Ann Aguirre - Mortal Danger

My first stop had to be Blackbriar; the school uniform store was open as of today, and none of the clothes I had from last year fit me. My stomach churned as I went underground, used my Charlie Card, and got on a car that wasn’t as a packed as it would’ve been earlier in the day. Plus, I was heading away from the city center.

Blackbriar had an Auburndale address. The school was the size of a small private college, “lush, pastoral grounds where the curriculum is…” and some shit in the mission statement about respect and diversity, but there sure were a lot of white faces at Blackbriar. It went along with the country club nearby, and the price tag on my annual tuition.

My parents lived relatively close to the university without paying the prices of Beacon Hill or Back Bay. Which left me twenty minutes from school on the T, and the walk from the station wasn’t so bad, unless it was raining or snowing. On those days, I could count on some asshole to splash me when he went past in his expensive sports car, paid for with Daddy’s money. Since my parents were college professors, I had good health coverage and excellent academic resources but no car. Their patent paid enough to keep me at Blackbriar, but my folks weren’t swimming in cash, unlike the majority of the school. People at school had summer homes in Martha’s Vineyard and jetted to Europe on winter break.

And I live in a walkup and ride the T.

For the first time in my life, I had trouble on the subway. See, homeliness was like a cloak of invisibility. People often pretended they didn’t see me or if they got caught looking, their gazes slid away. Sometimes I used to overhear whispered jokes or throwaway insults, and I was pretty inured to it. But today, two frat guys jostled over the seat next to me, and the victorious one immediately sprawled into my space, so I had to touch my bare knee to his or pull my legs closer together. Good old lavaballing.

I was supposed to look at him, I think, or acknowledge him in some way, but instead I sat silent through the ride despite a couple of attempts to catch my attention. Apparently, that merited a mutter of “stuck-up bitch,” as I got off the train.

Pass, jackass. Not interested.

I considered the purchase of uniforms a dry run, so to speak. Most of the students around today would be underclassmen or those who gained weight or lost it over the summer, but this should help me gauge people’s reactions. I was betting most wouldn’t recognize me. Since I was dressed in Converse, shorts, and a tank top, I ran from the station to the front gate, mostly to see how long it took.

Six minutes.

The black wrought-iron gates were open, inviting alumni and current students to enter the magical land of learning. During the school year, there would be guards here because the children of politicians, dignitaries, and executives attended Blackbriar. At pickup, the cul-de-sac would be full of black SUVs and bodyguards collecting the under-sixteen offspring of important people. I followed the paved drive toward the brick building with white trim and matching colonial columns.

Funny that my personal hell could look so charming.

The main building housed the administrative offices, the library, auditorium, and a few freshman classrooms. Green manicured lawns crossed with stone paths led between the various departments, each built in a unique architectural fashion. The athletic complex, also known as the Stinkatorium, was built in what I’d call Greek Revival style, with white stone facing, pillars, and a dome over the swimming pool.

The sheer scale of the campus sometimes made it hard to get to class on time, and it was worse when some jackass had you cornered. Not that the teachers cared why I was late. I stepped through the front door and scanned for changes. Since it was mid-August, the hall was practically empty, apart from a few scared-looking transfer students. I understood that reaction; Blackbriar was intimidating as hell, and it would probably take them a week to remember where all of their classes were located. Most of the buildings had been named after school benefactors, so that made it even harder to keep it all straight.

Student volunteers sold uniforms in the school store, where you could buy all kinds of branded crap: pens, notebooks, folders, jackets, T-shirts, hats, along with the required school garb. I knew my sizes, so I strode in, mostly wanting to get this over with. I froze for a few seconds when I recognized Cameron Dean, currently facing away from me while he fiddled with the stock. The old, awful humiliation washed over me, until I thought I might be sick.

Choke it down. Otherwise you blow your second chance, along with chunks. Stay calm. This could work to your advantage. If he puts the word out on you, it’ll make the first day of school easier.

So I took one breath, two, and thought of Kian. His face sprang to my mind’s eye, steadying me. And it wasn’t the fact that he was hot that bolstered me; it was that he’d liked me before. Or so he said.

Cameron had brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, the quintessential all-American guy. He even had a nice smile—with dimples—not that I’d ever seen it before. But the minute I stepped up to the counter, he went into dazzle mode, though he had been dating Brittany King, head queen bee, for almost two years.

“You must be new,” he said.

I shook my head, pushing my list of clothing requirements across the counter toward him. It gave me a ridiculous amount of pleasure to say, “Guess again. I didn’t come to chat with the help. Could you fill my order, please?”

His smile slipped, as if he couldn’t fathom that I hadn’t immediately fallen victim to his charm. “I don’t actually work here. I’m helping the PTA because I’m a nice guy.”

“Too good to make an honest living, huh?” My mouth twisted in a scornful smile. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Do you have a problem with me?” he demanded.

Too far, I cautioned myself.

“Only that I still don’t have my uniforms.” I paused, tilting my head. “Wait, you thought I was serious? Don’t you have a sense of humor?”

I had been listening people say cruel, unforgivable things my whole life, usually to me, and then playing it off like I was the one with the problem. You gonna cry, Eat-it? Can’t take a joke? Why don’t you do the world a favor and just kill yourself already?

And I almost did. Hateful words had a way of worming beneath the skin, until they became the unbearable echo in your head. But I wasn’t listening anymore.

“Right,” he said, moving to pull my clothes from various piles.

Then Cameron used a calculator to total up a bill I could’ve done in my head. Kind of hard not to mock him, but I managed. I’d blown cold enough for this encounter. Though I’d rather tongue kiss a tailpipe, now I had to convince him I didn’t think he was the most disgusting creature ever to crawl out of the primordial ooze.

Maybe I should go out for drama.

I handed him the credit card after he gave the damage. Pausing, he said, “Mildred Kramer? Huh.”

“It’s my mom’s card.” Though I was pretty sure that wasn’t why he was wearing the I’m-thinking-hard-and-it-hurts look.

“I figured. You don’t look like a Mildred.”

“She knows I have it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Go on and make the connection, genius.

“No, it’s not that. We had a girl named Kramer here last year.”

“Oh?” Noncommittal reply. “It’s a common name.”

“I guess. Are you a junior?”

I shook my head. If I wasn’t so determined to make him pay, I could almost feel sorry for Cameron, because he didn’t have enough cerebral wattage to light up a single Christmas bulb. “Senior this year. I’m surprised you don’t remember. You used to pay an awful lot of attention to me.”