Page 130 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

My thoughts keep whiplashing from one extreme to the other—will they bully me, or won’t they?

They might as well be walking right behind me the entire day, because the anticipationiskilling me.

I met a few more students today, freshmen like me. Some of them sympathize with what I went through yesterday, but not in a very vocal way. A lot of them were hazed last week. As in thewholeweek. I guess I got off lucky—I only had to endure one traumatic prank.

Maybe the Serpentshavegrown bored of me. That, or they’re finally settling into the work of being a student. From what I could weasel out about them without looking like I was digging, their schedules look much worse than mine.

Mason is majoring in physics which makesnosense, plays football, and spends the rest of his time in the school’s gym where he’s working on an eight pack. Silas has a double major andtwominors so I don’t even know how or when he gets time to sleep.

And then there’s Knox.

Apparently he’s majoring in electrical engineering and he plays polo at a professional level. And tennis.Andsquash. He’s also the Student Body President, so when he’s not hitting a horse or a ball—or spanking a girl out in the woods—he’s busy getting people suspended.

After two crazy classes, I grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria and went to go eat it in my room. My last lesson of the day was history. The teacher wasn’t impressed when I asked him who I could speak to about changing my classes. And it only got worse from there. When I failed to correctly answer him on something to do with the trans-Atlantic slave trade, he was so pissed off, he gave me my own personal assignment on top of our existing homework.

I’m going to need Romi’s help with this one. Thankfully, she comes to our room just before dinner to put her stuff down.

“So how were your classes?” she asks as she takes her hair down and runs a brush through it.

“Awful,” I groan, flopping onto the bed and tugging off my stockings. She glances over at me when I toss them in the general direction of the laundry hamper, and then tuts me with her hairbrush.

“Full uniform at dinner, no exceptions.”

I smother myself with a pillow. “I hate this place.”

“So dramatic,” Romi says, rolling her eyes. “Now put them back on and come give your hair a proper brush.”

“Stockings yes, hair no. Mine’s fine.”

“Nim, you can’t?—”

“Mr. Dixon hates me!” I yell out, and then subside when Romi gives me a wide-eyed stare in the vanity mirror. “He asked me an impossible question and then gave me some stupid assignment when I got it wrong.”

“I told you, they don’t mess around here.”

“But I don’t even know who theFirst Fiveare, and now I have to write this stupid paper on them?” I subject my pillow to another round of attempted suicide. “This sucks!”

“The First Five?Pfft. That’s elementary school shit, Nim. If you want, I’ll help you hash it out over dinner.”

“You will?” I push up, wide-eyed.

She shrugs. “Anyone who grew up in this place knows that shit by heart.”

“So you’re basically telling me I’ll never fit in here?” I roll my eyes.

“Sooner you understand that, the better for you,” she says sweetly. “Now about your hair?—”

“Come near me with that brush and you’re dead.” I grab my stockings and pull them up my legs, laddering one in the process. “All of this not-fitting-in has me famished. Let’s go eat.”

“It’s your funeral,” Romi mutters, flicking her perfect—if slightly mousy—ponytail over her shoulder before following me out of our room.

Chapter 16

Knox

“I really need to discuss this menu with the dean,” I say, poking the prime rib on my plate with a fork as if it’s diseased.

“Better than lasagna.” Silas shoves a mouthful of creamed horseradish into his mouth. “’an’t ’ucking stand lasagna.”

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