“I’m not here to hand you over to the authorities,” she said hurriedly, shoving a thick envelope into your hands. “I’m a scholarship administrator from Derleth Academy in Arkham, Massachusetts. Your current school put you forward for one of our four senior scholarship positions – a fully funded year at a first-class prep school, where our students go on to attend the top colleges in the world. I know the first quarter has already started, but it’s taken me this long to track you down. You’ve only missed a week so far.”
I stared at the envelope in my hands, at the red, black and gold school crest – a crooked five-pointed star inside a shield with some kind of Latin phrase beneath it. This has got to be a joke.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the woman said. “It’s not a joke or a trick. I promise you that it’s not. If you come to Derleth, we will assume guardianship duties until you turn eighteen. You’ll be housed, clothed, and have all your schoolbooks and other needs met, as well as receiving a first-class education. You’re a promising student, Hazel, and I know you’ve been dealt a cruel lot in life. This could be where you turn everything around. Don’t answer me now. Read over the paperwork, and I’ll return tomorrow for your decision.”
And now, just ten days after I signed my soul over to this school in exchange for paid tuition, room, and board, I stared up at the imposing facade and wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake.
Sure, my life was miserable. I was drowning in grief, and even working two jobs I could barely pull in enough money to survive. College was out of the question, because I couldn’t finish high school without going into foster care. But at least all that was familiar territory. That was the world I’d grown up in – the world of pain and struggle and loss. Derleth Academy was the exact opposite. Every element of this building screamed wealth and privilege and you don’t belong here.
The driver pulled to a stop on the wide circular drive beside a towering stone fountain. A black woman in a drab grey smock darted out of the shadows of the porch and approached the car. I held my hand out to her. “Hello, I’m Hazel Waite—”
The woman ducked her head, avoiding me. She popped open the trunk, hauled out my heavy suitcase and bookbag, and hurried off to the house with them before I could offer to help.
Weird much? I swiped a dreadlock off my face. My friend Dante’s foster sister had done them for me last year, back when things were perfect and the most I had to worry about was whether my mom would ground me for getting dreadlocks.
An awful feeling twisted in my gut. I wished Mom was here, hating my dreads, right now. But she was gone, gone, gone, and so was Dante, and it was just me and this terrifying school and no other options.
Three figures descended the grand stone steps toward me: A woman with translucent skin and a flowing black dress, flanked on either side by two students wearing the Derleth uniform. Fallen leaves skittered away from the woman’s hem, and she moved with such poise that she appeared to float over the steps. With her severe features and a gauzy black ribbon pinned in her hair, she looked more like she was attending a funeral. Behind her, the two students – a guy and a girl – glared at me, distrust emanating from their every pore.
The woman stopped on the second-to-last step, peering down her nose at me as if I were a bug that wasn’t even worth squashing. “You’ll have to do something about that hair. We enforce a strict dress code in my school, Ms. Waite. I’ll not have you flouting it on your very first day.”
This must be the principal, Hermia West. My Morticia Addams guess wasn’t far off. This woman looked like she drank the blood of students to sustain her beauty. The way her grey eyes stabbed right through me sent a cold shiver through my body.
There was nothing in the student handbook about dreadlocks. Although, of course, I’d only skim-read the thing on the bus from Philly. The handbook was boring. And long. “I’m sorry, Ms. West. I didn’t know—”
“Ignorance is no excuse. That’s 3 demerit points for you. And you’re to refer to me as Headmistress.”