Chapter Three Julia
CHAPTER THREE
“New York hypnotizes you with its autumn. Each falling leaf coaxes your consciousness into a long, sleepy sigh as you succumb to the dreamlike dance of the tumbling yellows, the falling reds, and those crinkling, crunchy browns.”
—Remington
Julia
“You cannot be serious,” I said, looking out the window.
“It’s a tradition, every first day of school since kindergarten,” my dad said, sliding his feet into his Vans. “You seriously think you’re going to have a first day of school without me capturing a photo?”
“But we have new neighbors that we don’t even know yet,” I said, the stress of the morning making me feel absolutely nauseous. The combination of a new school and my utter confidence that we wouldn’t fit in were killing me.
In the five days we’d been New Yorkers, I hadn’t really seen a single neighbor out doing anything.
Actually, I hadn’t really been able to peg who were neighbors at all, because it was Manhattan: There were just people walking on the sidewalk all the time, people who might’ve been neighbors or might’ve been tourists.
Who could tell the difference, other than the fact that the ones with dogs were probably locals, right?
Or maybe they were the dog walkers? Because, yes, my neighbors seemed to hire dog walkers who somehow managed to wrangle eight dogs at a time.
Dogs that had better accessories and style than I ever did.
But it looked like there was a girl around our age—terrifyingly fashionable and overconfidently cool—who maybe lived in the white stone house across the street.
She had long blond hair that only came from good genes and a lot of money, like she’d been visiting the very best salons since the day she was born.
No Supercuts for that girl.
“Don’t you think it would be bad luck not to get the photo we’ve always gotten?” my dad asked. “It seems like it’d be tempting fate to mess with a lifetime of memories.”
“Just let them take the damn picture so we can get out of here,” Liam said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and making me think of that guy.
The jerk with the glasses and probable broken nose.
I still couldn’t believe that’d happened. Like, who did that? Who messed with strangers for fun? Hopefully, he was just a random terrible New Yorker and not what the typical locals were like.
“Can we at least take it inside?” I asked. “Why have a gorgeous staircase if we’re not going to use it for photographs?”
“We’ve always done it outside, come on,” my dad said, brushing off the suggestion.
“Miss Julia,” Bernard said with a twinkle in his eye, “I suggest you acquiesce before your stubbornness makes you tardy.”
I rolled my eyes as I followed Liam and my dad to the front door, with my mom trailing behind us as we headed outside, because of course she’d want to be a part of this.
“Oh my gosh, you guys look so cute,” she said, smiling and clasping her hands in front of her chest. “You’re like something out of a show on Disney. I’m in love with this whole look.”
She was referring to our uniforms, which I was on the fence about.
For someone who was already pretty sure she wasn’t going to fit in among wealthy New Yorkers, at least the uniform would level the playing field a little bit. I liked the pleated skirt, the blazer, and the tie.
It felt very Chilton-esque.
My brother just looked… strange wearing nice pants and a sweater with a big crest on his breastbone, mostly because his usual wardrobe made him look like he was ready for a flash-mob impromptu basketball practice at any given moment.
This… this ensemble made him look like he was ready to study for his SATs at any given moment.
We quickly smiled for the camera, my dad trying to center us perfectly between the columns, but movement caught my attention as my mom said, “Awwwwww!” way too loudly.
Oh, geez—the cool girl.
The girl across the street was walking out her front door—talk about your crappy timing—going straight for the black SUV that was waiting. Seeing her in the same uniform that I was wearing added to my nervousness, the confirmation that people who looked like her would be attending my school.
As my mom awwwwed over our adorability, Cool Girl tossed her perfectly coiffed head and looked in our direction.
Shit, I thought, mortified that she was witnessing our geekery.
Her eyes narrowed and she looked at us like we were out of our minds, which was probably what inspired my smart-ass brother to raise his hand and yell, “Good morning, neighbor!”
Her eyes narrowed even more before she slid a pair of dark sunglasses over her eyes and got into the waiting car.
“Oh, we’re going to be best friends, I just know it,” Liam said.
“Why did you have to do that?” I said through gritted teeth as we went inside.
“You saw her and the stick up her ass,” he replied with a shrug. “How could I not?”
“Okay, go get your stuff together,” my mom said, oblivious to it all. “We should leave now so you aren’t late.”
I ran up to my room, still in shock that this was actually happening.
I was starting a fancy private school in New York.
Me.
Life didn’t make sense anymore.
Especially as I walked up the grand staircase, passing by all the luxurious decorations that adorned the walls of the place that was apparently our house.
I wasn’t one to be impressed by something just because it cost a lot, but Lou’s house—our house—was unbelievable.
Not only was it gorgeous and huge, but it had all this incredible history locked up inside it.
If you pushed down on the first-edition copy of The Great Gatsby that sat on a shelf in the library, the shelf actually slid over, and there was a secret library with better books that you could access via the coolest little ladder.
And every bit of the house was like that, I swear to God.
Liam and I were constantly finding what felt like little treasures.
My mom had zero plans to change any of the décor, because she said it felt like this was how the house was meant to be dressed. She wasn’t wrong—it was somehow very Lou-coded.
It’d never make sense that Lou had had something so amazing and then wanted to leave it to us.
Us? Had he not had someone else in his life to leave it to?
I mean, the lower level of the house he’d left to Bernard—it had its own private entrance from the outside—but shouldn’t he have left the rest of it to… someone?
My parents thought it was because we felt like family to him, but that seemed too good to be true, in my opinion.
I went into my room and slid my feet into my new shoes.
Over the weekend, my mom had taken us to Fifth Avenue and shuffled us in and out of designer stores, stores with names on them that we’d never even heard of (even though I considered myself to be relatively fashionable).
I read Vogue and watched celebrity styles, but a lot of these designers I still didn’t know.
I tied my Louis Vuitton sneakers, grabbed my Fendi backpack, double-checked that my diamond studs were fully backed and not going to fall off. I took one last look in the mirror. Ugh. Could I really do this? Did I have a choice?
It’s now or never.
And how I wished it were never. Gardenwood Academy was beyond imposing.
Very efficient, very uniform.
A string of black vehicles—all luxury—lined the curb in front of us, and when each car reached the front, back doors opened and students emerged like celebrities getting out on the red carpet.
I watched as they exited vehicles and found each other, coming together and walking into the building in groups that made me want to vomit in nervousness.
Because NYC private school cliques were far more intimidating than the cliques back home, and even those had given me endless anxiety.
As long as I’d been in school, I’d been ridiculously in my own head when it came to socialization.
Logically, I knew that no one cared what I was doing, but my brain was constantly convincing me that everyone was talking about me behind my back.
Which was probably why I’d only had two true friends—Teanna and Lauren—back home (not counting Will and Liam). I never wanted to put myself out there and talk to new people, because what if they hated me?
I pulled out my lip balm and ran it over my lips while we rounded the block where my mom had conveniently dropped us off in the minivan—away from prying, judgmental eyes—and took a deep breath.
The crisp of the autumn morning sent a chill over my face, and I froze when I looked at the school because it felt too big for me. Not in size but in stature. It was all brick, with just enough ivy crawling over the facade to make it look overpriced and like somewhere I shouldn’t be.
I adjusted my very expensive backpack as I got out, but as someone walked past me, a random girl with long black hair and a beret that managed to not look stupid, I noticed her bag. I didn’t recognize any discernible logos, but it reeked of money. Quality leather, soft and without flaws… exclusive.
Somehow you could just tell.
That drew my eyes down to her shoes, because shoes and bags were kind of the only creativity you had when the uniforms were in play, and her shoes had the same vibe as her bag.
They were some cool variety of loafer, with frilly socks underneath, but they were understated, obviously luxe, and expensive without screaming a brand name.
I looked down at my own shoes, covered in logos, and wondered if I’d made a bad choice.
“Come on, we’re going to be late,” Liam said, going around me.
My whole life people had asked what it was like having a twin, but times like this solidified the very best thing about it.
You always had someone with you. My brother could be a smart-ass, but he was always there.
“Coming,” I said, scrambling to keep up with his long legs.
It was impossible not to notice people glancing our way, which wasn’t a surprise.
It’s just because we’re new, I told myself.
But, ugh—people were definitely watching us, especially girls looking at Liam.