1.
“Are you okay?”
I glanced at the door and saw my best friend Nora leaning casually against the oak frame, head tilted to the side, and concern in her dark eyes.
I sucked in a breath and glanced down at the crimson carpet underneath my feet, my fingers curling into the mattress. It was a simple enough question. I should be able to answer it. The truth of the matter was, I had no clue how I was feeling. One minute I was singing into a hairbrush in my bedroom back in South Haven, and now I was in a fancy dorm room at Seaside Prep Academy, a prestigious academy located in a wealthy suburb of Detroit. One minute, my parents and baby sister were here fawning over me, and the next, I was alone.
“How am I even here?” I asked her. She slid into the room, closing the door behind her before sauntering over to me.
“Let’s not question a good thing,” she said, taking a seat next to me. Her tight jeans stretched across her thighs as she took my hands in hers. “What matters is you finally got accepted here. We finally go to the same school, Fin! This year is going to be so epic, I swear.”
It was easy to get caught up in Nora’s enthusiasm, and my lips curved up involuntarily.
“Yeah,” I said. “But how? I thought all the scholarships were announced back in May. Suddenly, I get an envelope with my acceptance in July? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You’re doing it again,” Nora said gently.
“Doing what?”
“The Veronica Mars thing.” She pulled her hands away from me as she stood up and crossed them over her chest. “You know, where you have to know everything about everything, and if something doesn’t make sense, you get caught up in it like a dog without a bone or however that saying goes.” She arched an eyebrow at me in accusation. “I thought you weren’t going to do journalism anymore anyway.”
“I’m not,” I said, leaning forward. “I specifically said I was going to do yoga. Maybe that’ll help with the anxiety.”
Because I’d learned getting caught up in a story was definitely not a good thing for my health. It was why my parents didn’t seem to question the fact that I was granted admission to one of the most exclusive academies in the country. Sure, my grades were good, but it wasn’t like I played hockey – something the school specialized in. The only thing I seemed to be good at was chasing down a story until I found out the truth, and then reporting on it.
“Maybe a boyfriend might,” she said with a grin. “You know, I know a lot of NHL players thanks to Daddy being a big-time agent. Maybe we could go to a Red Wings game and meet the rookies afterward. What do you say?”
Before I could respond, there was a knock on the door. Nora shot me a look, asking silently, Who is it?
I responded with a look of my own meant to tell her, I have no idea. I don’t know anyone but you.
Nora walked over and opened the door before stepping back so whoever it was could come in.
“Nora? What are you doing here?” Of course the visitor knew Nora. Everyone knew who Nora was thanks to her father.
“I’m hanging out with my best friend,” she said, taking a seat next to me again. “What’s up?”
“Are you Finley Jayne?” the girl asked, turning her attention to me. At my nod, she continued, “Mrs. Ledger, the counselor, wants to see you at the office.”
I looked over at Nora, as though she would have all of the answers. Nora shrugged, just as clueless as I was.
“Okay.” I turned back to the girl, who told me where I could find the counselor. Nora offered to take me, but I told her not to worry about it. I wanted to be able to do things on my own without her help, and part of me wanted to be alone a little while longer so I could indulge myself in a bit more self-pity.
And more questions.
Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe someone dropped their scholarship for whatever reason and I was next in line to get one. It just seemed too good to be true.
Seaside was where I wanted to be, I reminded myself. This was what I wanted. Yes, I had anxiety, but as long as I wasn’t immersed in journalism, I thought I’d be okay. And being at such a challenging academy meant I could focus on other things. Things I might want to do once I graduated. The problem was, I had no idea what those things were. I was sixteen, almost seventeen, and I felt that the students here already had their lives planned out, while I was just playing catch up. Did I really belong if I didn’t know where I was going? Was I wasting my time here? Maybe I was just psyching myself out because it was my first day. Maybe I didn’t realize how much I would miss my family until they were already gone. Maybe I felt guilty that I was awarded a scholarship when my younger sister Ellie was the best hockey player on her bantam team and she was still going to South Haven High.
I headed across the grounds, taking in their beauty. There was a large expanse of green, with trees surrounding the borders of the campus. Flowers lined the grass, clinging to the last bits of summer before autumn came in with a blanket of cold, preparing them for a long winter slumber. The sky was a blue-gray, pregnant with anticipation. The academy itself and the attached dorms were made of classic red brick. The building had been around for nearly one hundred years but the bricks seemed bold and sturdy, almost like they replaced the material constantly so the school never looked old.
I could have walked around the dorm building through a small hallway that connected each building together, but Nora told me that typically wasn’t used unless it was winter and students wanted to avoid stepping outside into the frigid Michigan cold. Plus, I hadn’t gotten a chance to see the campus since I took the tour Nora’s father coordinated two years ago, the summer before my freshman year of high school. It still looked exactly as I remembered it.
The doors were heavy when I tried them, but I grunted my way through it and walked down a long hallway lined with lockers. I had no idea what classrooms were on either side of me. Teachers’ names in block letters were on the windows so at least I’d be able to find where I was supposed to be when school officially started next Monday. As it was, I took my time getting to the main office, hoping to familiarize myself with the building now rather than waiting until I needed to be in class.
The main office was a room filled with more rooms. The secretary’s desk sat in the middle, and there were four doorways leading in different directions – the principal’s office, the vice principal’s office, the nurse’s station, and the counselor’s office. I was surprised there was only one office for the counselor. At South Haven High, we had three counselors on staff just because of the size of our school. Granted, Seaside had a third of the students, which probably meant a second counselor wasn’t required.
The secretary’s desk was empty, though a steaming cup of what looked like tea sat on a desk calendar with important information written in the date blocks. She was here, just not here. A machine hummed behind me, and a silhouette was perched over something. It was hard to make out due to the texture of the glass that made up the door. More block letters spelled out COPY ROOM.
The counselor’s door creaked open and a woman stuck her head out. “Finley Jayne?” she asked, black curls tilting to the side, along with her head. At my nod, she smiled and waved me in. “This way. I wanted to touch base with you regarding your schedule. I had to make an adjustment to it.”
Adjustment? I frowned. Why would there need to be any adjustments? I sent off my proposed schedule three months ago, the second I got my acceptance letter. I made sure to do everything before I needed to in order to guarantee my classes. Thanks to Nora’s help, I knew exactly what I wanted to take out of what they offered here.
I stepped into her office, dropping my backpack onto the floor. I expected an orderly desk, maybe a cute planner and a desktop computer she was poised over. What I found instead were three files with paper slipping out of it, a Dwight Schrute bobblehead, and two pens in her dark hair. It was the complete opposite of orderly. I tried to keep my face neutral instead of contorting with judgment. She was probably extremely busy, and this might be orderly for her. It wasn’t my place to be critical. Although…my eyes dropped to the folders with scattered papers. How anyone could keep track of notes when they were messed up in this way was beyond me.
She walked around her desk to drop into her seat, and then scooted forward so she could start typing. I took my seat across from her, sliding my hands under my thighs so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch anything. I felt my heartbeat speed up just slightly. For some reason, this felt like being in a principal’s office even though I hadn’t done anything wrong.
“How are you settling in?” she asked me, her eyes never leaving the screen. However, her lips curled up into a small smile, like she wanted me to know that she was still giving me some of her limited attention and she was genuine with it. Sometimes, adults pretended to listen but really, they didn’t give a shit about you or your problems. They just acted like they did in order to get you to talk, which wasn’t something I particularly liked to do.
“Okay,” I said, leaning my shoulders forward slightly. I smiled tightly, my eyes on the bobblehead rather than on her so she wouldn’t know I was lying. I hadn’t settled in at all yet; I hadn’t had time to.
She snorted. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to say.” She clicked her mouse a couple of times and suddenly, the printer sprang to life. “I won’t take it personally.”
Huh. So, she knew I was lying.
“Look, I get that you’re new and you have a donor paying your tuition fees, but if anything is bothering you, be it boys or school or college or how much you fucking hate hockey, you can always come talk to me. That’s my job. Because I would love to listen to someone talk about how much they hate hockey.”
I furrowed my brow. “I’m sorry,” I said, shifting in my seat. “Did you say I had a donor? Does that mean I’m a scholarship student?”
She stopped, brushing loose black curls from her face as the printer began screaming behind her. “No, not exactly,” she said. “Our scholarships are distributed in May. You were invited to attend because an anonymous donor specifically selected your application at the beginning of summer and offered to pay the full annual fee upon acceptance. It’s why I needed to update your schedule. Things are finalized by the end of May or early June, and we received your paperwork in July. One of your electives was filled up by then so we have a space to fill in your schedule.”
I blinked, trying to take everything she was saying in. I had a space in my schedule? That couldn’t be right. I sent my schedule request the next day specifically so there weren’t any hiccups.
I couldn’t have there be any hiccups.
“Who’s the donor?” I asked. Who would willingly shell out fifteen grand just so I could attend this place, especially since I had absolutely no interest in or aptitude for hockey?
Mrs. Ledger stood and headed for the printer. “Sorry, the donor requested that they remain anonymous,” she said. “Anyway, here is your schedule with your new elective, which you’ll be starting Monday.”
I didn’t get to choose? My heart leaped into my throat and I tried not to choke on it. What were the odds I would have to do journalism? Probably not a lot.
Hopefully.
She handed me the sheet and I took it, my heart thumping against my chest.
I scanned the list of classes until my eyes rested on Journalism 101.
Journalism. A class I had no intention of ever doing again. I sucked in a breath and tried not to crush the page in a fit of rage. I could feel my hands get slick with perspiration and I had to focus specifically on not wiping my palms on my thighs.
“Don’t sound too excited, Ms. Jayne.” Mrs. Ledger brushed a curl behind her ear.
“It’s just…” I scooted towards the edge of the chair, trying to remain polite. “I don’t do journalism. I don’t. And –”
“That’s strange,” she said, knitting her brow. “I remember going over your previous high school’s transcripts. Journalism was something you excelled at.”
“Um, yeah, yes.” I nodded once, setting the schedule gingerly in my lap before grabbing the wooden arms of the chair. “I’m not going to do that anymore. I’m trying to, uh, look for other avenues of interest. Not journalism.”
“Huh.” She leaned across her desk, twisting her torso so she could go back to typing. “Sorry, I thought it explicitly stated in your acceptance letter that journalism was a required course. We reached out over the summer. Did you not get our letter?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Wait, students have to take journalism?” I asked.
“No.” Curls danced as Mrs. Ledger shook her head. “Well, not all students. But you, yes. The stipulation your anonymous donor put in place for your attendance at the academy is that you must take a journalism class and write stories for the paper. Now, they can’t insist on what story or what placement you get, but they have some influence on what classes you can take.”
“I just,” I said again before pressing my lips together. I released a breath through my nose, my nostrils flaring. “I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Oh.” She chewed her bottom lip. “That’s disappointing. I’ll have to rescind your acceptance as a student then. I mean, I can give your parents the opportunity to pay for it, of course. I don’t want to discriminate. I’ll just call them -”
I blinked once. “Wait,” I said, holding up a hand. “I know you mentioned a stipulation – are you telling me I have to take journalism or else I can’t attend the school?” I didn’t know why I needed her to repeat this information. I should understand it. But I needed her to say it again because this just didn’t make sense to me.
“Unfortunately,” she said. “Which means I need to know what you want. You’re more than welcome to leave. School hasn’t started. But I can guarantee you, you will not get this opportunity again. More than that, if anyone in your family hopes to attend Seaside, it’s highly unlikely they will get an opportunity based on your refusal. It’s not fair, but it’s how these things tend to work.” She paused. “Well? Do you want to leave? Or can I assign you to Journalism 101?”
I sighed. “Well, it’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?” I asked, unable to keep the bitterness from my tone.
She smirked. “Welcome to Seaside Prep.”
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