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I REVEL IN THE DAYS I would wear a t-shirt and leggings to school. Seriously, I hate this uniform. The skirt is obnoxiously itchy and the collar makes me look like a little girl going to church. My tired reflection in the mirror stares back at me. I've just finished swiping some mascara over my eyelashes. Now, I straighten my unruly waves. Maybe I'm trying too hard, although I don't feel I am. The girls and the boys here value appearance over all. Besides, I don't consider the taming of my unpredictable locks to be that tiring, seeing as it only takes a few minutes. The act is definitely worth it if it means I don't look like I just climbed out of a dumpster.
I sigh to myself. I don't look terrible, nor do I look good. This will have to do regardless. In a week I doubt I'll even bother.
My urge to pace around the dorm I've been told to call home is unbearable. Its big. Too big as a matter of fact. An empty space with no one to share it with. It's just me, and the creepy painting of a random old man on the wall — some rich white man that had involvement with the school. I make a mental note to tape a piece of paper over his face when I get the chance.
I have a bedroom, a kitchen, a washroom, and a closet. Excessively more space than I'd expected to be given. Is this why the tuition adds up to such a crazy price? I looked it up yesterday — and it's expensive. Like cray cray expensive. Like enough money to buy two cars expensive . . .
I've managed to whip up some eggs before class, though they didn't get along well with my uneasy stomach. Whatever. It'll have to do for now, because there's no way I'm venturing out of my dorm to go to the dining hall. I'd rather die than interact with the people here.
Last night I'd made the rookie mistake of taking a walk down the hallway outside of my room. To my dismay, a gluten-free, all natural, vending machine was all they had in the building. I remember being upset over the selection when three girls had suddenly entered the building, each sporting leather handbags and flawlessly tailored uniforms, staring me down as if I was the black plague on two legs and converse.
It's not as if I was doing anything wrong either. I was buying pistachios, pistachios! (Organic ones at that.)
With that occurrence being my only student body interaction — aside meeting Aleks and Delphine, I'm not feeling so hot at the moment. The voice in my head is on an endless rabbit trail, making up a plethora of scary tales that could occur on this day if I actually decide to go to class.
You're going to class Eden.
I glance down at the phone in my hands, hitting send on the paragraph form of a complaint lodged to my mother. For some reason I have it in my head that she'll find a way to have me sent back. I know it's not possible. She has no power over the custody agreement. Unless she wants to take it to court, which would take much long than the mere year I'll have to spend at school here. I know it's never going to happen, though I still hold onto the thought.
