Be Careful What You Wish Fur Page 3

  In fact, everything in the office, and in the entire school, looked upscale. Even the way the headmaster pronounced Delia’s name made it sound more special, rolling off her tongue with just the right emphasis and enunciation.

  The carpet in the office was a plush burgundy shade with gold crests bordering the edges that matched the school’s colors. Framed college and graduate degrees from elite schools hung on the wall behind her, along with paintings that looked like they’d been borrowed from a museum. Not posters—actual paintings.

  At her last school, Principal Riggins had a battered metal desk that had seen more years than he had, which was saying a lot judging by his head of white hair and his grizzled face. And the only things hanging on his walls were wilted, curling posters of 1970s basketball teams. Nothing about that place had been fancy.

  “Uh, thanks, Headmaster Dudley,” Delia said, fidgeting with the peeled-back sole of her shoe. Even the word headmaster felt clunky and unnatural on her tongue. “I’m happy to be here…at Golden…I mean Gilded Crest…um…school….”

  She trailed off, stumbling over her words and feeling out of place. Mom shot her a look and mouthed, Sit up straight.

  Oh, right. Proper posture was another thing her mother cared about. Delia thought she was sitting up straight, but she lengthened her spine until it ached, trying to appear taller. Thank goodness she was starting classes during a shortened week. Because of the way the new year had fallen, the school’s first day back was a Wednesday. She only had to live through three days of straight posture before the weekend.

  “Yes, like my daughter said,” Mom jumped in to cover for her, “we’re thrilled to have her enrolled here for the remainder of her school year…at Gilded Crest Academy.”

  Right, not school…academy, Delia thought, feeling like a doofus. She’d only been staring at the glossy school catalog for a month.

  “And beyond, let’s hope,” Headmaster Dudley said, smiling warmly. But then she turned sterner. “Let me be clear, however, that Gilded Crest has different standards from your last school—”

  “Like what?” Delia blurted before she could stop herself.

  “Well, it’s important for our students to uphold the Gilded Crest name, both inside and outside the classroom.” With that, she slid a thick book across the desk toward Delia.

  Delia felt a ripple of anxiety. Her eyes flashed over the title printed on the cover—Gilded Crest Academy Student Code of Conduct. It was both boldfaced and italicized.

  Code of conduct? The Gilded Crest name?

  What did all of that mean?

  “As you can see, we enforce a strict code of conduct for student behavior,” Headmaster Dudley said, nodding at the thick book. “I expect that it was different at your last school. I assume they take a more relaxed approach to decorum, shall we say.”

  Her eyes tracked up and down Delia’s clothes. Suddenly her “gently worn” jeans, pretty-but-inexpensive blue blouse, and ratty boots didn’t seem up to Gilded Crest standards. Delia shrank back.

  But her mother didn’t seem to notice. She sat up straighter and smiled.

  “Of course, we understand,” Delia’s mom said quickly. “Delia is a model student and very capable. Her public school had such big classes, it was easy for her to get lost, even with her incredible grades.”

  “I assure you that won’t happen at Gilded Crest,” Headmaster Dudley said. “We maintain optimal teacher-to-student ratios to meet every learner’s complex needs. Your daughter will get the specialized attention she craves at our academy.”

  “Good. That’s what I like to hear,” Mom said with a curt nod. “I know this is the path to the best colleges and universities in the country.”

  “Indeed, let’s hope she measures up. Mr. Jefferson’s family has been attending this school for generations and he’s one of our biggest donors. His recommendation holds a lot of weight, and it’s why we decided to take a chance with Delia. Don’t let us down, young lady.”

  Her eyes bored into Delia. So did her mom’s. They both were waiting for her to speak. Suddenly her mouth felt dry and her tongue thick.

  “I won’t, Headmaster Dudley,” she managed to get out. She tried to make her voice sound steady and brave, but inside she was shriveling up. She had never felt smaller or less up to a challenge.

  And she’d never missed her old school more.

  * * *

  “Delia, have a great first day,” Delia’s mother said as they stood in the reception office after their meeting with the headmaster. She looked Delia in the eyes. “Make me proud. I know you can do this.”

  She hugged Delia fiercely, then left her clutching her class schedule and the thick student handbook.

  “Hey, Mom, wait,” Delia started, not ready for her to leave yet. “Don’t you want to see the classrooms?”

  She half wished her mother would walk her to class like she had in elementary school, even though Delia knew she was too old for that. But her mom had her phone to her ear and was already halfway out the door.

  “Sorry, Mr. Jefferson,” Delia heard her mother say. “The meeting with Headmaster Dudley went longer than I expected….”

  In that moment, Delia felt a surge of guilt for not appreciating everything her mother did for her. The fight they had that morning came back to her in a rush, making her stomach churn. Her mother worked so hard for every little thing that they had—even this school. Maybe Delia still didn’t want to be here, but she knew her mother was doing it for her. Well, for both of them.

  They were a team of two.

  Delia and Mom.

  That’s how it had always been. Delia had never known any differently.

  Well, they were a team of two that sometimes included other substitute players who tended to pass in and out of their lives, much like the litter of foster puppies. Her father was the most notable member who had disappeared, while Mrs. Smith was the newest addition to their team, but Delia hoped that she would become a permanent member of their roster.

  They might be a small team, but they were strong and resilient, more than capable of winning.

  Besides, her mother was right. Delia had found it hard to concentrate at her last school. The classes were too big, often thirty-five kids in a class. And there were behavior issues that sucked up her teachers’ valuable time. Maybe this new school was what she needed after all, even if it meant that she couldn’t have those trendy boots or afford fashionable new clothes or other nice things like the highest-ranked accounts on PicPerfect.

  Buoyed by that thought, Delia glanced at her schedule, then headed for the door. Mom was right.

  She could do this.

  As soon as she stepped into the hall, Delia heard the stampede of feet. Students marched in orderly packs, bound for class before the bell. These halls didn’t have the kinetic, chaotic rush of her last school. Gilded Crest had a much smaller student population and was therefore less crowded. Students didn’t have to push and shove to get to class, which made it feel more civilized.

  Or they’re all just following this code of conduct, Delia thought, clutching the thick student handbook closer to her chest.

  These students walked like they had it all under control. Like they belonged here. Like they’d one day be the ones to rule the world. And most likely they would. But that wasn’t what caught Delia’s attention.

  Her eyes tracked over the students and landed on their feet.

  Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.

  Practically every girl in the hall was wearing them—the House of De Vil Faux-Fur-Lined Boots. The ones that had been trending on PicPerfect that morning. The ones that cost $250.

  The boots looked even more stunning in real life, with their signature black-and-white faux-fur lining. Not only were almost all the girls wearing the boots, but they all looked so fashionable. Even the boys looked like they’d just stepped out of magazine ads.

  If I looked like them, Delia thought, I’d have a higher ranking on PicPerfect for sure.

  They probably had no trouble taking effortless selfies, unlike Delia. She bet none of these kids had ever agonized for hours before posting something. She glanced down at her ratty old boots, and her stomach clenched.

  I don’t belong here.

  Ducking her head, she bolted for her locker, wrestling to punch in her new combination while juggling her nerves and the student handbook. She finally got the locker open. A mirror was affixed to the inside of the door.

  Nervously, she checked her appearance. She felt like she’d looked good when she posted her selfie this morning, but now her hair looked frizzier than ever. Her clothes looked dumpy and old. That pimple had bloomed into a full-blown whitehead right on the tip of her nose.

  She tried to smooth her hair and tuck in her shirt, but it didn’t help. At least at her old school, not everyone looked like a PicPerfect model. Here, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Worse yet, because the school was so much smaller, it was harder to hide. Delia felt exposed.

  Her eyes tracked over and landed on a group of three girls across the hall, standing by their lockers. They were all wearing the House of De Vil boots. But beyond that, they looked like the kind of girls that Delia would want to be friends with. Fashionable and hip and smart. She needed to make friends at her new school. For a moment, she felt unworthy with her ratty boots and frizzy hair, but then she remembered what her friends had said that morning.

  They’re gonna love you.

  Yeah, you’ll have zero problems making new friends.

  At her last school, she and Zoe and Aaliyah had tons of friends and tons of pink hearts on their profiles. There was no reason why Delia couldn’t make friends here. She took a deep breath, then walked up to the girls across the hall, focusing on the one at the center—a tall redheaded girl with lo
ng, wavy hair.

  “Hey, it’s my first day here,” Delia said. “So I thought I’d say hello. Uh, so like…hello.” Instantly she hated how clunky the words sounded, but she smiled through it.

  The redhead gave Delia a hard up-and-down stare, then she and her two friends burst into giggles. Delia’s cheeks burned, but she tried to forge ahead anyway.

  “My name is Delia. I’m in seventh.”

  “Right, I’m Harper,” the redhead replied. “That’s Charlotte and Ella.” She pointed to her friends. Charlotte was Asian with long black hair, while Ella was dark-skinned with curly hair that looked effortlessly hip. They all wore expensive clothes paired with the trendy boots.

  Finally Delia felt like she was getting somewhere. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “By the way, I just love your boots. I’m planning to get some—”

  “As if,” Harper cut her off. “Pretty sure they’re out of your budget.”

  “Wait, what do you mean?” Delia stammered.

  “Yeah, aren’t you that new scholarship kid?” Charlotte chimed in, twirling her long, shiny dark hair around her finger. Her eyes bored into Delia, staring down at her ratty boots.

  “That’s right. We heard you were transferring from the public school,” Ella added with a snort. “What makes you think you can be friends with us?”

  They all stared at her. As if they really expected her to answer that question.

  Mortified, Delia retreated across the hall and shut her locker. She could still hear them snickering behind her and their catty whispers. Harper’s voice cut through the hall noise.

  “Did you see her boots?” Harper hissed to Charlotte and Ella. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in those. And like she could ever get a pair of House of De Vil boots. Yeah, right.”

  Keeping her head down, Delia bolted to class. She could hear the clomp, clomp, clomp of her ratty boots with each humiliating footstep. She ducked into the classroom and made a beeline for the back, sliding into an empty desk. After her encounter with Harper and her friends in the hall, she just prayed that nobody would notice her. Gilded Crest was nothing like her old school.

  And these girls weren’t like her friends.

  The teacher approached the board and scrawled Picture Day on Monday!

  Ugh, more pictures. Ones that would be printed in an actual yearbook. At Gilded Crest, no less. That was the last thing Delia needed to worry about right now.

  A boy took a seat at the desk next to hers. Delia risked a sideways glance at him. He looked different from the other kids she’d seen in the hall. For starters, half his hair was dyed purple, with long bangs cut just above his very blue eyes, and he wore a black leather jacket. He looked edgier and more alternative than the other kids, and he had earbuds in, bopping his head along to the beat.

  Suddenly he caught her eye. Delia tore her gaze away and opened her code of conduct, pretending to be engrossed by the zillions of rules, but it was too late. He slid his earbuds out.

  “You’re that new scholarship kid, aren’t you?” he said with a smirk.

  Delia slowly closed the book, feeling even worse.

  “Ugh, is it that obvious?” she said, bracing herself. “Are you going to make fun of me, too? Like Harper and her friends?”

  “Are you kidding? Takes one to know one,” he said instead. “Guess you already met our official welcoming committee. They’re super annoying, if you ask me. Don’t pay attention to them.”

  Delia looked over in surprise. “Wait, what do you mean?” she said. “You’re on scholarship, too?”

  “Art scholarship,” he said, lifting one shoulder like it was no big deal. “Well, technically music. But they lump it all together. Guess it’s easier that way. I’m Grant.”

  “Delia. And, uh…just normal scholarship here,” Delia said. “No hidden talents.”

  “Nah, that means you’re smart,” Grant said, giving her a nod of respect. “Wanna hear my new beats?”

  Delia felt a bit taken aback. He was the first person who was actually being nice to her at this school. Well, aside from the headmaster, but that didn’t count. She felt herself letting her guard down. That wasn’t something she did easily.

  “Yeah, sure,” she said, accepting the earbuds. She slid them into her ears. The tune was catchy with deep, thumping bass tones and a cool, upbeat piano riff. “Wow, you wrote this? It’s sweet.”

  “Sweet just happens to be my middle name,” he said smoothly.

  She blushed. “Do you post your music on PicPerfect? I bet you get tons of hearts and followers. What’s your account? I’ll totally follow you and heart your stuff.”

  “PicPerfect?” he said with a frown. “What’s that? Never heard of it.”

  Delia’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

  He just shrugged.

  “PicPerfect is the hot new social media app,” she said. “Like everyone—and I mean everyone—has an account. Do you live in a cave without Wi-Fi?”

  “Well, I guess I’m not everyone,” he replied. “Call me old-school, but I’m not on social media. I prefer to exist entirely in the real world.”

  Delia laughed. “Are you, like, from Mars or something?”

  “Yup, I’m a Martian,” he said, smirking. “You caught me. Wait…actually, that might be a cool idea for a song.”

  He pulled out a battered notebook and started scribbling the idea down.

  “Like, I’m really this cool alien checking out Earth,” he continued. “And shunning social media apps. And maybe I do live in a cave deep underground. That would be amaze, right?”

  “Super amaze.” Delia giggled in spite of herself. “Hey, I want songwriting credit,” she joked. But then she turned more serious. “But don’t you want to share your music so other people can hear it?”

  “Nah, I make it for myself,” Grant said, still scribbling. “And for my real friends. I love writing and creating it. I don’t care if random strangers like it.”

  “Random strangers?” Delia said, still puzzled. She pulled out her phone to show him PicPerfect. “But once you friend them on social media, they’re your friends. You like each other’s posts. You stay in touch.”

  Grant eyed her phone dubiously.

  “I mean, come on. Your stuff is great,” Delia continued. “It could get really popular. You could even become an influencer.”

  She was sure he understood that. He had to. In her mind, being a PicPerfect influencer was pretty much the greatest thing you could possibly become. It was one thing to have a high ranking at your school, like she and her friends did. But being an influencer meant having a top-ranked account in the whole world.

  Grant just frowned at her phone, clearly noticing the devil icons marring some of the posts, pushing them down the rankings.

  “But are they really your friends?” he said, sounding equally confused. “To me, it still sounds like a bunch of strangers judging your stuff. Why should I care what they think?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she hedged, clicking her phone off, even though she didn’t fully agree.

  Sure, she didn’t know some of the people in her PicPerfect friend list in the real world, but some were her actual friends from her old school. And it did matter what they thought, didn’t it?

  “Like I said, I don’t care what random people think about my music,” Grant said, tapping his notebook. His eyes locked onto hers—they were very, very blue.

  “But I do care what you think,” he added.

  “Uh, you do?” she stammered, feeling suddenly unworthy. Harper and her friends’ snickers echoed through her head. What if he was just mocking her? Playing some kind of long-game prank?

  But then he smiled and melted her fears.

  “Yeah, because we’re going to be friends in real life,” he told her.

  “We…we are?” Delia managed to say. An actual friend at this school? The idea sounded amazing.

  “Yes, we are. I can feel it. Wanna make it official?”

  Grant stuck out his hand and Delia shook it, feeling silly. She’d never shaken hands with someone her own age.

  “Now you can’t back out,” he said. “We’re friends.”