Page 11 of Ruthless Chaos

Despite the well-decorated interior, the dorm is a ghost town. The two girls that exit the room are the first people I’ve seen apart from the housekeepers.

I try not to stare at them but can’t help myself.

They look like carbon copies of each other—tall and blonde with perfect proportions. They’re even wearing different colors of the same cropped blazer and collared A-line dress. When they get closer, I realize they’re not twins but just…trying hard to look like each other? That makes it even weirder.

Even their heels click in sync with their bouncing ponytails.

Pressing my back to the nearest wall, I keep watching them because it seems like they haven’t noticed me. Just as I’m convincing myself it’s because I’m quite a bit shorter than they are, so I’m probably invisible to them, one of the girls stops and turns toward me.

I don’t even have time to act like I wasn’t just gawking at them.

“I love your hair,” she says in a chirpy voice, looking at me from head to toe. I flinch when she reaches out to wrap one of my curls around her finger. I hate when people touch my hair without permission. “It’s...quaint.”

She stares at me so intently it’s like she’s seeing through me. I can’t tell if she’s being sincere, but I smile. It’s all I can manage; I’m frozen in place.

Before I can respond, her friend giggles. The girl who spoke does too.

“We don’t usually get girls like you on Hemlock,” the other girl says. She’s less sincere than the first, using a manicured finger to smooth down an errant strand of her hair. “How long do you think she’ll last, Liz?”

Liz, the girl who touched my hair, glances between her friend and me. “A month, at best.” She looks me over again, this time with more disdain. “Maybe a week if Cassidy has her way. You know how she is about the mongrels.”

They share another look with each other, then laugh and continue down the hall.

I stand there stunned for a few moments, trying to make sense of the exchange as the sound of their heels fade behind me. Heat blooms in my ears, and I crush the printout into the pocket of my cardigan.

I take a deep breath, trying to push aside my feelings.

Uncle Laurent did say that these people would be ruthless. I guess, I didn’t figure they would be racist too. As I continue searching for my room, I try to stop looking so harried. I straighten my posture and take more purposeful steps.

The last thing I need is to come off as prey.

An hour later, I’ve found Room 2502. It ended up being in a completely different wing of the building. I was reading the map wrong the entire time. My feet and arms are burning, and all I want to do is drink a gallon of water and collapse into bed.

My physical therapist would have been thrilled to know that I managed so much activity so soon after being discharged.

The heavy wooden door swings open as I’m fiddling with the lock.

Standing on the other end of the threshold is my roommate—I think. She’s wearing a huge smile on her red-glossed lips. I tilt my head to make eye contact; evensheis taller than I am. It seems I’ll need to get used to that.

Though I smile back, I’m wary after my encounter with those girls in the hallway. She doesn’t really look like them, though. Instead of a preppy outfit, she’s wearing a band tee and ripped shorts. Her hair isn’t nearly as blonde, either.

“I’m Tara,” she says, reaching over to take my suitcase from me. She takes my wrist and pulls me into the room. “What’s your name?”

“Allie,” I say with a little hesitation.

We go deeper into the room and she closes the door behind us.

It’s a huge space with a grand crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceilings, probably twice the size of my room back home. Brocade wallpaper the color of seafoam lines the walls.

Though the room is open plan, it’s very obviously separated into two spaces. There are pairs of everything—beds, desks, sofas, closets, and televisions. There’s a shared reading nook and breakfast bar.

Doors on either side of the room lead to what I assume are bathrooms.

It’s better than I was hoping for and nothing like the dorm rooms I’ve seen on TV. I was expecting a single bed and a communal bathroom, not a king-sized four-poster bed and a private bathroom.

I’m happy it’s comfortable, because I plan to spend as much time here as I can. Uncle Laurent didn’t say I couldn’t hide.

“This is my side,” Tara gestures to the half of the room that’s already decorated.