|06| Finally In School

Faint voices pulled me out of sleep before light did.

Soft at first, muffled, like sound traveling through water. I floated somewhere between dreaming and waking, my body heavy, my limbs uncooperative. The gentle rocking of the ambulance had worked better than any lullaby. I forgot where I was. I forgot Salamanca. I forgot Penny. I forgot the terrifying emptiness of standing alone with only a backpack and a bruised heart.

Then the voices sharpened.

“Is she the scholarship student who got left behind?”

The words slipped into my consciousness like cold fingers.

“Yes. Miss Montclair is going to lose her mind when she finds out we diverted the school ambulance for a scraped heel. I can barely see the bruise.”

A soft laugh followed.

Scholarship kid? My eyes flew open, but I stayed perfectly still.

Heat crawled up my neck and settled behind my ears. Their words landed with surgical precision, slicing through the fragile pride I had been clinging to since I landed in Spain.

 I swallowed hard, staring up at the smooth white ceiling of the ambulance. The faint scent of antiseptic mixed with lavender filled the air. It was clean and clinical and completely indifferent to how small I suddenly felt. 

Maybe I did not need a stretcher. Maybe I did not need an ambulance for the barely visible injury. But I deserved some kindness. And for a brief moment on a sunlit street in Salamanca, a stranger with green eyes and gentle hands had decided I deserved it.

That thought steadied me.

The ambulance slowed, then stopped. The doors creaked open, and the evening air drifted inside, warm and faintly floral. Somewhere nearby, cicadas hummed. The nurse leaned over me, her expression softening when she realized I was awake.

“We have arrived,” she said quietly. “Let us look at that foot properly, hm? We do not want scars. Not here.”

Her tone carried no judgment.

She cleaned the wound carefully, her fingers efficient but gentle. I watched the sting bloom and fade, grounding me in my body again. She applied ointment, then a plaster, smoothing it down like it mattered.

“There,” she said. “All better. Welcome to Newton Prep. I hope it is good to you.”

She handed me my backpack, suddenly the most precious object I owned, and helped me down from the ambulance. The moment my shoes touched the pavement, I felt it. The shift. The weight of the place pressing in on me.

Newton Prep did not announce itself loudly. It did not need to.

The grounds stretched endlessly before me, manicured lawns rolling like green velvet under the fading gold of sunset. The road beneath my feet was smooth, perfectly lined, curving gently as if it was designed to guide rather than direct. Tall iron lampposts stood at elegant intervals, already glowing softly, their light warm and deliberate.

The buildings rose from the land like declarations.

Stone and glass. Arched windows. Ivory pillars. Rooflines sharp and confident against the evening sky. Each structure carried its own identity, its own purpose, yet they all spoke the same language of wealth and permanence. This was not a school that worried about tomorrow. This was a place built to last centuries.

I stood there, my reflection faintly visible in the polished glass of the nearest building. My glasses were slightly askew. Pigtails frayed from travel. Shoes scuffed and stained. I looked like I had wandered into the wrong movie set.

A bronze sign crowned the building directly ahead of me.

ADMINISTRATION.

The letters gleamed, untouched by time. I read it out loud, my voice barely audible. 

As I stepped forward, my footsteps echoed softly, swallowed by the vastness around me. Students passed in small clusters, their laughter effortless, their uniforms immaculate. Blazers draped perfectly.

Some glanced at me. Curious. Appraising and condescending. A few lingered a second too long, and for once, I wished I had mind-reading capabilities.

The administration building smelled like polished wood and old books. Money had a scent, apparently. The floors gleamed under chandeliers that looked like they had never flickered. Portraits lined the walls, generations of graduates staring down with cool, composed confidence. Names engraved in gold beneath their faces. Legacies. Dynasties.

A woman approached, heels clicking softly against marble. Her posture was impeccable, and her hair swept back into a sleek twist.

“You must be Annalise McDermott,” she said, consulting a tablet.

“Yes,” I replied, clutching my backpack strap.

Her gaze flicked over me quickly, efficiently, noting everything without comment. “I am Miss Montclair. You have caused quite the stir.”

My stomach dipped.

“We will address the logistical mishap later,” she continued. “For now, you will be shown to the infirmary for a final check, then escorted to your dormitory.”

She turned, already expecting me to follow.

We walked through corridors that felt endless, sunlight fading through tall windows as evening settled in. Everything here whispered exclusivity. The kind that did not need to explain itself.

The infirmary was pristine. White. Quiet. After a brief inspection, I was declared functional and handed off to another staff member, a woman with kind eyes and a clipped accent.

“Come along,” she said. “Your dormitory is this way.”

We crossed a courtyard bathed in twilight, a fountain murmuring softly at its center. Beyond it stood the dorms.

They were stunning. Tall, symmetrical buildings framed with climbing ivy and soft lighting. Each entrance bore a carved crest. Inside, the halls were carpeted, the walls lined with framed art and subtle gold accents. This was not shared misery and bunk beds. This was luxury disguised as tradition.

She stopped in front of a plain door. “This will be yours,” she said, opening it. “Temporary accommodations, given your situation.”

Temporary. Of course.

“I will see what I can do about your missing luggage. In the meantime, you can pick up your uniforms from the office tomorrow.”

 She walked out, and her retreating footsteps sounded painful. I didn’t want to be alone. Inside, the room was warm and quiet. Two beds. Polished desks. A tall wardrobe that stood mostly empty on my side.

As I closed the door behind me, silence settled in.

I sat on the edge of the bed, backpack at my feet, the day finally crashing down on me all at once. Newton Prep was everything it promised to be. Elite. Imposing. Beautiful. And I had arrived with nothing but a bruise, a borrowed kindness, and the unsettling feeling that my life had just tilted sharply in a direction I could not yet see. I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, heart racing.