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I unfolded the tunic and made a little hm sound. It was a lighter gray than the leggings, and seemed to be some sort of wool. I slipped it over my head, working my arms in awkwardly, knocking my elbow against the wall more than once. But when I finally got it on, it fit perfectly. It was long, with a squared-off neck, and like an Indian kameez, it fell to just above my knees and was slit up each side to my hip.
I squatted and did a few high steps to test it all out. The outfit was warm but not too hot, and not itchy at all. Like something I could really move in. There weren’t any identifying tags—of course—but the whole thing seemed high quality and tailored just for me.
Pulling my hoodie from where I’d balled it on the counter, I retrieved my iPod and photo. Ronan’s voice echoed in my head. Leave all your possessions. The picture was an easily hidden thin slip of a thing, and a no-brainer. But the iPod? I studied the cold, glassy face of it. Was it worth the risk?
As though in answer, I felt a fresh tingling up the backs of my legs. My music. Music was my one solace. My one friend. I wouldn’t give it up.
As it was, it was killing me to surrender my favorite hat. And that decided it. I would keep some semblance of myself, wherever this place was we were headed to.
I secured my smuggled goods in my panties, grateful that regulation underwear included big cotton briefs. I smirked. I guess no thongs for the old island fogies.
I smoothed myself back into place and looked at my reflection, canting up and down on my tiptoes to get a full view in the tiny lavatory mirror. I let myself smile full-on. The weird uniform kind of worked. I looked like Madeli
ne from the kids’ books, if she’d spent her days in juvie instead of a French boarding school.
My hair, though. I pursed my lips. A hat, some Florida sweat, and a dry plane flight were the recipe for some serious hat head. You’d think nothing could go wrong with long, straight-as-an-arrow hair, but mine always managed to find a way. I raked my fingers through, shaking it out as best I could. Light yellow blond, with a conspicuous crimp just where my fedora had been. I shrugged, hoping there was something for it in my kit bag.
“Now or never,” I told myself, swinging the door open.
Lilac flinched back to avoid getting hit. She’d been looming outside, her own uniform in hand. It was a shock seeing her up close. My stomach clenched to see she was even prettier than I’d thought. And she was staring at me with hate in her eyes.
I took an inadvertent step back. Why had she taken such an instant dislike to me? Did she despise everyone? She’d acted amiable enough with Mimi.
I glanced her up and down, as though that might give some clue, and my eye caught on a chink in her gorgeous armor. The hint of a burn scar rippled Lilac’s skin, peeking from beneath her neckline.
“What are you looking at?” she asked in that evil-cheerleader voice. She’d noticed me noticing her weird scar and didn’t like it.
“Nothing,” I said with a quick shrug.
Lilac’s Mean Girls act was overkill, and it made me wonder what she might be hiding. I’d endured the broad cruelty of my father, and my well-honed survival instincts told me to steer clear.
She glared at my hair and then the crown of my head, taking in the staticky limpness of my hat head, and let out a short, sharp cackle.
I pinched my lips into a flat line. Steering clear was one thing, but I hated when people dissed my hair. Long, pale blond hair wasted on a nerd girl . . . ha ha.
“I have no words,” she said.
“Well, there’s a surprise,” I snapped, the words escaping my mouth before I could stop them. In it now, I gave her my brightest smile. I’d sworn off sarcasm, but some things just couldn’t be helped. Wit was my armor as much as Lilac’s prettiness was hers.
And I needed some armor, because, honestly, the girl was starting to scare me. Her reaction to me was over the top, and it made her seem both bitchy and unstable. A charming combo if ever there was one.
She looked me up and down, scorn oozing from her pores. “I didn’t know the uniform came in children’s sizes. Did they give you a training bra, too?”
Great, here come the height jokes. Though I was a perfectly respectable five foot two, of course Lilac had to have several inches on me. I estimated she was a solid five-nine.
My smile grew broader. Sometimes the best defense was a good offense—I hoped that was true here. “Lucky for you, it comes in extra large. ”
My new pal narrowed her eyes. Then she shoved me aside, elbowing her way into the lavatory.
I stared at the slammed door, rubbing my arm where she’d pushed me. The game, I supposed, was on.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A Range Rover with black-tinted windows met us at the island’s airstrip. That is, if you could call a snowy field bisected by a thin stripe a runway, and if the bleak rock we’d just landed on qualified as an actual island.
I unzipped the neck of my navy blue parka and gasped at how surprisingly temperate the climate was. “Wow. It’s actually not that bad out. ”
“Aye, it’s never so bad between weathers. ” Our driver smiled at me, revealing more than a few missing teeth. I wondered if he was one of the old ones Ronan had mentioned. His accent was slow and loping, but easy enough to understand. “Excepting the wind. When she’s blowing, stand fast, or she’ll lie you flat. ”
