So stunning that I almost don’t notice that, by the time we make it to the second floor, my stomach has calmed down. More like the pterodactyls have become butterflies, but I’m not going to complain, considering it’s a definite step up. I’ve still got a low-grade headache from the altitude, but for now the Advil has everything under control.
I just hope it stays that way.
I know Macy says this is supposed to be a welcome party, but I’m kind of hoping the tea just goes on as usual. My goal is to be as invisible as possible this year, and a party where I’m the main attraction kind of messes with that plan. Or, you know, totally obliterates it.
As we approach the door, I grab Macy’s wrist. “You aren’t going to make me stand up in front of everyone, are you? We’re just going to kind of mingle and walk around, right?”
“Totally. I mean, I think Dad is planning on giving a little welcome speech, but it won’t be any big deal.”
Of course he is. I mean, why wouldn’t he? After all, who doesn’t think painting a target on the new girl’s back is a good idea? FML.
“Hey, don’t look so worried.” Macy stops in front of an ornately carved set of double doors and throws her arms around me. “Everything is going to be okay. I swear.”
“I’m willing to settle for not catastrophic,” I tell her, but even as I say it, I’m not holding my breath. Not when it feels like there’s a weight pressing down on me. Making me smaller. Turning me into nothing.
It’s not the school’s fault—I’ve felt like this for the last month. Still, being here in this place—in Alaska—somehow makes it all worse.
“You’ll settle for amazing,” she corrects as she grabs my arm and wraps hers through it. Then she’s leaning forward, sending the double doors flying in both directions as she walks in like she owns the place.
And maybe she does. From the way everyone in the room turns to look at her, I can believe it. At least until I realize my worst nightmares have come true and they’re all looking at me. And none of them seem impressed.
So I decide to focus on the décor instead, which is amazing. I don’t know where to look first, so I look everywhere, taking in the crimson and black velvet baroque wallpaper, the three-tiered iron chandeliers with black crystals dripping from each elaborately carved arm, the fancy red chairs and black cloth-covered tables that take up the back half of the large room.
Every five feet or so, there are dark wall sconces with what look like actual lit candles in them. I step closer to check them out and find myself completely charmed by the fact that each wall sconce is carved into the shape of a different dragon. One with its wings spread wide in front of a fancy Celtic cross, another curled up around the top of a castle, a third obviously in mid-flight. In all the dragons, the candle flame is lined up to flicker in their wide-open mouths, and as I get even closer, I realize that yes, the flame is real.
I can’t imagine how my uncle gets away with that—no fire marshal in the country would be okay with letting a school have unattended candles around students. Then again, this is the middle of nowhere, Alaska, and I also can’t imagine a fire marshal actually paying Katmere an unscheduled visit.
Macy tugs at my arm, and reluctantly I let her pull me away from the dragons and farther into the room. That’s when I glance up and realize the ceiling is also painted red, with more of that black molding lining the top edges of the walls.
“Are you going to spend the entire party staring at the decor?” Macy teases in a low whisper.
“Maybe.” Reluctantly, I take my eyes off the ceiling and focus them on the large buffet tables that run the length of the front wall, loaded down with cheese trays, pastries, sandwiches, and drinks.
No one is at the buffet table, though, and almost no one is seated at the other tables, either. Instead, students are grouped together in various areas of the room. This self-imposed isolation might be the only thing here that feels familiar. Guess it doesn’t matter if you go to a regular high school in San Diego or a high-end boarding school in Alaska—cliques are everywhere.
And apparently—if you are at a high-end boarding school—those cliques are about a thousand times snobbier-looking and more unapproachable than normal.
Lucky, lucky me.
As Macy and I step farther into the room, I find myself eyeing the different…factions, for lack of a better word.
Energy—and disdain—permeate the air around the students near the window as they look me over. There are about thirty-five of them, and they’re all huddled into one large group, like a team going over plays right before they take the field. The guys are all wearing jeans and the girls are in tiny little dresses, both of which show off strong, powerful bodies with some major muscle definition.