarett, for that matter. Maybe he made all that stuff up? Or maybe the Auclairs gave him a little fright, so he’d disappear on his own?”
“That family is dangerous. You’re too young to know their past reputation. I remember one summer when I was eight, it was like the Bloody Valentine’s Day massacre all over again.” She closes her eyes as if to blink away the memory before gazing at me seriously. “Your father is many things, but not a good actor. He was scared shitless, Elle. In all my years of being with Jarett, I’ve never seen him cry like a little girl.”
I’d never seen Jarett cry, period, and I hoped to never see him again.
“I’m serious,” Mum says, grasping my arm and giving me a little shake. “For all we know that Auclair kid goes here.”
“The Auclairs are business people. Only Madame is in the ballet world and she retired from Beaulieu Academy before I ever applied for the scholarship. I’m sure her son is in some business school for money laundering as we speak. Not ballet.”
Or that’s what I keep telling myself. Jarett isn’t the only one to haunt me a few times a month in my nightmares. Gant Auclair’s eerily beautiful face visits me too. His touch always starts soft and careful like our first encounter at the studio, igniting butterflies in my belly and goosebumps on my skin. But then he’ll caress my neck and his fingers turn into vice grips, his black eyes shooting darkness straight into my soul.
“Shh,” she hisses. “He may not be here, but I’m sure he has ears all over. Half of these girls probably graduated with him from primary school.” She looks over my shoulder and then around the campus to see if anyone’s watching us. Of course, no one is. “But you’re right. Fathers like Bart Auclair want their sons to follow in their footsteps, not their mother’s, so I guess that makes sense.”
Minutes later, after a few more hugs and kisses, I watch as Mum’s beat-up wagon pulls out of the car park and through the iron gates. I follow it until it banks the curb, and a body blocks it from view. I gaze up at what must be one of the most gorgeous, ethereal boys I’ve ever seen and, unlike everyone else, he’s staring at me.
Directly at me.
His eyes are a hypnotic blue-green, with a starburst of bright yellow around the pupil. His wavy dark hair is wild and windswept in that modelesque way that seems effortless. He’s well over six four with a muscular but lean and narrow physique. Pure elegance comes to mind as I watch his long limbs glide closer to me.
He smiles, showcasing oddly sharp canines, and I think he’s going to speak, but he turns away at the last second, typing out a text as he strolls straight past me.
I turn to look back at him, but he doesn’t spare me another glance.
Hmm, it’s too good to be true anyway. I’m not the type of girlie who gets some magical meet-cute on the first day at a brand-new school. Besides, I’m not here for boys. I’m here for… for… right, ballet.
Mum and I had already gone to the head office to sort out my paperwork and get my class schedule and dorm assignment. I would be in Maple House, according to the picture map the secretary had given me. Mum asked if I needed help carrying my belongings or unpacking, but as I had one rolling suitcase and one duffel bag, I told her I’d manage. I knew the drive back home was a little over four hours, and she had the night shift.
Maple House is one of the last buildings on campus, close to the surrounding forest line. I drink in its beautiful black stonework, climbing vines full of pretty white flowers, and sharp roofline before entering the foyer.
A blonde woman in a vintage dress stands in the doorway, her shoulders leaning far back against the frame as if she’s posing, but there’s no photographer. Her attire doesn’t look like a costume or a replica though, it seems authentic, and with the massive black and white staircase behind her, for one brief moment, I swear I’ve travelled back in time.
“Does it look Vogue-esque?” she asks, barely moving her dainty red lips.
“W-what?” I follow her gaze over my shoulder and to the pathway where a handsome silver fox is rolling a massive leather trunk. Unlike most of the adults, who are accompanied by teens, he’s alone.
Is he a teacher?
“Lex,” she says, casually easing out of her dramatic pose. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“I work here, Trix,” he says flatly, and she giggles unperturbed.
“I know that, silly. I just didn’t expect you to take this pathway. The boys’ dorms are all the way on the other side of campus. You didn’t have to take the long route past my house.”
“I had to drop my daughter off at Oak House.” He points to the building a few kilometres before Maple House.
“Sure, Jan.” She smirks, as he knits his brows and continues on his way. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” she says, smoothing her skirt. “Professor Lexington will make any excuse he can to see me. I’ll have to warn him of his unprofessionalism in front of the students next time.”
“Umm…ok?”
“Now, let’s see, dear,” she says, extending her arm towards the stack of papers in my hand expectantly.
I hand over my dorm assignment and she checks it with a little nod.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Eloisa Ginhart,” she says, skimming over my name. “I’m Ms Beatrix Healy, but you may call me Ms Trix. I’m the dorm mother of Maple House and the drama teacher.”
Suddenly, it all makes sense.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Trix.”
“You’ll be on the third floor, in room three hundred and three. Three O three…” she trails and tuts before snapping her fingers together. “Oh, yes, your roommates will be Miss Stassi Beaumont and Miss Aria Dupont.” At the girls’ names, her expression falters, putting a pit in my stomach.
“Are they friendly?”
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” She tilts her head, but her hair, the texture of cotton floss, doesn’t move at all.
I swallow and nod.
“I think if you can earn their friendship, they’ll be your best friends for life. But I’ll give you a bit of a warning. It’s pretty cutthroat around here. The competition’s always high with dance, theatre, art and sports. Add in the city’s wealthiest boys and it can be brutal.”
Brutal? This is an elite boarding school, not some war zone. Right?
I grimace my thanks and head up the three flights of stairs. As the shiny gold plaque of room three zero three comes into view, anticipation, dread and excitement mix in my stomach, before erupting into butterflies. What will my new roommates look like? Act like? I pause, listening as their voices drift through the ajar door.
“I spent the entire summer with my aunt. When she offered me a fashion internship at her company, how could I say no?” says a girl with long, dirty blonde waves. She’s curvy and has an air of confidence that just draws attention.
She’s talking to a girl on the bed who has her back to me, but when she turns, I recognize her as the blasian girl from the parking lot. She doesn’t acknowledge me, her grey eyes flicking back to the blonde girl.
“Is that where you’ve been? In Yves?” she asks, inclining her head as if a ninety-degree tilt will better help her see the truth. It’s clear she thinks the girl’s lying. “I thought you skipped summer in the Hamptons to reconnect with your extended family in Italy?”
Before the blonde girl can speak, a shadow darts past me, one with thick, wavy black hair that catches me just beneath my shoulder. Behind her, a tall man dressed in a uniform, a driver may be, rolls a large designer trunk in each hand whilst the straps of two large duffels crisscross over his broad chest. The girl’s only holding a dainty purse and hat box.
“Internship? I thought you were in St. Barts, Stassi,” she says, tossing the hat box onto a night table.
“Aria,” Stassi pales at the newcomer who’s having a standoff with her.
Aria’s piercing eyes, a familiar blue-green, contrast stunningly with her caramel-brown skin. They shoot fire at Stassi as she crosses her arms, completely ignoring the driver’s little wave goodbye as he rests her luggage down and leaves.
“Who told you that?” Stassi laughs and I hear a hint of nervousness as she bends down to air kiss Aria on each cheek.
Ari doesn’t return the greeting and there’s no missing the venom in her voice as she says, “Not you, of course.”
“Ooh,” the girl on the bed coos. “Trouble in bestie paradise?”
Aria swings to the darker girl, her eyes blazing. “Get off my bed, Rin.”
Rin stands to her full height and tosses her silky strands, which whip me in the face as I enter the room. “I was just leaving. I have a meeting with…well you see soon enough. The internship did you well, Stassi. You must have power walked all over the company for hours on end.”
Stassi pales as Rin flounces out of the room and past me without so much as a glance.
Am I really that invisible?
No. Unimportant.
“Fuck,” Stassi lets out a gasp. “What do you think she has up her sleeve now?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Why the hell did you invite her into our room, anyway?”
“You know I didn’t. She just came in snooping. It’s what she does.”
“And you entertained her.”
“I’d rather give her an answer before she goes around spreading something stupid. I just know that bitch is behind Beaussip.”
Beaussip? My earlier butterflies return with a vengeance, passing my epicentre and drifting into my anus. Thee Beaussip? The Beaussip I sent Madame Pelletier and Jarett’s sex tape to?
No. That has to be a…
But I know it’s not a coincidence.
Aria cuts straight to it. “Where have you been, Stassi?”
Nervously, I ease over to the only empty bed under the large diamond pane window. There’s a small balcony on the other side, just large enough to hold one person. The room itself is pretty simple, with white walls, high ceilings and dark hardwood floors.
“Who are you?” Stassi asks, noticing me for the first time, though I think she’s looking for any sort of ‘out’.
“I’m Elle,” I smile weakly, struggling to hold back the vomit that wants to climb my throat.
Beaussip!??
Aria arches a brow. “Elles are always blonde,” she mutters and I pretend like I don’t hear her because how am I supposed to answer that?
“It’s my first year at Beaulieu.”
“We’ve never had a third roomie,” Stassi says, folding her arms. “That bed’s been empty since tenth grade.”
Again, I don’t know how to answer that.
Aria doesn’t seem to care for an answer either way. “Where.have.you.been?” she hisses at Stassi, enunciating each word.
“I already told you,” Stassi says. “In Yves. After St. Barts.”
“Is that why you wouldn’t video chat me for damn near a week?”
“I was going through a lot, okay? I’m sorry,” Stassi whispers and it seems sincere as she grasps Aria’s hand, but the girl pulls her arm back indignantly.
“That’s it?” An angry maroon blooms across her nose bridge. “You ghost me all summer and all you have to say is, ‘I’m sorry’?”
“I was a shitty friend,” she says, seemingly struggling to keep her voice even. “A human trash box.”
Aria looks unfazed. “I didn’t need a play-by-play, Stas. A simple ‘I’m leaving the country for a bit’ would have sufficed. So I didn’t stress about you for weeks on end until Beaussip released an article saying you and Lilibet had gone abroad.”
“Who’s Beaussip?” I strike up the courage to ask, but context clues lead me to believe it’s associated with Beaulieu. How hadn’t I connected the dots before?
Both girls look at me and then back at each other.
Yeah, I should stay out of it.
“I’m surprised they got it right. You know half that stuff isn’t true.”
Aria’s watching Stassi as if she can see straight through her skull and into her brain where the truth’s floating.
It’s none of my business, but yet even I’m weirdly invested in the answer. Or rather, the distraction from Beaussip. Where was Stassi all summer?
“Why can’t you just tell me?”
“It’s personal, ok? I was going through some real problems.”
“Who wasn’t?”
Stassi’s brows knit, seemingly offended. “Real shit Ari. Something more than fashion crises and bitchy mums,” she blurts.
“You think I’m that vapid?” Aria lifts a brow and steps back, affronted. “You think I wanted to bother you with petty drama?”
“That came out wrong,” Stassi begins, but Aria cuts her off.
“I think it came out perfectly.”
“Ari–”
But Aria turns her back and begins rummaging through her trunks. With a sigh and a pained look, Stassi does the same.
The silence that ensues is only broken up by sounds of clinking perfume bottles, zips and snaps of luggage, and the pinging from each girl’s cellphone, every other minute. Neither ever check their notifications. They must be super popular and immune to the distraction. I never got pings, except from Mum and my cell provider.
I gaze at the schedule and see that orientation starts soon. It’s for all seniors, not just new students, so I suppose I could just follow the girls to wherever the auditorium is, right? It isn’t on the little map of the dorms I’d gotten. Maybe it’s a new addition to the campus.
Thoughts of Beaussip fly away as a new thought that’s equally as dreadful replaces it. I’m expected to give a thank you speech to the school for awarding me with the scholarship.
My fingers shake as I grasp the printed speech I’d rewritten over seven times. It’s just twenty lines of text, right under the three-minute limit they asked for. No big deal. I could speak for two minutes and fifty-something seconds, right? I could do anything for three minutes.
Breathing in and out, I try to slow my racing heart at the thought of facing the entire senior class.
You’ve got this, Elle. What’s the worst that could happen? You trip and they laugh at you?
You’ve been through much worse.