Across the Hall

2

Chapter Two
Violet

—

Day one at Westcotte

The flight to Massachusetts was long and dreadful, and I spent most of it trying to sleep— as I wanted to be well-rested when I arrived. Plus, we were flying through the night, which I thought would make for a much easier time.

I was just filled with such a mixture of excitement and sadness that it kept me awake for half the flight. So many thoughts flooded my mind— of Beatrice, crying and squeezing me and begging me not to go. Of uncle Simon, reminding me of how proud he was, and to call him the moment I landed. And of California, and all the food and fashion and warmth that I was leaving behind.

And then there were the thoughts of my future. I didn't know quite what to expect. The memories I had of Massachusetts were fuzzy and distant in my mind, and most of them were filled up with images of my mother and father.

I had scrolled through every picture of the school that I could find online— the campus, the tennis team, the lacrosse team, the science lab, and on I went as I tried to memorize each and every detail of it.

Yet I knew that pictures and fuzzy memories could never live up to the real thing.

So when the taxi pulled up to the school gates and I watched them creak open— those large, curling bars of metal that formed the letter W when they connected— I knew that this really was going to be a very, very different life from the one I had known in California.

The trail leading up to the school was long and winding— but as we climbed the hill, just over the trees, I could make out the tips of a large, towering castle.

There it was. Westcotte Academy— one of the oldest, most prestigious boarding schools in the nation. Waitlists for this school started before birth, before conception even, as every wealthy noble or businessman who had any connection in the States required their child to attend this very school.

It was like the Oxford of the United States— if Oxford was a high school.

More than half the student body were British in some way, coming from literal nobility— and some, even royalty.

It was also like a rite of passage for the wealthy Americans, too. All the multimillionaires and billionaires who were too busy making money to raise their children, so they sent them there.

It was a place where all the children with any real power in the world gathered and learned together— taking lessons from the most renowned experts, participating in clubs or teams that competed in international tournaments, and having access to resources that even the better private schools had no way of getting their hands on.

The best part, for me, was the fact that you didn't get your own dorm room— but rather an entire apartment— as a student.

I wondered how I'd decorate it. What the first meal I'd cook for myself in my own kitchen would be. Would I prefer watching movies in the living room, or my bedroom?

I had never had my own place. A space to fill and occupy completely in my own comfort. It was nail-biting, yet freeing, all at once. And most of all, I was just eager to set all my things down and explore.