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Carla, Olivia and Spencer.
Wes and Carla.
Christina, Danny and Carla—Christina’s b’day.
Ahmed—date.
Carla.
Carla.
Carla.
The names are all interchangeable, but not Carla’s. Carla, my fake best friend, who Ruth and Gaynor agreed should have fake-died last year just like Rachel did. I don’t know why they did that. Why, in this fabricated little world that they created for me, even my fictitious best friend had to be taken away from me. It doesn’t seem fair. I’ve never begrudged the hand I was dealt in life. My childhood. Bolting from foster care the first chance I got. Living on the street. Having the ever-loving shit kicked out of me when I first joined Falcon House. I never resented any of it. Life is fucking hard; you’re setting yourself up to be seriously disappointed if you expect it to be anything else. But I have to suffer even in my fake life? Ruth and Gaynor sent me here to accomplish a task, and to do that I have to become someone else. Would it have been so bad to let that someone else be happy? To have come from a happy place? To have lived a happy life, and have happy things to look forward to beyond their senior year? Where would the harm have been in that?
It’s almost as if Ruth wants me to suffer. She’s never been one to coddle—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I drop the polaroid I’m holding—my face, photoshopped onto the body of a girl being hugged by two laughing friends—nearly jumping out of my skin at the loud hammering on my bedroom door.
What the fuck…
“Come on, New Girl! We gotta go!”
The little travel clock Gaynor bought me blinks at me from the windowsill; it’s ten thirty. Curfew was at nine. Everyone should be in their own rooms now, studying or in bed. No way anyone should be out in the halls, banging on bedroom doors and yelling at the top of their lungs.
BANG! BANG!
“Come on, open up! We’re gonna lose our window!”
“Fuck, Mel, just leave her,” a different voice hisses. “What does it matter?”
“It matters because we’ve been waiting for this for three years,” the other girl snipes back. “We’re seniors now. We get to do this once. And you know the rules.Everyonehas to come.”
They’re far from quiet. Their voices can probably be heard two floors down. I open the bedroom door, staring at the group of girls on the other side of it. None of them are dressed for bed. Their attire is certainly confusing, though. Dresses and short skirts. Low cut tops and push-up bras. A whole fuck load of makeup on their faces. But also thick, warm jackets, and furry suede boots, with thick rubber soles. They look like they’re going clubbing but they have to navigate sub-artic conditions to get there.
The girl at the front of the group with shoulder-length wavy brown hair and bright blue eyeshadow sticks her hand out, grinning at me a little crazily. “Hey, I’m Mel. You are…?”
I take her hand and shake it, quirking an eyebrow at this motley crew. “Sorrell.”
“Sorrell? Ohh, that’s a pretty name. Okay, Sorrell. Nice to meet you. We’re gonna need you to get dressed and ready in about sixty seconds if that’s cool. We’re in a hurry, and we forgot there was another newborn on our floor.”
“Newborn?”
She waves me off, squeezing past me into my room. Wow. She’s…she’s really just making herself at home? Opening up my closet door, she begins riffling through the clothes I’ve just hung up in there, scrunching up her nose as she discards each item one by one.
“Newborns are new students. Sorry, I guess it’s not a very friendly thing to call you. It’s tradition, though. Jess?”
One of the other girls (who have all remained hovering respectfully in the doorway until now) steps forward. She’s very short and slim. Waif-like. Her dark hair is cut into a pixie cut, and her button nose is slightly upturned at the end. She looks like her name should be Tinkerbelle.
“Do me a favor and run back to my room, will you?” Mel asks her. “The purple dress I tried on first is still on my bed. Can you grab it for me? And the curling wand in the bathroom too, please.”
Jess grins, looking thrilled to have been tasked with this job. She takes off at a run, her boots stomping down the hallway, and I turn back to Mel, now half-submerged in my closet, throwing my hands up in the air.
“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, too, but what the fuck are youdoing, Mel?”
She laughs. “It’s First Night, dumbass.” The way she says dumbass makes it sound like an endearment.
