Jessie Kensington thought she had escaped her troubled past when she faked her death and started a new life as Violet Arrowood. But three years later, she finds herself at Vanguard University on a scholarship, trying to build the future she always d...
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I spent Sunday unpacking—though it only took five minutes—so I spent the rest of the day rereading The Outsiders.
I decided to get an early night and, for the first time in a long while, slept through until morning. The constant running of water from the feature outside helped make things less quiet. But no amount of sleep could stop the violent waves of nausea that hit me. I've thrown up no fewer than five times since 6:00 AM. Luckily, the communal bathroom is only about ten metres from my dorm. I'm not sure how I feel about sharing a bathroom with all the girls on this floor, but at least it's close.
I wanted to go for a run, but I didn't have time. I had planned to go before meeting the headmaster, but waking up at 6 AM is new for me. My usual wake-up time is around 10 AM because of my bar job. Plus, throwing up all morning really put a damper on things. Clara stopped by yesterday and said I had to meet the headmaster at 8 AM before classes started. I don't even know what classes I'm taking or what I'll be studying. It's kind of ridiculous when I stop to think about it, which I haven't really. My stomach churns, and I sit down on my bed. Breathe, just breathe. I force the nausea back down.
I gather up my toiletries and head for the showers. The stalls are all empty. To my surprise, I pull the curtain closed and jump back as cold water spurts from the showerhead. I wait until the water turns as hot as I can bear and step underneath it.
When I was younger, I wanted to go to uni to study creative writing and English literature. It was my dream, a dream I only ever told Mikey. But that's all it was, a dream.
I hear girls chattering and the curtains opening and closing. I take that as my cue to quickly wash the soap off my body and conditioner out of my hair and get out before it gets busy. I pad down the hall and close my dorm room door.
I decide to wear my nicest jeans and a cute button-down sweater, both courtesy of Josie. I look at myself in the mirror that hangs behind my door. The jeans are a washed-out black and cling to my legs. I'm not sure how much they cost, but they're pretty close to my style (well, what my style would be if I could afford it). The sweater is a deep maroon red. I throw on my black denim jacket and slip on my Converse. My outfit looks good, I think. Nice enough to blend in, not nice enough to stand out. Which is exactly what I'm going for.
That dreaded green thing inside me sits on my chest. I can't help comparing myself to Clara and hating myself for it. Her tanned skin to my off-white. Her sunshine blonde to my bland brown. Her flawless complexion to my freckled. I always liked my freckles growing up. I liked them because they were mine. Only mine. No one in my family had them. I liked that, showing that I wasn't like them. I didn't really look like them. My mother had rough blonde hair that started to grey pretty early. She was skinny and had too-tanned skin, which was somehow pale at the same time. My father was tall, and his beer gut was always prominent in his tight white tank top. His hair was black, but his stubble was speckled with grey. I wasn't my mum or my dad. It was just me. Boring, freckled me.
