Page 3 of Fractured Loyalties

Three

IVY

Never in my life have I wanted more desperately to be invisible.

I mean, really… Where the hell have I ended up? I stare up at the Woods Private School sign, its letters gothic and eerie, just like the estate. It’s as if the Addams family founded this institution.

Except the Addams family would probably be a lot nicer.

I tug at my tartan skirt, which fits perfectly. It was the XXS collared uniform shirt that didn’t fit over my biceps, thanks to my inherited broad shoulders.

So, now I’m in a white band T-shirt, which has been turned inside out, to hide the logo, and stuffed into the skirt with a stupid little black tie.

All I can hope for is that I don’t have to take the blazer off.

A trio of girls in identical plaid skirts and blazers materialize at the entrance way, each of them with hair the color of honey and teeth so white it hurts to look directly at them.

Their shoes click against the marble like gunshots.

I shift to the left to avoid being in their direct path, but it’s too late.

They see me. Shit.

The tallest one, with vacant blue eyes and cheekbones that are highlighted perfectly, tilts her head and stops a few feet from me.

“Hmm…” Her pink lips are pressed together as her gaze rolls down my body. “I guess the scholarship cases can’t afford proper uniforms.”

Her friends laugh, in sync, as if they sit around and practice. It’s a sound I remember from other playgrounds and locker rooms, a brand of cruelty that’s been distilled by centuries of private education and trust funds.

Mean girls.

My face goes hot, and my lips part, but nothing comes out. Thankfully, it doesn’t matter because the girls continue into the school building. Maybe they don’t think I’m worth the energy of pursuing.

Seriously, it would be better that way.

I step inside and inch down the hallway, careful not to let my backpack catch on anything. My heart is going hard enough to make me feel nauseous, but I keep my head up, because I can feel my mother’s disapproval from many miles away.

I also hear my father’s voice echoing in my head. “Stand tall, Ivy. They’re just people. None of them are special. They just think they are.”

The thought gives me a little burst of confidence, but also a squeeze of grief. I wonder what he’d really think about me ending up here… at this place.

The first bell rings, a low, mournful thing that echoes down the marble like a threat. I look down at my schedule. Room 2A, World History, Ms. Granger.

Sounds harmless. I can handle this.

I find the room, marked with a tiny brass 2A set into the walnut trim, and step inside. Kids are already in their seats, all variations on a single genetic theme…

Rich.

I choose a middle desk. The mean girls from the lobby are in this class, too, and they’re clustered in the back row like a firing squad. They don’t stop watching me for a second.

I don’t look back, but I can feel their eyes drilling holes into my scalp.

Just breathe, Ivy. Breathe.

I try to focus my attention on the thin, gray-headed woman at the front of the class. Mrs. Granger looks like the type of woman who might have poisoned her husband in his sleep. She launches straight into roll call, rattling off last names that sound like yacht brands and law firms.

Each kid answers with a crisp, confident “Here.”

When she gets to me, she slows and looks up. “Ah, the new student. Christianson.”

I croak out a “Here.” My voice breaks in the middle, and my throat feels as if it’s on fire.

The mean girls snicker, but Ms. Granger doesn’t even blink. She’s already writing something on her clipboard. She pauses and then sighs heavily. “Ms. Christianson, please see me after class about your attire. The Woods family sets high standards for this institution.”

My whole body wants to slide under the desk and never surface again.

The next forty minutes are a blur of slides and frantic note-taking. I try to make myself as small as possible, but my T-shirt keeps pulling loose from the skirt, and the blazer, which I’m pretty sure is Roman’s, is swallowing me whole. I can’t focus on a single word.

I’ll just have to read all this later.

Finally, when the bell rings, I stay seated until the room is empty. Ms. Granger stands by the whiteboard, her arms crossed, waiting for me like a freaking executioner or something.

I gather my stuff and shuffle up to her desk. She doesn’t look at me at first, just writes something on a blue slip of paper, rips it off, and holds it out.

“Take this to the office,” she snips, glaring at me. “Dress code violation. First infraction is a warning, but any further incidents will result in detention. Please ask your parents to purchase the approved uniform.”

I stare at the slip, my hands trembling. I think of Irena and her perfectly fitted cream skirt and the way she holds herself. I imagine telling her about the dress code violation.

I have no idea how she’ll take it, but it’ll probably be tinted with disapproval.

Ms. Granger’s eyes narrow. “I expect you to comply, Ms. Christianson. The Woods family’s reputation is everything here.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I nod and clutch the blue slip so hard it tears in the middle. “I’m sorry. I just… I just haven’t had a chance…”

She softens, and I mentally retract the statement earlier about her being a secret murderer. “Transitions are hard,” she says, almost kindly. “Don’t make it any harder on yourself. These people forget nothing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I nod and then slip out of the room, my head down. I merge into the tidal wave of bodies in the hallway, where I’m jostled and elbowed, but nobody looks at me.

Thank God. Now, I just have to survive the rest of the day.

And I do… Until lunch.

The cafeteria is twice as large as at my old school, but it's also twice as terrifying. I look desperately around for any empty tables, but every spot is claimed. Still, I spend nearly five minutes slipping through the rows, hoping someone will make room for me.

In the end, I settled for a table near the trash cans.

It smells of old apples and Lysol, and the surface of the table is sticky.

I set my backpack on the chair and pick at the meal I purchased from the line—the only one I could afford with the cash in my pocket.

I stare down at a rectangle of pizza that I’m not even sure is edible.

For a private school, this food sucks.

As I poke it with my finger, I feel eyes on me and look up just in time to see the same trio of mean girls drifting past, led by the tall one…

And then my milk gets dumped right in my lap.

What a fucking cliche.

“Oops,” their leader says, eyes wide in fake horror as she flips her blonde hair. “Didn’t see you there.”

I stand up, knocking my knee on the table, and nearly lose it. But I don’t cry, I won’t give them the satisfaction. I grab a napkin, mop up the milk, and leave the pizza sitting there, untouched.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she says, so loud her voice carries over the other students’ chatter. “Look on the bright side, though, maybe it’ll help to hide those thick thighs.”

Her friends howl with laughter as if she just told the best joke ever. She makes a show of dabbing the spill with her own napkin, then leans in close enough that I can smell her perfume. “Maybe that’ll help with the stink,” she whispers. “Just trying to help, babe. I’m Blair, by the way.”

I stare at her. Not even tempted to give my own name. I have a feeling she knows it already, anyway.

“You really should get a new skirt, though,” Blair sighs as she straightens up. “That one is a little tight. I’m not sure how those legs breathe. You know, they have a tape in the drama room. I could help you measure for a proper outfit.” She gives me a wicked smile.

My teeth clench, but all I can do is shake my head. I grab my bag and bolt as her friends all laugh again.

Fuck you, Blair.

The bathroom is on the second floor, and I sprint the whole way, ignoring the stabbing in my side and the wet milky patch growing cold between my legs. I burst into the first stall, lock the door, and slide down until I can hug my knees.

Then the tears come, hot and endless, burning my cheeks and dripping onto my hands. I try to keep quiet, but the sobs leak out before I can stop them.

What the fuck am I doing here? Why did you have to go, Dad? I need you.

My sobs rack my chest so hard that it hurts, but after a few minutes of self-pity, it fades.

Crying will get me no where in this place.

I take a deep breath, and slowly stand to my feet, eyes dropping to weigh the damage.

The skirt is ruined with significant stains splashed across the blue and green tartan, and it clings to my thighs like Saran Wrap. I dig through some paper towels and start blotting, but all I end up doing is shredding them into wet pulp.

“There’s no winning,” I tell myself, shaking my head. “I’ll just have to deal with this.” I toss the sodden towels into the trash, smooth out my hair, and sling my backpack over my shoulder. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that this day absolutely cannot get any fucking worse.

And hat’s the attitude I finish the day with.

Surprisingly, it actually works. Somehow, I’m able to make it to the final bell mindlessly and, as soon as the sound fills the school, I’m up and out of this prison.

I only have to make it through one semester. Then it’s done. And I’m out of here.

I keep the mantra going as I exit the school, looking out to try to spot the black Range Rover that Edward used to deposit me here this morning.

But I don’t see it.

I do see Blair and her friends, across the courtyard, showing off for some guy in varsity rowing gear. They’re doing a great job pretending they don’t see me, but I catch Blair’s eye once. She makes a show of turning to her friend and laughing.

I have to see these assholes five days a week. I shudder at the thought, hoping like hell there’s some plan to fix this uniform issue today. I don’t care if I don’t make a single friend, honestly. I just want to graduate and get the fuck out—and speaking of…

Where is my ride?

I linger on the sidewalk, rocking back on my heels, watching the other kids leave. I pull out my phone to check for any kind of update.

Nothing.

I don’t have anyone’s phone number other than my mother’s. And as much as I hate it, I’m desperate. I navigate down to her name and type out a text.

Me: Is someone going to pick me up from school?

Ten more minutes pass, and the last freaking car leaves. My phone is still devoid of any messages. The Woods Private courtyard is suddenly a graveyard. I hug my bag and pace the edge of the steps, wondering if I should just start walking home.

The estate is around four miles away. I could do it. It’d take, like what? About an hour?

The security guard on the front drive is eyeing me, probably trying to decide whether I’m a threat or just a liability. I recheck my phone—s till nothing.

“Fuck it, I’m walking,” I mutter under my breath, and then start down the steps. However, as I make a right to head down the sidewalk toward the main road, a black SUV pulls up.

The windows are tinted, but the way it creeps up on me lets me know it’s meant for me.

I mean, who else would it be coming for? The security guard?

I brace as the passenger side window rolls down, expecting my mother or Edward. But nope…

Roman’s in the driver’s seat, smiling at me in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.

He meets my gaze before cocking a brow. “Are you just gonna stand there and stare? Get in, Ivy.” He zips the window up before I can answer.

I climb into the front passenger seat, my heart racing in my chest. The interior smells like leather with a hint of something musky I can’t put my finger on. Roman, who is dressed in a disheveled black suit, doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he drives the car forward.

“Nice outfit,” he says, his voice deadpan. “Did you raid a dumpster before school or after?”

“Before,” I snip, surprisingly less afraid of him than Blair. “I wanted to get the best choice.”

He smiles and then looks at me properly as we come to the stop sign. He scans my skirt, the stains on it, my face, and whatever other atrocities are there that I’m thankfully unaware of.

“I don’t want to hear it,” I say, holding my hand up at him and shaking my head. “It’s been a shitty day.”

He purses his lips, as if he’s considering what I’m saying. “You know, Ivy, you could have just dropped out. I’d have given you a ride to the Greyhound myself.”

I glare at him. “Do you ever shut up?”

He grins, all fangs. “Not when I’m having this much fun.”

I don’t offer him a response to that, opting instead to stare out the window. The city passes by in a blur, all brownstones and dark trees, until we hit the private road that leads to the estate. Then, the only sounds are the SUV’s engine and the tick of Roman’s ring against the steering wheel.

Well, until he opens his freaking mouth again.

“Your mother’s probably never going to pick you up,” he sighs, his voice painfully lacking any actual empathy. “She’s usually at some charity event for the Woodwinds Foundation… Or she’s fucking her personal trainer. Hard to tell most days.”

I don’t look away from my window. “Great.”

He lets it hang for another second, and then he says, “This school isn’t for people like you, Ivy.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks. I got that memo today, without your help.”

“You know what happens to kids like you?” he keeps going, digging in his heels as the car comes to a stop out front.

“They get crushed. As I mentioned, to survive here, you need to stop bleeding all over the place.” He gestures to the spot on my skirt.

“Swallow the grief because no one gives a fuck about it, Ivy.”

I glare at him, but my throat constricts from the blast of hurt. Fuck you, Roman. I shove the door open, barely getting my seatbelt undone before I slide out.

I hate this place. But I might hate Roman most of all.