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Being the new girl at school is going to be like having an automatic target on my back. The fact I don’t come from money or that Colton will no doubt be calling me ‘the help’ is sure to be an absolute mess.
Yay for bullying, right? Wrong.
To be completely honest, I don’t know how much of it I’ll be able to handle. At my old school, I was feared by the other students. They all knew the company I kept and they respected me. They knew I was more than capable of fucking them up if my boys didn’t. They were either kind or stayed the fuck out of my way. These private school privileged dickwads are different, they’re going to judge me by what they see. None of them know me, and just as Colton had pointed out, I’m free game.
It’s going to be a disaster.
I haven’t even stepped through the gates and I’m already certain that there won’t be anyone like me, not even close. No one in the whole town is going to understand what it feels like to lose your house, or how humiliating it is having to beg strangers for food just so you and your mother could eat that night. They won’t know the feeling of having cold showers in the dark because the gas and electricity had been turned off.
Hell, the parents of the kids at this school are probably the same bankers and CEOs who took it all away from us. They don’t care about the little people. They care about lining their pockets, and it doesn’t matter who they have to squish to make it happen.
I wonder if this school will break me. I’ve never had to endure the pain of bullying before but from what I’ve seen, it can be brutal. I’d like to think that I’m strong enough to laugh as other people’s bullshit sails off me like water off a duck’s back, but when it’s constant and comes from people who are higher up in this world, I’m sure it’s going to get me right where it hurts.
I’m not looking forward to this.
I finally silence my alarm and pull the blankets up over my head. I wonder what kind of trouble I’ll get in for missing the start of school. Would it be shrugged off like it was at my old school? Am I looking at getting detention, or is this the serious kind of bullshit that goes down in movies? Though one thing is for sure, Charles Carrington won’t be happy.
We all sat around the dinner table last night and shared a meal together. It was awkward as fuck. Colton sat, ate his dinner in three seconds flat, and then left. So with him gone, it wasn’t as bad, but it was still weird. I wonder if Charles ever invites his other staff to eat with him or if we’re special because we’re going to be living here. I hope he doesn’t think this is going to be one of those big happy family situations, because if so, I’m out. I didn’t sign up for that bullshit.
The pool house can’t come soon enough.
The sound of someone barging through my door assaults my ears, and if I wasn’t certain that it was mom I probably would have flown out of my bed and demanded some privacy.
I groan and murmur under my breath. “In three … two … one.”
The blanket is torn from my body and thrown across the room, leaving me shivering on the bed. “Up and at it,” mom says in a singsong tone. “Time to get ready for school. I thought you’d be up and ready by now.”
“Just ten more minutes,” I plead, wondering why I even bother.
“Nope. Up. You heard Charles at dinner last night. This is important for him. The dean at Bellevue Springs Academy owed him a favor and he had to pull strings to make it happen. You’re not going to embarrass me and disrespect the effort he went to. Now get up. I want to see you in your uniform. Maryne had it pressed for you last night.”
I fly up out of bed and stare at mom who happens to be wearing her own uniform. “Uniform?” I demand. “You didn’t say anything about a uniform. I’ve never worn a uniform.”
“It’s a private school, Ocean. What were you expecting?”
I gape at her and watch as she makes her way across my room and opens the walk-in closet. She returns a moment later with a white blouse that dons the BSA crest on the breast pocket and a grey pleated skirt that looks like it needs to be hemmed.
I let out a heavy sigh. It could be worse. Much, much worse.
“Fine,” I groan, trudging across the room and taking the hanger out of her hand. I hook it over the bathroom door before taking note of mom’s blue uniform and apron. She looks like a hotel maid and from the look on her face, she’s not thrilled about it.
