So what? Might not be a big deal. Don’t get defensive already.
“Why are you nervous?” Dash asked. “Because you’re going to be new?”
“Exactly,” I said. “Doesn’t that makeyounervous, Dash?”
“Nah,” he said. “I like meeting new people. If you get nervous, all you do is turn to the person sitting next to you, and say, ‘Hi, I’m Harper. I’d like to be your friend.’”
I grinned. “That easy, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Where did you learn that?”
“Sesame Street, of course.”
“Of course.”
I pulled up to the car line and helped Dash out of his booster. “You know where you’re going?”
“Yup.”
“Good man. I’ll be here after school to pick you up, okay?” I ruffled his hair. “Have a great day, buddy. Love you.”
“Love you, Harper.”
He waved his little starfish hand at me and jogged eagerly into the school.
Brave kid, I thought. I wished I had half of his courage and a fraction of his optimism. I’d long ago decided my real job—more important than making good grades or getting into a good college—was to preserve that spirit in Dash for as long as I could.
***
My minority status was made evident before I even left Castle Hill Academy’s student parking lot: Every other car was manufactured in this decade. I headed for the white-winged, angular building that looked more like someone’s idea of the future. As I passed by clumps of students basking in the early September sun, my clothing stood out as much as my car did.
Out of necessity as much as fashion sense, I preferred thriftingclothes, or even making my own. Today I wore a red, orange, and blue-striped apron-style dress over a short-sleeved white blouse and chunky shoes. Unbeknownst to me, the girl dress code at CHA seemed to be short-shorts and tight tops that showed ample cleavage, preferably in white or pastels.
“Ooh, a new Bender,” said one such girl, leaning against a Mercedes with a bunch of jocks. She twiddled her fingers at me. “Hi, Bender.”
I hunched my shoulders.
Bender. Got it.Because I live in theBend. How droll.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask how long it had taken to come up with such a witty and cutting insult, but I wasn’t even out of the parking lot. Making smart-ass remarks probably wasn’t something they taught onSesame Street. Even if Dash wasn’t around, I wanted to set a good example.
Inside the Academy, I tried not to gawk like a tourist, but…damn. Its gleaming hallways were lined with trophy cases, each one bursting with cups, medals, bowls, and plates, and draped in the school colors—black and gold. Sports were a religion at CHA, which had an Olympic-sized gym at the center of its hexagonal layout. No football team. Instead, the Castle Hill Lions competed in rowing, lacrosse, tennis, water polo, and gymnastics.Royal Pride!was the rallying cryandschool ethos.
The whole place screamedmoney and success, and I actually felt my pulse kick up that I might be standing at the starting line of an entirely different life.
In the STEM Wing, I found my first class, AP Calculus. I took an empty seat toward the back-left corner. The seat to my left remained empty until after the bell rang, when one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen sauntered in. She had long blond hair with Sabrina Carpenter–style bangs. She sat down in a cloud of expensive perfume and a haughty expression. Upon closer inspection, I saw something like fear glinting in her blue-green eyes.
The teacher, Mr. Greer, smirked. “So glad you could join us, Miss Wallace.”
This was the Queen Bee. I would’ve staked my entire college career on it. But ten minutes into class and it was obvious that she was out of her element, so lost in the equations and formulas, I wondered why she was in this class in the first place. I thought about doing what my little brother had suggested and asking if she needed help. I wasn’t a shy person by nature, but I was on guard and didn’t put myself out there.
These Richies—sooriginal—didn’t want me there, so they could fend for themselves. I was here to get a world-class education and get the hell out. I left Emery Wallace to her struggles.
At the bell, my stomach was growling. In my hurry to make Dash his lunch, I hadn’t had time to eat breakfast. Between all the gleaming trophy cases, I found a vending machine that sold nutrition bars, protein bars, and trail mix. No junk here. I found a bar that looked relatively palatable and fed the machine two dollars. The coils spun and the protein bar started its journey toward me. Then stopped.
“Oh, come on,” I murmured under the cacophony of students passing by, a hundred conversations and laughter echoing off the walls. Two dollars was absolutely nothing to most of these students, but it was something to me. Everything was something to me.
