TRIGGER WARNING: Very brief discussion of child abuse, bullying.
RINA'S POV Ten Years Prior
I was a ball of anxiety when Monica came to wake me up before my first day of school, creaking my bedroom door open at six in the morning. It was barely light outside, but I was already awake—I had been for a while. Still, I pretended to be asleep when she smoothed the hair out of my face and whispered, "Time to get up, sweet pea."
I opened my eyes slowly, as if I were stirring awake, and Monica smiled at me. She was already in a full face of makeup, her hair wrapped in curlers. "The bus comes just after seven, so you better get a move on. I was going to make breakfast. You like waffles, right?"
"Waffles are fine," I said, sitting up slowly.
"It's going to be hot today, so why don't you wear one of the skirts I bought you? Maybe the little plaid one? It'll go well with a blouse and white sneakers," she rambled on, flinging open my closet and pulling out the pleated blue and green skirt she'd brought home a few days ago. It was from a brand I'd never even heard of—apparently one that was either too nice or too new to donate to Goodwill—and Monica had insisted that I needed it, along with the few other "essentials" she'd picked up. I'd never been with a foster placement that spent any more than the bare minimum on me.
I wasn't going to complain, though. At least when I left for college the next year—assuming I got in at all—I could take it with me. Lord knows I wouldn't have much else to move into the dorms. So, I let Monica dress me that first day. She offered to do my hair as well, but because I knew as well as she did that she had no idea how to deal with my mess of curls, I knew she only said it to be nice. So instead, she scurried downstairs to make breakfast while I showered and swept on the bare minimum amount of makeup I knew how to apply. Mascara and lip balm were easy enough, though I had no idea what to do with the palette of eyeshadow Monica insisted I have for special occasions.
On my way out of my bedroom, I passed the pictures of Monica and Chet's daughter once again. I learned a few nights prior—after eavesdropping on their hushed conversation after dinner—that her name had been Ashley. Ashley Snyder. I thought about googling her to see if I could find the date she died but couldn't bring myself to do it. It felt like an invasion of privacy. The Snyders hadn't mentioned her at all, and I hadn't asked. Maybe they thought I just assumed she was away. Off at college or living out of state or something. Or maybe they were just hoping I wouldn't bring it up. Regardless, it felt wrong to dig into something they so evidently didn't want to talk about.
Walking into the first day at a new school always felt like walking into the ninth circle of hell. The few bites of waffles I'd managed to choke down did nothing to soften the knots that my stomach had twisted into over the night. I felt nauseous and light-headed in the way that only looming anxiety can do to you.
I felt as out of place as ever in the sea of unfamiliar faces. The outfit Monica picked out for me helped, but I was still carrying the same backpack I'd had since I was thirteen. It was old and stained, and it looked off-putting mixed with my new clothes. With it hanging on my shoulders, I felt like I was wearing the Snyder's money as a costume.
My first class was AP Literature, and I knew where it was after spending the previous Wednesday tracking down all my classes within this gargantuan labyrinth of a high school. It was on the second floor in the furthest righthand corner, on the exact opposite end of the school from my locker. For this reason, I shuffled directly into the building, ignoring every single person who looked my way as I hurried towards the back of the school. It wasn't until I saw him, standing at a locker just down the hallway from mine, that I paused. He was dressed in a green polo and khaki shorts, his dark-brown curls shining in the florescent lighting and his expression relaxed as he leaned up against the wall. He hadn't noticed me yet—too busy talking to the tiny brunette girl at his side—but as soon as I passed him, it was like I caught his full attention. I could feel it, his ice-blue eyes drilling holes into my back as I walked. I tried not to let it affect me, but my stomach—already in knots—wound even tighter.
I made it to my locker relatively unscathed—though my stomach still felt like somebody had it in clenched fist—and yanked a notebook and a pen out of my backpack. It was as I was shoving my half-empty bag into my locker that I felt someone approach me from behind. I turned around and found him—Easton Clarke, according to Monica, but still Roid Ranger in my head—standing over me with an expression that looked equal parts irritated and amused. His mouth was twisted into a smirk, but his bright blue eyes were cold and hard as they stared at me like I was a cockroach.
"Good morning, Rina," he said, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. I glanced behind him and saw that he'd brought an entourage: the tiny brunette, still glued to Easton's side and looking at me as if I were lost, the redheaded girl in a cheerleading uniform that I recognized from the mall, and another guy—only an inch or two taller than me with thick, dark hair cut short to his ears. He looked between Easton and I with a curious expression, like he was waiting for a show to start, before attempting to sling his arm around the redhead's shoulders. She glanced at him in confusion, shoving his arm off and crossing her arms across her chest.
"Good morning, Easton," I bit back. "You just going to stand there, or do you want to introduce me to your friends?"
"My friends aren't really interested in hanging out with trailer trash," he smirked, glancing down at the long-sleeve black t-shirt Monica had picked out this morning. "Did you finally find a shirt without holes in it at Good Will, or did you dig that little ensemble out of the local landfill?"
"I'm more of a Salvation Army kind of girl," I snapped, smirking back at him even though my ears were burning red. Though I hadn't exactly expected a warm welcome at Wellsprings, I didn't think I was walking into blatant, public degradation, either.
"We can all tell," Easton laughed low in his throat, glancing back at his friends. They shot confused glances between each other, like they weren't used to seeing Easton behave like this. Even the brunette at his side, though she initially looked at me as if I were beneath her, looked just a little bit shocked.
"I'm glad to hear it. Was there something else that you wanted, or can I get to class?"
"Oh, no, I just wanted to say hi, and to welcome you to civilization. I bet the bathrooms here look real nice compared to the outhouse you were conceived in," he said, his voice sickly sweet and his smile a crooked smirk. His eyes traveled up and down my body, examining me like I was a stain on his shirt. "I must say, the new ensemble suits you. It really shows off your body. I've never seen a twelve-year old boy dressing up in drag before, but I guess there's a first for everything."
"East, what the fuck?" Easton's curly-headed friend asked. I glanced at him and he met my gaze, his face twisted in confusion. His eyes almost looked apologetic, but he didn't say anything in my defense. As usual, I was on my own.
Easton didn't bother to answer him. He just continued staring at me with that hideous smirk.
"Oh, no, it's alright," I said, waving him off. I stood on my tip toes and inched towards where Easton stood. "You're acting real bold for someone who doesn't want anyone to know what I found sticking out of your ass," I whispered roughly directly into his ear, too low for anyone else to hear. "Now if you'll excuse me," I said, louder this time. "I have to get to AP Literature. It's going to be so hard, you know, considering my ma never could spare a minute to teach me how to read," I smirked back at Easton. "Get the fuck out of my way."
Other than the pissing match that morning, rest of my first day of school crawled on in an endless stream of new faces and performance expectations. I tried my best to spend as little time in the hallways as possible, both out of fear that I'd run into Easton again and because of how out of place I felt there. By lunch time, I'd sat through two periods of the same first-day-of-school speeches I'd heard every year since kindergarten. The only difference between here and every other school I attended was how shiny the facilities were. And how rude the students could be.
I headed to the cafeteria, my AP literature syllabus in hand, intending to sit in the corner and get started on the reading assignment. As I read, I felt increasingly out of place as the cafeteria filled with students who either eyed me with curiosity or ignored me completely. I hadn't planned on making friends this year—I had no idea who Easton associated with, nor did I care enough to figure it out. But when a tiny dark-haired girl with thick eyeliner and a little pixie nose sat down beside across from me halfway through the lunch period, I felt a little relieved to at least not be alone.
"Hi, I'm Jenny," she said, shoving her tray across from mine. "Are you new?"
I looked up at her, taking in her tanned-skin and oversized navy sweatshirt. It swallowed her tiny frame completely. "Yes. What about you?"
"No, I moved here mid-way through the Spring semester last year. The weather here sucks, right? Always so humid, no matter the time of year. The west coast is so much better."
"I've never left the state, so I guess I wouldn't know. You get used to it, though."
"Really? Never?" She looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Not even on, like, vacations and stuff?"
"I'm a foster kid, and I normally don't stay with one family long enough for them to take me on vacation, so I haven't really done much traveling," I said, taking a big bite of iceberg lettuce and diced ham. The ranch they used on this salad was so watery you could barely taste it.
"No shit," Jenny said."So, you, like, don't have parents?" She blurted out the question and then looked ashamed, like she wished she could take it back. I just shrugged. I was used to it.
"I have a mom. But I haven't seen her in years. I lived with my grandfather when I was a kid, but he passed when I was in middle school. So, here I am," I said. When I explained my situation, I frequently left out the dirty details. Like what my mother did to me to land such a lengthy stay in prison, or how she'd gotten an additional penalty for attempting to smuggle in methamphetamine when she was booked.
"Oh, wow," Jenny whispered. She looked taken aback. This was a frequent problem when I met new people. Even the sugarcoated version of my past still sounded like a nightmare to kids from stable, two-parent households.
"So, what are you doing here?" She asked. She said it softly, like she wasn't trying to be rude. And I didn't think she was. I couldn't blame her for being curious.
"I got placed with a new family a few weeks back. I've never been this close to DC before, so I was kind of excited when I found out where I'd be going. But then I got here, and, well, the locals haven't been very welcoming." I glanced towards where I saw Easton was sitting, surrounded by his friends, and found him already staring at me from across the room. Well, glaring was a more accurate description. He was looking at me like he wanted me to drop dead. I met his gaze with an equally hostile look of my own before returning my attention to Jenny. She was too busy squeezing packets of ketchup onto her misshapen hamburger patty to notice Easton and I's exchange.
"They were like that to me too," she said softly. "I didn't make very many friends last year. Everyone here is really cliquey, and I don't exactly fit in." She gestured towards her thick eyeliner and choppy black hair. It reminded me of the goth kids I hung out with at my last school.
"I guess we have that in common," I muttered. "I've never been surrounded by so many rich kids in my entire life. This morning, they called me trailer trash. Just because of my accent, I guess. I don't really know."
"I know what you mean. A lot of the kids at this school come from old money. It's a whole new world here, even compared to San Diego. At least then, most of the kids I went to school with lived on base just like me. None of us were rich, and we weren't expected to be. Here, it's like walking into New York Fashion Week when you get off the bus."
"Yeah. Surrounded by privileged people who don't even understand how lucky they are," I grumbled, stealing another look at Easton. He was still glaring at me, sipping on a soda while his entourage of friends chattered on without him. I scowled back. What was his issue? I thought we agreed that he'd leave me alone as long as I kept my distance. Too bad he was going out of his way to insert himself into my day.