Nobody in Particular(7)

Okay, this is what I’d worried Bramppath would be like. If this was my first time seeing any of the students, I probably would’ve made a beeline back to the car and shut myself in the back seat until Mom and Dennis agreed to take me back home.

The fifth-year girls all live in the same building: Dewitt, named after some teacher. Hellene told us in the tour but it was right around the time I was entering full panic mode, so I don’t remember all the details. It’s one of the most centrally located buildings, smack in front of a sprawling marble fountain. The more senior you are, the closer you live to the main entrance, which leaves us with the second-best real estate.

I’m on the ground floor, in room eleven. Bramppath sent me a key card in the mail a couple of weeks ago, and we slot it into the door a few times until the chip’s accepted and the lock flashes green. Dennis whistles again as we head inside. The rooms at Bramppath are all private, and they’ve even managed to squeeze a full bed in here—just. That, a wardrobe and desk—both made of a dark cherrywood—and a leather desk chair, and that’s it for furnishings. The walls are a plain, washed-out cream, and the carpet’s a dark gray color, perfect for hiding stains. I try not to think about what might be camouflaged under my feet right now.

It’s plain, and it’s cramped, and it smells like disinfectant.

I love it.

After a couple of hours we manage to get my room looking less like a fancy prison cell and more like an Ikea display room. After a stern lecture from Mom to keep on top of my piano lessons, followed by a long goodbye that we have to repeat several times because Mom keeps chickening out from leaving the room, suddenly, they’re gone. And I’m alone.

I’m totally alone.

I wander around my room for a bit, folding my arms across my chest. There’s basically nothing familiar here. When Mom offered to take me on a Target shopping spree so I’d have all new things at Bramppath, I jumped at the chance. I figured the more new, glossy stuff I have the better, so I’ll stand out less. But now I’m regretting it. I’d take my old, striped, faded, cat-hair-covered sheets over new and glossy any day.

Besides. Target stuff won’t impress the students here. I was kidding myself.

Before the homesickness has a chance to really get started, I message Molly to tell her I’ve arrived.

It turns out her room is on the next level up, on B-floor, so she’s down in less than a minute. She spends a while politely admiring all the Target stuff, then she plonks on my bed and spreads her body into a starfish position while she bounces. “It’s so good to be in the senior cycle, you have no idea,” she says, patting the bed. “The small doubles we had last year were not okay.”

I straddle the desk chair and lean my chin on its back. “Is that like a twin XL? Because honestly even that would’ve been an upgrade for me from home.”

She props herself up and gives me a pitying look. The kind of look I would probably have taken offense to if I didn’t know Molly meant well. “How did you survive?”

“People survive sleeping on twins every day, Molly.”

I think that’s when she notices how she sounds, because she ducks her head. “Sorry. That was very ‘Rose’ of me.”

I let out a laugh, thinking back to the conversation I had with Princess Rosemary at Molly’s party. She’s far from the meanest person I’ve ever met, but she wasn’t exactly warm, either.

I’m still not sure what I think about our interaction at the party. On the one hand, it was the first time that day I did anything except smile and answer questions politely and panic that I was making a shitty first impression. On the other, I think Rosemary might have just triggered my fight-or-flight response, which is definitely not the same thing as coming out of my shell.

So, what was that all about? Was it my gut instinct recognizing her as the same sort of bully that terrorized me last year? That’s sort of how Maddison and her gang functioned, after all. They’d make little comments that sounded friendly and innocent, like asking my opinion on something, or complimenting my appearance. But then if I took them at face value and answered normally, she and her friends would burst out laughing, like it was hilarious I could’ve thought they were being nice to me. The only safe way to reply to those girls was silence, or coldness. They couldn’t laugh at that. On the other hand, it made me look like a nasty person to anyone in earshot. I could never win, and they wanted it that way.

But that was last year, and there was no group of girls laughing at me at Molly’s party. So, I have to give Rosemary the benefit of the doubt for now, right? Just because she’s got a prickly sense of humor doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve met my new future-bully. I hope not, anyway.

Meanwhile, Molly has shifted. Her jaw and fists seem to be competing over which can clench the tightest. Her fists are winning, for the record.

I noticed the same tense body language when Molly spoke to Rosemary that day. So, while we’re talking about her, I decide to ask Molly the question that’s been bugging me since her party. “Hey, um, when we were at your house, people kept asking you about Rosemary.”

She nods and starts rolling her shoulders, stretching her neck as she does.

“It sort of sounded like everyone thinks you’re friends,” I say. “Like, good ones. But I don’t get that vibe from you.”

Molly pretends to look shocked. “You don’t?”