17. Nim
Chapter 17
Nim
I’m still punching my pillow when Romi lets herself into our room. I stop, my face squashed into the pillowcase, waiting for her to speak. To say something condescending. To be sympathetic. But she says nothing.
Turning my head, I peek over the top of my arm at her. She’s standing by the door, holding a plate and a bowl, no expression on her face. “You’re going to starve,” she says, taking the plates over to our study desks. She puts the bowl down on her table and the plate on mine. “Come eat, Nim.”
I turn my face away and give my pillow another smack, imagining that it’s Knox’s pretty fucking face. “I’m nineteen, not five,” I mutter.
“If you keep this up, you won’t live to see twenty-five.”
She turns in her chair, watching me as I cross the room. I ditched my school uniform as I was walking across the room, tossing each article of clothing as far as I could. My stockings didn’t make it very far—they’re right by the door.
“This place had better have online courses,” I say, giving her a deadpan stare as I plop down in my chair. “Because I am not going out there again.”
“None of this would have happened if you’d brushed your damn hair.”
“Oh my God, really?” I slam my fist into the desk. “They’re picking on me, Romi.”
“Yes, obviously.” She rolls her eyes as she takes a bite of her salad. “And you’ll walk it off like everyone else does.”
“Except I have to do it on all fours,” I mutter. I can still feel that leash around my neck. I have to sit in class with students who saw me crawl across a cafeteria and take tidbits from someone’s hand. I glare over at Romi. “How are your olives?”
She grimaces as she pushes her bowl away from her. “You’ve got a mean streak.”
“And you’re as yellow-bellied as everyone else in this place.” I stab a carrot, remember how Mason fed me one, and drop my fork. “You’re right, I am going to starve.”
I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that they treated me like a fucking animal and no one did anything...or that I didn’t do anything. Although what could I have done? Knox has literally spanked me before. I don’t put it past him to do that in public. Of the two, walking on hands and knees and being fed tasty treats—except that olive, ew—is a far sight better than pubic corporal punishment.
Right?
Romi points with her fork. “If you promise to finish your food, then I’ll help you with your project.”
“So that’s how we’re going to play this?” I mumble as I inspect my plate. “I get bullied, and we all go on with our lives like nothing happened.”
“You know, Nim…” Romi stares thoughtfully at me as she chews on an olive— ew . “I think you’re finally getting the hang of this.” Her fork becomes a scepter again. “Now eat.”
I do so grudgingly at first, but the more food I shovel down my throat, the more hungry I get. She’s right—I’ve been starving myself because of those three and I’m not that kind of girl. I swear, if I keep going like this, I’m going to end up looking like some of those skinny-as-fuck girls I see pecking around the salad bar who only ever take a stick of celery back to their rooms with them. Which they probably barf up later.
As soon as my plate is clean, Romi goes and lies on her bed, patting the space next to her. “Bring your notebook.”
“You’re bossy.” I grab a spare notebook and fall down beside her.
“It’s too late for a full-on history lesson, so I’m just giving you the basics.”
I nod and write down THE BASICS in my book. Romi rolls her eyes at me.
“So, the First Five were the first families in town. Not the miners, obviously. They don’t count.”
“Yeesh.”
She sits up and starts peeling down her stockings. “We’ll start with the Harts.”
I immediately think back to the first night I arrived in Cinderhart. Didn’t Vicky say we were going to meet the Harts that Saturday?
“Is that a common last name around here?” I ask Romi.
Romi snorts. “Most def not .” She picks invisible lint from her top, lips pouting. “They’re still into arranged marriages, that’s how pure their bloodline is.”
Wow. Vicky was friends with the most influential family in Cinderhart? No wonder my parents were so keen to get over here. I had no idea I was bunking with royalty. Or close enough, anyway.
“The Harts bought Littlerock from the Appalachians and built the first coal mine over by Jackleg Valley,” Romi says. “When they struck coal, they brought in workers and overseers and stuff to set up a town. Those were the first five families.”
She points at my notes, which is basically HART, MINE, APALACHINS—fuck knows how you spell that—and, FIRST FIVE.
“The Jacksons, the Baileys, the Capellas, the Wrens. And the Harts, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I murmur. “Wait, so the Serpents don’t belong to any of those families?”
“Nope. I only know of two First Fives at the Academy. Eliza Jackson’s a sophomore here. Her room is down the hall. But all the Harts children have been schooled here in the past. It’s like tradition. The reigning Harts—Jet and Ophelia—will be sending their kid here next year.”
I wonder how old the Harts are. Well, Jet, anyway. Was there maybe a chance he was enrolled in the Academy at the same time as my parents? I’m not even sure if Vicky is the same age as my parents, but it would make sense. That’s probably how they became friends.
What a trip.
“Now, the First Five all have members on the town council, and since there are only seven seats, if they vote together, they can get anything they want passed.”
“Do they do that often?”
Romi shrugs. “If I remember correctly, they voted to have the town relocated after the mine collapsed?—”
“Wait, I thought there was an explosion?”
She glances at me, her face unreadable. “Let’s leave conspiracy theories for the next lesson.”
Conspiracy theories? The woman who drove me here from Cinderhart made it sound like fact. Maybe I’d misheard.
“Anyway, they voted on that, and they voted to have Cinderhart Academy built so their kids didn’t have to go out of town for college. Other stuff too, but those were the biggies.”
“Do you like living in Cinderhart?”
“Yeah, it’s cool,” Romi goes to her closet, her door squeaking as she opens it. “I mean, it’s not Europe, but at least everyone knows their place.”
Even the Serpents, as much as she despises it. I want to ask her how long her family has been in Cinderhart, but I have a feeling that’s a very rude question around here. I’ll definitely have to go to the library tomorrow and see if they have any local history books. Maybe I can even dig up newspapers from around the time I was here last, see if there’s any mention of a dead body turning up in the woods.
“Is it safe here? I mean, don’t serial killers love small towns like this?”
“Serial killers?” Romi snorts. “Nope. Not anymore.”
“Not anymore ? As in, you had one in the past?” I watch as she hangs up her blazer and takes off her bow and folds it up. A pussycat bow, is that what Knox called it? Usually if a guy started spouting shit like that I’d automatically assume he was gay. But Knox is…well…he’s too masculine to be gay. Maybe bi if there were drugs involved or something. Then again…he does seem pretty close with his posse.
She yawns, waves away my question. “Enough, Nim. Aren’t you tired?”
“My food hasn’t even digested,” I grumble.
I’m too fucking curious to go to sleep. I know I’m just going to lie awake thinking all night. “Then go for a walk.”
“Won’t I get expelled?” I pluck at my faded white and red polka dot sleeping shirt. “I’m not in uniform.”
She snort-laughs at that and heads into the bathroom, popping her head out a second later as she puts toothpaste on her electric toothbrush. “If you stay inside the dorm, you’ll be fine. Just be back before curfew.”
“Which is?”
“Ten.”
I glance over at the clock on our wall. Forty minutes or so. “Okay, see you later.” I grab my silk robe and tie it around my waist before slipping barefoot out of the room.
One or two of the other rooms are open, and I walk past a few girls in various stages of transition between uniforms and pajamas. Suddenly, the dark decor and gothic architecture don’t feel as menacing as the first time I walked this hallway. Girls in pink bunny slippers and green peel-off face masks tend to tone down the drama a bit.
I saunter through the girls’ dorm, soaking up the surreal atmosphere. Stiff, formal portraits of former students or professors take up a lot of wall space. I glance at the plaques under the frames, but I don’t recognize any of the names on this level. The tapestries give me the creeps, so I avoid looking at them. The top three floors of this building are all apartments, but the first floor is a common room with a big lounge, a few reading nooks, and a coffee station.
I’m surprised at how many students are down here this time of night. As soon as I clear the stairs, most of the girls who aren’t glued to whatever reality show is playing on the large flat-screen television on the other side of the room turn to look at me.
I freeze, and my cheeks immediately start heating up. I have no idea how many of them were in the cafeteria and of those, who were close enough that they would recognize me. But judging from the lack of sympathy on their faces and the few instances of outright curiosity, I’d guess more than half.
One of them—a slim, blond with brown eyes—seems particularly interested in me. My first instinct is to leave in a hurry, butI muster up every shred of confidence I have and force myself to go to the coffee station on the other side of the room. There’s one open seat by the television. Maybe I can have a hot chocolate or something with the other girls before going back to my room. Or I’ll probably wuss out and head straight upstairs with my tail between my legs.
I’m busy stirring my hot chocolate when floral-scented lotion hits my nose.
“That was you in the cafeteria.”
When I turn, I see it’s the blond. I give her a wary look. “Better watch out. I might just have rabies,” I tell her in a stiff voice.
She looks at me for a second and then cracks a small smile. “I’m Eliza Jackson,” she says, sticking out her hand.
“Nim.” When she keeps holding my hand, an expectant gleam in her eyes, I add, “Winters.” Guess that’s what you do around here—you don’t give your name, you hand over credentials.
Wait... Jackson ? Wasn’t that...?
“You’re one of the First Five,” I say.
There’s a flash in Eliza’s eyes, but fucked if I know whether it’s surprise or irritation or something in between. “Yeah, that’s right.” She shifts her weight onto her other foot and crosses her arms over her chest. “And you’re... new.”
“Not really. My parents used to stay here.”
Her expression doesn’t change one whit. “Do they still live here?” The way she phrases it, it’s as if she already knows the answer.
Bitch move.
“They’re buried here...does that count?”
God, what a mess that was. I didn’t even attend the funeral—I came down with a horrible case of food poisoning on the day. Serves me right for eating fish tacos from a questionable food truck on my way home from my evening shift at Purgatory. I was so busy spewing, I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my parents.Thank God for Uncle Quinton. He took care of everything for me.
But my first free day in this godforsaken place, I’m taking a trip to the cemetery so I can say a proper goodbye to my parents.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Eliza blinks, her mouth turning down at the corners. “I had no idea.”
“How could you?” I tilt my head. “We’ve only just met.”
She glances at my cup of hot chocolate, then back at me. “I do hope the Serpents teach you some new tricks.” She makes a circle with the tip of her index finger. “My favorite is roll over .”
As soon as I look away, I notice several of the girls in the lounge looking at me. The rest are watching Eliza.And it’s not casual interest in their eyes. They look almost…predatory.
God, what is up with this place?