|08| Gilded Hallways

Shirley led us out of the dorm into the open air.

The breeze brushed my cheeks as we stepped onto a wide terracotta walkway. Tall elm trees stood on either side like silent guards, their leaves filtering sunlight into pale green shadows. Azaleas bloomed neatly at their roots, trimmed so precisely they felt less like flowers and more like decoration. Everything here looked arranged. Controlled. Even nature seemed to behave itself.

Ahead of us rose another building, freshly painted, its pale walls glowing faintly under the morning sun. Students in crisp uniforms moved in and out of it with effortless confidence, laughing, chatting, living. None of them noticed Penny and I. Or maybe they did and decided we were not worth it.

I had never felt so transparent.

Shirley, on the other hand, was impossible to miss. Voices followed her everywhere. Hi, Shirley. Morning, Shirley. She answered each greeting with ease, like someone who had practiced belonging for years. I watched her, quietly amazed at how naturally she fit into this place.

We entered a long hallway lined with rows of lockers, deep brown and polished, stretching endlessly on both sides. They were enormous. Big enough to swallow everything I owned twice over. My old school lockers could barely hold a backpack without protesting.

“Newton Prep was founded in the early eighteenth century by Edwardo Flores,” Shirley began as we walked. “He was a priest who believed education worked best in a calm, structured environment. Somewhere students could grow without distraction. So we offer students opportunities to live up to their dreams and passion. Our educational schedule includes a lot of extracurriculars. It is understood that, while some students might excel academically, others might excel in the athletic field. So, we have the track team-"”

I stifled a yawn.

She glanced at me, eyebrows lifting. “Are you bored?”

I shook my head quickly. “No. Sorry. Go on.”

“We have clubs for almost everything,” Shirley continued. “Writers, debaters, science, and mathematics. I heard you’re both here on scholarships. You can totally try them out.”

Penny’s face lit up. “That sounds amazing.”

Shirley pointed through a tall glass window as we passed. “That’s the gymnasium. And over there is the library.”

The library had its own building.

I stopped walking for half a second before forcing myself forward again. My old school could have fit inside it and still left room for storage. 

“Oh my God,” Penny breathed. “Is that a pool house?”

“Yes,” Shirley said, smiling.

Penny grabbed my hand like she needed grounding. Her eyes sparkled, soft and hopeful. “I love this school.”

I wanted to love it too. I really did. But the longer we walked, the more the place pressed down on me. The awkward stares. The whispers that stopped just short of being audible. The quiet confidence of students who had never doubted they belonged.

“Annalise,” Shirley said gently. “You seem far away.”

I blinked. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “All right. This is the cafeteria. Or dining hall. Depending on who you ask.”

My breath stilled.

Nothing about this room was ordinary. Long walnut tables stretched across the hall, each topped with embroidered placemats. Crystal chairs caught the light, their transparent frames revealing velvet cushions beneath. Light swam in through the wide arched windows, casting a bright swell of exquisiteness around the intricately decorated hall.

“This is beautiful,” Penny whispered.

I could not even speak. My eyes traced the brick walls, the potted plants, the enormous chandelier hanging above us like a frozen constellation. It felt less like a place to eat and more like a place to be judged.

Shirley seemed pleased by our reaction. She handed us our schedules and a small folded map. “Classes start at eight. Breakfast is at ten.”

“Breakfast is at ten? Isn't ten too late?” Penny asked faintly.

Shirley shrugged. “That’s how it’s always been.”

My gaze drifted toward the entrance just as the room shifted.

The sound softened. Conversations slowed. Heads turned.

A blonde girl stepped inside.

She moved like she owned the space, her posture flawless, her stride unhurried. Her hair fell in glossy waves down her back, catching the light with every step. People parted instinctively to make room for her. She did not look at them. She did not need to.

Something tight curled in my chest.

I leaned toward Shirley. “Who is that?”

Shirley’s voice dropped. “Brianna Kendricks.”

I watched as Brianna lifted her chin slightly, her expression stoic and unreadable. She did not smile.

For a brief, terrible moment, her eyes met mine.

They slid over me like I was nothing at all.

And somehow, that felt worse than being stared at.