The Uniform Doesn’t Make the Woman,
But it Sure Does Bring Out the Insecurities
Pants or skirt?
I stare at my closet and all the clothes neatly lined up in it, courtesy of my cousin. I know I should have done this last night, but after a giant plate of nachos followed by three episodes of Legacies and a marathon gossip session over my jam-packed day, I didn’t have the energy to do much more than lie in bed and think about Jaxon.
I turn toward my desk—and the paper Jaxon brought me yesterday, which is lying directly under the copy of Twilight he sent me. Not because I don’t like it but because I like it too much, and I don’t want to share it with anyone. Not even Macy or Heather.
It’s a page ripped straight out of a copy of Anaïs Nin’s journals—I don’t know which one, because the heading doesn’t say. I almost googled it yesterday to find out, but there’s something special about not knowing, something intimate about having only this one page of her diary to go by. To have only these words that Jaxon wanted me to see.
Deep down, I am not different from you. I dreamed you, I
wished for your existence.
The page has a lot more than that simple phrase on it, but as I read and reread it about a hundred times yesterday,
these are the words that jumped out at me over and over again. Partly because they were so swoon-worthy and partly because I’m starting to feel the same way about him. About Jaxon, whose deepest thoughts and heart and pain seem to so closely echo mine.
It’s a lot to take in at any time, let alone on my first day, when my mouth is dry and my stomach is churning with nerves.
Which is why I’m currently standing here, in front of my closet with absolutely no idea of what to wear. Because I obviously worried about the wrong first-day stuff…
Do the girls usually wear their uniform pants or skirts here? Or doesn’t it matter? I try to remember what Macy wore the last couple of days, but it’s all a blank besides the tropical-print snow pants she wore for the snowball fight.
“Skirt,” Macy says as she walks out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her head. “There are wool tights to go with it in the bottom drawer of your dresser.”
I close my eyes in relief. Thank God for cousins. “Awesome, thanks.” I slip one of the black skirts off the
hanger and step into it, then add a white blouse and black blazer before going over to my dresser for a pair of black tights.
“If you wear the blouse, you’ve also got to wear the tie,” Macy tells me as she opens one of my dresser drawers and pulls out a black tie with purple and silver stripes on it.
“Seriously?” I demand, looking from her to the tie and back again.
“Seriously.” She drapes it around my neck. “Do you know how to tie one?”
“Not a clue.” I head back toward the closet. “Maybe I should go for one of the polo shirts.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll show you. It’s a lot easier than it looks.”
“If you say so.”
She grins. “I do say so.”
She starts by draping the tie unevenly around my neck and wrapping the longer end over the shorter end. A couple more wraps and a tuck and pull through—all narrated by my cousin—and I’ve got a perfectly tied tie around my neck… even if it is a little tight.
“Looks good,” Macy says as she steps back to admire her handiwork. “I mean, the knot’s not as fancy as some of the guys wear, but it gets the job done.”
“Thanks. I’ll look up a couple of videos on YouTube this afternoon, make sure I know what I’m doing before I have to tie it again tomorrow.”
“It’s pretty easy. You’ll get the hang of it in no time. In fact
—” She breaks off at the loud knock on our door.
“Are you expecting someone?” I ask as I move toward the door, motioning for her to move back toward the bathroom, as all she’s currently wearing is a towel.
“No. I usually meet my friends in the cafeteria.” Her eyes go wide. “Do you think it’s Jaxon?” She whispers his name like she’s afraid he’ll hear it through the door.
“I didn’t think so, no.” But now that she’s planted the idea in my head… Ugh. My already nervous stomach does a series of somersaults. “What do I do?” My own voice drops to a whisper without the conscious decision to do so on my part. He texted me last night before bed, but I haven’t seen
him since he came to my room yesterday around lunch, and after lying awake half the night thinking about him, I’m feeling hella awkward.
She looks at me like I’m missing the obvious. “Answer the door?”
“Right.” I smooth my sweaty palms down the sides of my skirt and reach for the door handle. I have no idea what to do, what to say…although judging by how tight this ridiculous tie suddenly feels, I may not be able to say anything at all before it actually strangles me.
I glance back at Macy, who shoots me an encouraging thumbs-up one last time, then take as deep a breath as I can manage before pulling open the door.
All my nerves dissipate in the space from one strangled breath to the next, largely because the person standing at our door is most definitely not Jaxon Vega.
“Hi, Uncle Finn! How are you?”
“Hi, Gracey girl.” He leans down and drops an absentminded kiss on the top of my head. “I just stopped by to check on your ankle and finally deliver your schedule.” He holds a blue sheet of paper out to me. “And to wish you luck on your first day of class. You’re going to do great!”
I’m not so sure about that, but I’m determined to think positive today, so I smile and say, “Thanks. I’m excited. And my ankle’s sore, but okay.”
“Good. I made sure you got into that art class you wanted and that you have our best history teacher, since that’s your favorite subject. But check over your schedule, make sure you’re not repeating any classes. I did my best, but mistakes happen.”
He tweaks my cheek like I’m a five-year-old. It’s such a Dad thing to do that my heart aches a little.
“I’m sure it’s perfect,” I tell him.
Macy snorts. “Don’t bet on it. If Dad did it himself instead of letting Mrs. Haversham do it, no telling what he’s got you signed up for.”
“Mrs. Haversham did it,” he tells her with a wink. “I just supervised. Brat.” He walks over and gives her a one-armed shoulder hug and the same kiss on the top of her head that he gave me.
“Ready for that math test today?” he asks. “Been ready for a week.” She rolls her eyes.
“Good. And how’s that English project going? Did you finish—?”
“This is a boarding school,” Macy interrupts, smacking lightly at his arm. “That means parents don’t get to give their kids the third degree over every assignment.”
“That’s because they don’t know about every assignment. I, however, do. Which means I get to check up on you whenever I want.”
“Lucky me,” she deadpans. He just grins. “Exactly.”
“Are you going to get out of here so I can get dressed? Grace and I still need to hit the cafeteria before class. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all.”
“Not if you waste it on cherry Pop-Tarts.”
“Cherry Pop-Tarts are their own food group.” She glances my way. “Back me up here, Grace.”
“Maybe two food groups, if you count the frosting,” I agree. “So are the brown sugar ones.”
“Exactly what I’m talking about!”
It’s Uncle Finn’s turn to roll his eyes. But he drops another kiss on her head before heading for the door. “Do your old man a favor and grab some fruit with those Pop-Tarts, will you?”
“Cherries are fruit,” I tease him.
“Not that way, they aren’t.” He gives me a comforting shoulder squeeze. “Don’t forget to stop by my office later. Now that you’re feeling better, I want to talk to you about a few things and hear how your first day went.”
“It’ll be fine, Uncle Finn.”
“I’m hoping it will be more than fine. But good or bad, come tell me about it. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Good. See you later, girls.” He smiles at us, then disappears out the door.
Macy shakes her head as she grabs her own school uniform out of the closet. “Just ignore him. My dad’s a total dork.”
“Most good dads are dorks, aren’t they?” I ask as I move to the mirror on my closet door so I can start fixing my hair. “Besides, he reminds me of my dad. It’s kind of nice.”
She doesn’t say anything to that, and when I glance her way, it’s to find her staring sadly at me—which is, bar none, the second worst thing about losing my parents. I hate the sympathy, hate the way everyone feels sorry for me and no one knows what to say.
“That was supposed to be a happy comment,” I tell her. “You don’t need to feel bad.”
“I know. It’s just that I’m so happy you’re here and we
have this time to get to know each other. And then it hits me all over again and I feel gross for being happy.” She sighs. “Which sounds like I’m making this all about me, but I’m not. I just—”
“Hey, you.” I break into what I’m learning could be a really, really long soliloquy. “I get it. And though how I got here sucks, I’m glad we have this time, too. Okay?”
A slow smile takes the place of her worried look. “Yeah, okay.”
“Good. Now get dressed. I’m starving.”
“On it!” she says, disappearing into the bathroom to do just that.
Twenty minutes later, we finally make it down the back stairs (“sooooo much less crowded,” Macy swears) to the cafeteria, after winding our way past no less than seven suits of armor, four giant fireplaces, and more columns than existed in all of Ancient Greece.
Okay, the last might be a slight exaggeration, but only slight. Plus, the fact that they’re black instead of white gets them extra points in my book. And that’s not even counting the gold filigree around the tops and bottoms of the columns.
I mean, the whole thing is a total head trip. Seriously. Going to school in Alaska is wild enough. Going to school in an actual castle, complete with halls whose bloodred ceilings are lined with Gothic lancet arches, is hella cool.
At least if you don’t count all the people staring at me as we make our way through the halls. Macy dismisses it as “new-girl stuff” and tells me to ignore it. But it’s pretty hard to do that when people are honest-to-God turning around to
stare at me when I pass. I know Macy said they’ve all been together for a long time, but come on. I can’t actually be the first new person to land here, can I? Just the idea is absurd. Schools get new kids all the time—even schools in Alaska.
Macy interrupts my inner diatribe with an excited “We’re here!” as we stop in front of three sets of black-and-gold doors. The wood is carved, and I try to get a closer look at the designs, but my cousin is in too big of a hurry to show me the cafeteria. Which…seen one, seen them all, I figure.
But as she throws open one of the doors with all the pomp and flair of a game-show hostess showing me the car behind curtain number one, it’s pretty obvious that I’m wrong. Again. Because this cafeteria—and it feels wrong to even refer to the room by such a mundane name—is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Ever.
I’m pretty sure it even puts the library to shame.
To begin with, the room is huge, with long walls covered in different murals of dragons and wolves and I don’t know what else. Crown molding in black and gold runs around the edges of the ceiling and down the walls, framing each mural like a regular painting. The artist in me is fascinated and wants to spend hours studying each one, but I’ve got class in half an hour, so it’ll have to wait. Plus, there’s so much else to see here that I don’t know where to look first.
The ceiling is arched and an in-your-face, unapologetic bloodred, overlaid with curved black molding in elaborate geometric patterns. A huge crystal chandelier hangs from the center of each one, casting the whole room in a soft glow that only makes its grandeur more obvious.
There are no picnic-style tables here, no utilitarian trays or
plastic silverware. Three long tables covered in tablecloths in shades of gold and black and cream run the length of the room. They are surrounded by tufted, high-backed chairs and set with real china and silverware.
Classical music floats through the room, dark and more than a little eerie. I don’t know much about this kind of music, but I know creepy when I hear it, and this is definitely it.
So much so that I can’t resist saying to Macy, “This music is very, um…interesting.”
“‘Danse Macabre’ by Camille Saint-Saëns. Overkill, I know, but my dad has it playing in here every year for Halloween. Along with the score from Jaws and a few other classics. It just hasn’t been changed over yet.”
I think about Lia and how she said the same thing about the pillows in the library. In my old school, the Halloween spirit was pretty much exhausted by reading a scary story in English class and a costume contest on the quad at lunch. Katmere Academy takes the holiday to a whole new level.
“It’s cool,” I say as we find a cluster of empty seats.
“It’s a lot, especially weeks after it’s over. But Halloween is my dad’s favorite holiday.”
“Really? That’s so weird, considering my dad hated it. I thought it must have been something that happened when he was a kid, but apparently not, if your dad goes all out for the holiday.” I asked Dad once, a few years ago, why he disliked Halloween so much, and he said he would tell me when I was older.
Turns out the universe had other plans.
“Yeah, that is weird.” Macy glances around. “But isn’t this
place cool? I’ve been dying for you to see it.”
“Totally cool. I want to spend hours just looking at the murals.”
“Well, you’ve got all year, so…” She gestures for me to sit. “What do you want to eat? Besides cherry Pop-Tarts, I mean.”
“I can come with you.”
“Next time. Right now you should get off your hurt ankle for a few minutes. Besides, I’m pretty sure today is going to be a little overwhelming. Let me help out where I can.”
“It’s pretty hard to say no to that,” I tell her, because she’s right. I’m already overwhelmed, and the day has barely started. I’m also touched by how hard Macy is working to make things easier for me. I smile my thanks at her.
“So don’t say no.” She pushes me playfully toward a chair. “Just tell me what you want to eat, or I’ll bring you seal steak and eggs.”
The horror must show on my face, because she bursts out laughing. “How about a pack of cherry Pop-Tarts and some yogurt with canned berries?”
“Canned berries?” I ask, doubtful.
“Yeah, Fiona, our chef, cans them herself when they’re in season. Fresh fruit is pretty hard to come by up here once late fall hits. The display at the party the other day was a special treat.”
“Oh, right.” I feel silly. Of course there aren’t any fresh berries in Alaska in November. If a pint of Ben and Jerry’s costs ten bucks, I can’t imagine what a pint of strawberries would be. “That sounds great. Thanks.”
“No problem.” She grins at me. “Sit down and take a load
off. I’ll be right back.”
I do as she directs and pick a chair that faces the wall— partly because I really do want to study the closest mural and partly because I’m sick of pretending I don’t see people staring at me. At least with my back turned to most of the room, I won’t be able to see them and they won’t be able to see my face.
The negative is that I also won’t be able to watch for Jaxon, and I was really hoping to see him this morning. Which sounds desperate, I know, but I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened between us yesterday. I kind of hoped he’d text me this morning, but he hasn’t so far.
I want to know what he meant by that journal page, want to know if it means he feels all the wild things I do. It’s impossible to imagine that he does—I knew he was out of my league the first day I met him. But that doesn’t keep me from wanting him, any more than Macy’s warnings do. Or the air of darkness that he wears like a badge of honor…or a set of shackles. I haven’t quite figured out which.
There’s a part of me that wants to sneak a look behind me, just to see if I can catch a glimpse of him. But it seems way too obvious, at least with half the cafeteria watching me. And they are watching—I can feel their eyes even with my back turned. I know Macy says it’s no big deal, that it’s just new-girl stuff, but it feels like more than that.
I don’t have time to dwell on it, though, because Macy’s got a fully loaded tray in her hands and is heading straight for me.
“That looks like more than Pop-Tarts and yogurt,” I tease
as I help her set it down so she won’t spill anything.
“I did fine on the food, but when I got to drinks, I didn’t know if you wanted coffee or tea or juice or water or milk, so I brought one of each.”
“Oh, wow. Um, the juice is great.”
“Thank God.” She holds out a glass of red liquid. “I was afraid you were going to say you wanted the coffee, and then I was going to die. Especially since Cam drinks tea, so I can’t steal his when he gets here.”
