New Girl. Paige Harbison

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СКАЧАТЬ of her mouth sounded like champagne bubbles. So I smiled, not registering what she’d said meant, or even—as was often the problem with my dear mother’s accent—what she’d said.

      “Sorry?”

      “Manderley Academy.” My dad held up a brochure. “We know how badly you’ve always wanted to go. You got in, honey!”

      He came over to give me a hug. My mother, who had been bouncing from foot to foot, her hands clasped together, followed him.

      And, like that, there was nothing I could say. They were too excited. I tried to drop hints over the coming weeks, suggesting that maybe my going there wasn’t worth the money, considering that it was only for one year. But they told me the money was already spent and that it would probably help get me a scholarship at one of the schools I’d already been accepted to.

      “See, it’s actually saving money,” my father had decided.

      My mom cooed from the next room that it was, “perfect, just pozee-tiffly perfect!”

      Leah, ever the devoted best friend, patiently spent the rest of the summer helping me soak up as much of home as I could before leaving. We were having fun, when I wasn’t catching her looking at me mournfully. At those points I’d say, “Lee-ah, I’ll be back for college soon, and you’ll be absolutely sick of me.”

      She’d nod, but then doubt would fill her eyes as she looked at me and she’d say something like, “But what if you don’t come back?”

      I’d laugh and assure her that there was no way that would happen. It had always been our plan to go to college together and be roommates. I ignored the voice in my head that asked if I was sure that’s what I really wanted.

      Of course it was. It’s what I’d always wanted.

      I ordered coconut shrimp from my favorite restaurant every other day, in an effort to get sick of them. Instead, I think what I did was grow more desperate not to leave them behind. Leah and I went to the beach every single day, without fail. As she put it, I was going to need my tan to last through the year. The whole, long, cold year up north. Sometimes it was like she was trying to convince me to stay, but since I had no control over it, all it did was make me dread my impending departure more.

      When it rained, we just moped and looked out the windows for a while before watching something obsess-worthy for the rest of the day.

      The days were shorter than ever in those three months. My legs felt leaner and tanner, and my shorts shorter and more frayed. My friends were funnier and more exuberant than ever before. The boys were cuter, the neighbors more neighborly, and my home was cozier. No one argued, no one was snappish; everything was perfect.

      But then the summer wound to a close, like all good things eventually do. Though you’d never know it from looking outside, where it was still sunny and warm.

      My mother took me shopping for things with long sleeves—and I learned that these make my wrists feel strangled—boots, which make my feet hot, and a good coat, which made me feel panicky and claustrophobic. I said goodbye to all of my friends, knowing it wouldn’t be the same next time I saw them. I gave Jasper the biggest hug, soothed my distressed sister with a bag of Pirate’s Booty popcorn (her favorite for some reason) and the promise that I’d be home soon, thanked my parents again for the surprise, and trudged onto a plane for New Hampshire. Now here I was hours later, passing by neighborhoods with big old Victorian-style homes, trying to forget about palm trees and mango salsa. I pushed thoughts of football on the beach at night and the ability to actually leave school at the end of the day from my mind.

      I knew I would be okay. I always was. I wasn’t going to feel nostalgic forever. I wasn’t going to hate everything just because it was unfamiliar. It’d be tough to jump into a new life, but that was okay. It was my last year of high school anyway. What did I have to lose?

      I could be anyone I wanted to be now. I could adopt an accent—I’d always been ace at mocking my mother. I could become a slut maybe. I could be carefree and exciting….

      A small, irritating voice in my head told me that I wouldn’t be any of those things. I’d lose confidence as soon as I stepped off this bus, and that was just a fact.

      The neighborhoods that passed by the windows died away, and we turned onto a long, narrow, gravel road. A road like a hallway, packed with cabs, cars and other buses, with walls of tall green trees on either side of us and reaching up to the clouds. We inched our way up for fifteen minutes, and then I finally saw the actual boarding school for the first time in real life.

      Manderley.

      It truly took my breath away the second it unveiled itself to me. The building was old, enormous, and I could just barely see in the waning daylight that it was covered in thick ivy. Lively golden glows poured from its shuttered windows. Surrounding all this were jade lawns and a wrought-iron fence. Lamps illuminated bustling, shadowy figures in the roundabout, all unloading luggage and heading down the long path of brick that led to the building.

      The campus had always been striking in the pictures I saw, but to see it in person made me feel like I was in the presence of some omniscient queen.

      We filed off of the bus, and cold air hit my thighs. I had been freezing for the entire ride from the airport until I figured out how to direct the stream of air they call a fan away from me. Everyone around me was wearing long jeans, scarves, Lacoste polos, and sweaters. My Jax Beach Lifeguard sweatshirt (a real one, not a touristy one), frayed jean shorts and Rainbow flip-flops looked so out of place. I’d been sure it couldn’t be that cold here.

      I’d spent my life in Southern states. I’d never even seen snow in real life.

      “Oh, you’ll see a lot of that,” Dad had said.

      “Hush, Daddy. Tell me there’ll be unseasonably warm weather this year,” I’d replied.

      I also had brought the most stuff out of anybody I’d ridden in with. I’d gotten a lot of looks throughout the ride, and I assumed that was why, although that annoying part of me felt kind of sure I had a big embarrassing something somewhere on me. According to the snotty girl sitting in front of me—who seemed intent on informing me without speaking directly to me—everyone always leaves their things in their rooms over the summer. Still, weren’t there freshmen and transfers? Why was it so weird I should have a year’s worth of things before living somewhere for a year?

      “Miss?”

      I turned and saw a guy with a flashlight and a notepad.

      “Yes?”

      “Do you need to check in some luggage?”

      “Check in?”

      “There’s only a service elevator, so we just take it up for you.”

      His practiced tone told me that he’d had to explain this many times.

      “Oh.” I smiled. “Okay, great. I was wondering how I was going to bring it all in.” I gave a small laugh, and he smiled politely back at me.

      “Write down your student ID number and room number here, please.” He handed me a clipboard. I filled out the indicated lines, referencing the letter I’d gotten over the summer for both, and handed it back. “Thanks, it should be up СКАЧАТЬ