I picked up Mythology and Rituals, which I assumed was my Ancient Civilizations textbook. Back in California, History had been my favorite subject. Out of my entire schedule, it was probably the only class I would really enjoy. But I guess I didn’t have a choice, which seemed to be a recurring theme in my life over the past few weeks.
The sound of footsteps broke my train of thought. They stopped in front of my door. Startled, I stood up and watched the knob turn and the door creak open.
A girl walked in, lugging two overstuffed duffel bags behind her. A mess of wavy blond hair was piled on top of her head, and her round cheeks were flushed from walking up the stairs. With a sigh, she let a bag drop from her shoulder. It fell to the ground with a thud.
“Who are you?” I asked, confused.
“Eleanor,” she said, fanning her face with her hand. “Eleanor Bell.”
She was carelessly pretty, with rosy skin and wisps of windblown hair framing her face in a way that made her look like she had just stepped off a private yacht in Nantucket.
“So why...what are you doing in my room?”
“What are you talking about?” she said, looking at me as if I were crazy. “I’m your roommate.”
“Oh.” I felt my face turn red. In my hurry to open the package, I hadn’t even noticed that there were two beds. I looked around the room more carefully and realized that it was true, there seemed to be two of everything: two desks, two chairs, two wardrobes, all divided by a fireplace. “They didn’t tell me I had a roommate.”
“They almost didn’t tell me either. My old roommate left Gottfried at the last minute, and I was set to have a huge single all to myself...until a few days ago.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry.”
She shrugged. “It’s okay. It’ll be fun. Besides, living by yourself can get lonely.” She looked at my legs and frowned. “You know you’re not in dress code.”
I glanced down at my shorts and then at her outfit. She was wearing an impossibly short wool skirt, a perfectly pressed white collared shirt, and black knee-highs. I imagined that her parents were the sort of people who owned horses and played tennis on the weekend after hosting large brunches on their waterfront estate. “And you are?”
Eleanor ignored my comment. “No denim or clothes with writing on them,” she recited. “Only skirts, collared shirts, and stockings. And if you want to wear pants, you have to wear a blazer.”
I rolled my eyes. What was the point in getting so dressed up for school? “Well, I think I look fine.”
Eleanor scoffed at me, sticking her button nose into the air. “You look fine for going to the beach. We’re at Gottfried Academy! One of the oldest and most competitive schools in the country. Do you know how many people would die to be in your position?”
I had never heard of Gottfried until my grandfather told me about it, and I definitely didn’t care how prestigious it was. I would have given anything to be back at my old school. “I guess it’s just hard moving away from my friends.” I unzipped one of the suitcases and then added, “I’m new here.”
“I know.” Eleanor hoisted one of her bags onto her bed. “That’s the first thing you need to understand about Gottfried—it’s small. Things have a way of being found out.” She untied her hair, letting thick blond locks fall around her shoulders. The smell of citrus and shampoo wafted through the room. “Which brings me to the second thing you need to know. The secrets that aren’t found out are buried well. And probably for a reason.”
I gave her a perfunctory nod, but thought she was being overly dramatic. I had been to high school; I knew how things worked, how people talked, how secrets were leaked.
Eleanor paused, and for a moment I thought she had finished and I could finally unpack in silence. But then she said, “For example, your name is Renée. You’re five foot four, you got straight A’s at Costa Rosa High, you’re a sophomore, like me, and you have an inclination for history and the social sciences. Your parents were teachers, but then they died and your grandfather sent you here. His name is”—she tried to remember—“Brownell Winters.”
Surprised, I looked up at her. “How did you—?”
“And now you’re here, probably thinking I’m some spoiled, self-centered trust-fund girl who’s obsessed with makeup and name brands and only got into Gottfried because my family has legacy here.”
“That is not true! That’s just... It’s not... I don’t think that about you.” The retort sounded cleverer in my head, but the worst part was that I probably would have thought all of those things if I’d had more time.
“It’s all right. Everyone thinks it. And maybe they’re not totally wrong. But I know that your family has legacy too. Which is why you got in. You didn’t even have to take that ridiculous admissions test. And even though you couldn’t have grown up rich—I mean, your parents were teachers—I know that you’re an only child. Which probably makes you more spoiled than me, because I have an older brother, and everyone knows that only children don’t know how to share.”
I gaped at her, torn between anger and confusion. How did she know all this? I wanted to ask if it was her family’s money that made her think she could talk to someone else that way, but all I managed to spit out was, “I know how to share.”
“I told you,” she said, reading my thoughts. “Things have a way of being found out here. My parents are divorced, so I don’t really see them. It happened a few years ago and was really messy. My mom got the house in Aspen, my dad got the house in Wyoming, and they’re still fighting over the rest.” She rolled her eyes. “Or their lawyers are. My parents can’t even stand being in the same state. So of course they couldn’t stop fighting about where we would live. Which is why my brother and I are here. That and the fact that practically our entire family has gone to Gottfried.” She smiled. “And now you know everything about me, in case you were wondering.” She looked into my open suitcase. “That’s a really cute skirt.”
I watched as she leaned over my personal belongings in all of her blond, rosy glory, completely unapologetic for who she was and where she came from.
“Thanks,” I said. “It was my mom’s.”
“She had great taste. Do you mind if I take a peek?” And without waiting for an answer, she bent down and sifted through the rest of the clothes in my suitcase. “You know, I’ve always had this fantasy of growing up in a normal family. A small, cozy house. My parents cooking pancakes for breakfast and borrowing eggs from the neighbors. Riding the bus to school. Oh, and of course I’d have to have a summer job. It’s so romantic. I could work as a waitress and wear an apron and everything.”
I gave her a confused look. “It’s really not that romantic. The bus was crowded and there was always gum stuck to the seats. And I would have killed to not have a summer job. But then I would never have met the guy I was dating. He asked me out at the farmers’ market where I worked.”