Page 4 of Inception

“It’s a safety thing.”

“In case I goschizoagain?”

His eyes bulged. “Jemma—”

“I’m kidding,” I cut in as I examined the phone with my free hand and scooped another spoonful of cereal with the other. “It’s great, Uncle Karl. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. Well, now that we have that settled,” he said, pulling back the cuff of his shirt to check the time, “you should probably get your things together. You don’t want to be late on your first day.”

“Uh-huh,” I nodded, still distracted with my new phone.

“I’ll have the town car ready for you outside.”

Thechauffeuredtown car?Ugh. That should go over well.

“Thanks, Uncle Karl, but that’s really not necessary. I don’t think showing up with a chauffeur is the best way to make a good first impression.” When he didn’t answer, I enlightened him. “Because they’d think I was a pretentious snob.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’sWeston Academy,” he informed, straightening out his newspaper. “They’re all pretentious snobs.”

2. WELCOME TO THE GAUNTLET

Weston Academy sat on the hilly outskirts of town amidst a thick tangle of evergreens, resembling more of a cathedral church than it did an actual school building. A narrow, cobble-stone road trimmed with pine trees on either side stretched all the way up to the three-story, ash colored building where we took our place behind a row of similar-looking town cars, carrying similar-looking students, all wearing similar-looking uniforms. I couldn’t help but feel like I was in a funeral procession for the young and the prosperous.

A thicket of dark clouds burrowed in above us as we reached the front entrance of the school, their presence casting an eerie shadow over the goliath building and blocking out any semblance of sunlight.

“Looks like it’s going to rain,” I noted, staring out the back window. That, or this was the world’s worst omen.

“It usually does,” said Henry, the driver who I’d gotten better acquainted with on the way over here. “You’ll get used to it.”

That seemed doubtful. I hadn’t even been here one full day and already I missed the sun.

The knots in my stomach tightened as I continued surveying the landscape. Everything was so grand, so intimidating. I wasn’t sure I could ever fit in here. It took every ounce of courage I had not to lock the doors and barricade myself in the back of the car like a petulant child.

Luckily, Henry was none the wiser when he came around back and opened my door for me.

“Thanks,” I said as I climbed out on shaky legs.

“My pleasure, Miss Blackburn.” His gently graying hair seemed to fade into the mounting fog.

“Just Jemma,” I reminded.

“Of course.” He nodded. “Good luck on your first day.”

I thanked him again as I straightened out my uniform (a black pleated skirt, crisp white blouse, and a way-too-preppy blazer) and began my walk across the metaphorical plank, butterflies swarming deep inside my belly. I swung my near-empty schoolbag over my shoulder and pushed through the large double doors just as the bell rang out around me.

The bustling crowd thinned quickly as I made my way down the corridor (through the chaos of slamming lockers, excited chatter, and rushing students) and had all but disappeared by the time I reached the main office and coaxed myself through the door. A round-faced woman in her late forties with short, cinnamon red hair peered up at me from behind the reception desk, her glasses resting on the tip of her short button nose.

“Hi,” I said as I approached her desk, my schoolbag dangling from my fingertips. “I’m not sure where I’m supposed to be.”

“Name, please?”

“Jemma Blackburn. It’s my first day.”

“Oh yes, of course,” she grinned. “Karl’s niece. Welcome to Weston Academy, my dear. We’re glad to have you with us.”

“Thanks. I’m glad to be here,” I lied, figuring that’s probably what she wanted to hear.

“I’m Candice Tate, but you can call me Ms. Tate, or Candice, or Ms. T, however you please,” she sang, waving her hand in the air flippantly. “You know, I’m sure I had your transfer papers here just a second ago,” she said as she rummaged around her desk, lifting and dropping stacks of papers and manila folders.

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