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Once I’m seated at my desk in homeroom, the teacher takes attendance. When the bell rings, there’s a cacophony of noise as everyone grabs their stuff, ready to head to their first class. Like most days, I receive a few calls of hello and a few flirty smiles from the guys I vaguely recognize but assume must be on the list of potential husbands. But no one bothers to wait for me while I hang back the same way I do every day. When I finally step out of the classroom, the halls are emptying, and no one notices the blonde moving unobtrusively toward her next class.
Hiding in plain sight has become one of my special skills. I’m invisible because no one knows to look for me, and apart from my sister, I don’t think there’s a single person in this entire school who actually knows my first name.
The moment I round the corner and spot the door for my history class, I straighten and pull back my shoulders. Striding purposefully into the room, I take my seat, three rows back, three rows in, and place my laptop and the assignment I finished the day after it was given out onto the desk in front of me.
School has always been easy for me. I don’t consider myself super smart, but having no friends, no one to distract me, and a complete lack of social life makes it easy for me to read ahead in all of my books and have a basic understanding of whatever is going to be taught before the teacher even opens their mouth. Considering how many of my own classes I miss, it’s a good job that I do find it easy to retain information.
Dutifully listening as the teacher explains something I already understand, I’m relieved when the bell rings and the kids around me surge to their feet, eager to pack away their laptops and books. As I save my notes and slowly put my things back into my backpack, I hear the familiar chime of a text message coming from my ancient cell phone.
Closing my eyes, I exhale sadly, already knowing exactly what the message will say before I even look at it. My next period is social studies, but Penelope’s is AP chemistry, a class that in the last eighteen months I’ve attended more often than she has.
A wave of rebellion crashes over me, dousing me with righteous indignation. Why should I do this for her? Why, when she disappeared this weekend and left me to deal with her life, should I drop my class and go to hers instead? She wouldn’t do it for me, no matter how much money was at stake.
I can feel the weight of the darkroom key in my blazer pocket, and its presence offers more comfort than anything else in this school. With each day that passes, it’s been getting harder and harder not to retreat to the only space in this place where I actually exist as Izabella.
Hugging my bag to my chest, I bite my lip. I know there’ll be hell to pay later, but right now, the excitement of not doing what’s expected of me and not playing by my parents’ rules is more than I can resist.
Waiting until the classroom is empty, I move to the door, a smile tipping at the edges of my lips. My cell beeps again, but I ignore it and step into the emptying hallway. Instead of heading to the science block or my own class, I walk slowly and confidently, with my head held high, all the way to my darkroom.
By the time I reach the door, the hallways are empty except for a handful of stragglers all rushing to get to class. But I won’t be missed. My teachers have been conditioned not to expect me to attend, so no one will question why I’m not there.
Glancing over my shoulder, I look to my left, then to my right to make sure no one is watching as I slide the key free from my pocket and push it into the lock. Checking once more, I turn the handle and step into the room, closing the door behind me.
Smiling widely, I squeal with excitement as I twist the lock and secure the door. My cell beeps for a third time. Penelope is going to be losing her mind, but instead of reading her messages, I pull my cell from my bag, hold down the button, and turn it off.
My legs feel a little shaky as I fall down onto the couch, but I’m still grinning maniacally when I twist my hands into fists, lift my middle fingers into the air, and wave them at the door, my sister, and this fucked-up pretense.
6
GULLIVER
Mr. Long slaps his hand against the top of the desk, drawing our attention. His beady eyes scan the room as he pushes his pretentious rimless glasses up his nose with one finger, a glass full of iced tea with a slice of lemon held aloft in his other hand.
“Today we will be discussing the principles we have been learning for the last four weeks. I’ll be grading all of you on your ability to competently discuss and analyze a chemical hypothesis and then perform a practical application,” he says, his voice a monotone drone.
Sighing, I lean back in my seat, watching the rest of the class from my position in the back row. Davis, Kip, and I claimed these seats during freshman year and have kept them ever since. Back then, we thought it made us cool. Now we just enjoy having a wall to lean against and the best view.
Unbidden, my gaze falls on the back of Penelope’s white-blonde head. Running my eyes over her, I spot the cell phone she’s typing on hidden beneath her desk. A wry scoff falls from my lips. Surely Little Miss Perfect rule-follower should know better than using her cell during class.
After she and her parents left on Friday night, Dad and I got into it yet again about me marrying her. All he sees when he looks at her are dollar signs. He doesn’t care if I like her or if I want to tie myself to her for the next however many years. All he cares about is the money.
I’m so sick of having the same argument with him about her and her family, but no matter how many times I say it, he refuses to hear that I have absolutely no intention of ever marrying that evil little whore.
But the way she acted on Friday is still playing on my mind. I’ve refused to really get to know Penelope. I know who she is, and that’s enough to know she’s not who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Which is why the wide-eyed fear I’d seen in her eyes when I’d teased and taunted her has bothered me so much. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was shocked by the way I spoke to her. But that can’t be true because I’ve overheard her say much more suggestive things to guys before, without even a hint of a blush in her cheeks.
It’s stupid to think that the fear I saw was anything more than an act, but something about the way her lower lip had trembled when I’d suggested she put on a show for me seemed almost…real. In fact, the way she behaved the entire time she was at my house was strange. She acted like she’d never been there before, which is ridiculous considering I’ve lost count of how many times her flowery, vanilla perfume has stunk up the place.
Now that I think about it, she hadn’t been wearing her signature scent that night. Instead, there’d been a subtle hint of roses that lingered after she’d left.
“Miss Rhodes, please put your cell phone away, the rest of us are ready to start the class,” Mr. Long hisses derisively.
“Sorry, sir,” Penelope says sweetly, lifting her chin to flash him her perfect smile.
While our teacher returns his attention to the rest of the class, my gaze stays focused on her. She almost looks flustered, something I’ve never seen Penelope Rhodes, heir to a small fortune, ever look before.
Her fingers are tapping agitatedly against her desk and her head keeps moving, like she’s darting her eyes from side to side. From my seat behind her, I watch as her arms tense and she visibly stops herself from tapping and instead lifts her hands and runs her fingers through her hair.
Most people fidget when they’re bored or nervous or uncomfortable, but never her. She’s almost abnormally still, like a robot, so I can’t help but watch as she pulls her perfect blonde locks into a ponytail at the back of her head, then releases it so her hair falls back over her shoulders again.
