CHAPTER 2lorena
“You can leave those anywhere.”
The speaker strides in wearing bright pink pants, stiletto heels, and an open blazer revealing a lacy crop top. She’s followed by a couple of male students who appear to have brought up her set of matching pink suitcases.
“Thanks so much,” she says, flashing them a dazzling smile. They stumble out the door like they’re starstruck, and our roommate surveys the space admiringly, taking her sweet time to acknowledge us.
“Oh, hello!” she says, like she’s only just noticed we exist. “I’m Tiffany Carter.” She announces her name as if we should know it.
I’m not surprised those guys fell under her spell because she looks like a Barbie who’s come to life—long legs, high cheekbones, and dewy black skin that looks like it couldn’t grow a zit if it tried.
“Hi, I’m Salma Santos.”
Tiffany’s gaze drifts down, taking in my friend’s all-black ensemble. It’s impossible not to notice how polar opposite their styles are, and I smirk as I flash toWicked ’s Elphaba and Glinda.
Tiffany looks at me, eyes narrowed, and I worry she thinks I’m laughing at her.
“I’m Lorena,” I say in a friendly tone.
She just stares back at me for a beat. “Is that a stage name, or don’t they have last names where you’re from?”
I turn to Salma, who raises her brow like she’s also taken aback. Tiffany went from sugary to sour as soon as those guys left.
Pick-Me Barbie.
“Her name is LorenaNavarro,” Salma answers for me. “Are we good, or do you need our social security numbers, too?”
I grin, but Tiffany’s expression stays tight.
“Come on, Lore, let’s unpack,” says Sal.
“Do you two already know each other?” asks our roommate.
“Our whole lives,” I say, and I’m pleased to see her expression slacken with disappointment. Then she shrugs, shaking off her displeasure.
“Guess that means this one’s all mine!” Tiffany drops her pink handbag on the solo bed, and Salma and I lock eyes before turning toward the bunk bed.
“I call top!” she shouts first, and I don’t fight her because I’m just glad to see her getting excited about something.
As Sal climbs up to test her new mattress, I set my book bag on the bottom bunk and roll my luggage closer to the bed. Tiffany is already opening her meticulously packed pink suitcase and rummaging through it. She plucks out a poster and extends it on the mattress so it flattens.
It looks like some kind of manifesting collage filled with handwritten quotes alongside photos of people, designer clothing, expensive cars, and fancy houses. I recognize Abby Phillip, Rachel Scott, and Gayle King, who are all on-air newscasters. Ma has been interviewed by two of them.
Since dinner is starting soon, I open my own suitcase to pull out my uniform, and I feel a sharp cramp in my uterus. “Bathroom,” I say to Salma, and when she says nothing back, I peek up at her. My best friend is fully asleep.
I think it’s a superpower of hers, the way she can nap at a moment’s notice.
“You better wake her up so she can change before dinner,” says Tiffany without looking at me. She’s buttoning the uniform’s white collared shirt over her lacy crop top.
“No need,” I say as I open the door to leave.
“Why not—?”
Since I’m not going to tell her about Salma’s mourning, I let the thud of the heavy door shutting be my answer.
The bathroom looks more modern than the rest of the manor, featuring black and white tiles, gold-brushed faucets, and frameless mirrors. There arefour toilet stalls, four sinks, and four showers, but right now I’m the only one in here.
I lock myself in a stall, and as I suspected, my period has arrived a day early. Right as I sit down on the toilet, I hear the bathroom door swing open.
