Initiation (2 page)

I already had eight light blue sticky notes lined up along my eggshell-colored walls. At least I knew I was still
me
at Canterwood—the crazy-organized, to-do–list compulsive girl that my friends liked to tease.

I stared at all the boxes with
Lauren
scrawled on each in grape Sharpie. My roommate hadn't arrived yet, so I'd picked the right side of the room, hoping she wouldn't mind.

This was surreal. I—Lauren Towers—was a seventh grader at Canterwood Crest Academy—one of the most elite boarding schools on the East Coast. The Connecticut
school had a reputation for rigorous academics and—the main reason I'd applied—an even more intense equestrian program. I picked up my BlackBerry and scrolled through my photos. There were a few family pics of Mom, Dad, Becca, and Charlotte—my oldest sister.

I tightened my grip on my phone's sky-blue gel case when a photo popped up of me with my best friends, Brielle and Ana. In the picture, the three of us were smiling at the camera as we posed on horseback. We were—
had been
, I corrected myself—riders at Briar Creek Stable. Even though it was summer in the photo, my skin was as porcelain pale as it was now in the fall. Sunlight glinted off Cricket, the Welsh cob school pony that I'd ridden at Briar Creek.

I put my phone down—unable to continue looking at the pictures. They would only make me miss everyone and everything. I surveyed my room, my boxes. Mom, Dad, and Becca had helped me move in a
ton
of luggage, duffel bags, and boxes. I imagined how it would look with my poster and my laptop. Right now, the room was empty. Once it was decorated, it would look amazing. I could tell already.

Gentle September sunlight streamed through two large curtainless windows. I couldn't wait to decorate with
my roommate. My room at home had a light-blue-and-white color scheme. Light, sky-blue was my favorite color and decorating was one of my favorite things to do. I'd brought a messenger bag of pages and pages that I'd torn from design magazines for inspiration.

I lived and breathed for fashion, decorating, and riding. Hopefully, my roommate would like some of my ideas. The last thing I wanted was for us to clash on day one.

Khloe Kinsella.
I said her name to myself. My guidance counselor and math teacher, Ms. Utz, had given me and Khloe each other's e-mail addresses so we could determine who would bring what for our room. I'd started a “what to bring to CC” list in a purple-with-silver-polka-dots notebook.

I'd e-mailed Khloe first just to say hi. Her reply was friendly enough, but she seemed really busy. She'd e-mailed sporadically throughout the summer and had given me just enough information to know what to bring to school. We hadn't exchanged much personal information. My stomach churned a little at the thought of meeting the girl I'd be living with for the year.

I weighed options, flipping through the Canterwood campus guide I'd gotten in the mail weeks ago. I wanted to go to the stable to see my horse, Whisper. But I was
nervous about going to the stable alone. I'd been there with my parents and Becca to get Whisper settled. But everything had been so new and unfamiliar, I hadn't paid attention to anything but Whisper. It was as if I hadn't gone to the stable at all—I couldn't even remember much of what it looked like, let alone how to get there. It had been a whirlwind of activity around me. I
did
remember that Whisper had a giant, roomy box stall that she'd settled into quickly. And before I'd left, she'd taken a delicate sip of water from her pink bucket and started munching hay.

And okay, maybe there was . . . another reason I was stalling. Even though I
knew
no one recognized me—that no one paid attention to seventh graders—my nerves still wouldn't go away. The fear that someone at the stable would look at me sideways, squint for one second too long and wonder if maybe I was that girl from TV. I tried to shake the thoughts from my head. I didn't want to fixate on that.

Mom and Dad already spoke to Mr. Conner,
I reminded myself. They'd already met with my riding instructor, Mr. Conner, and explained my background. He'd understood that I wanted to keep my past just that and had promised not to mention previous competition experience or
anything else that would connect me to what had happened. No one would find out anything from him—not one student on campus would know until—
if
—I ever decided to tell them myself.

I glanced out the window again, chewing the inside of my lip. I wanted to be with Whisper, but I wasn't ready to face the new stable yet. Just a little more time. Maybe some unpacking would distract me. I began to visualize where I wanted to put some of my belongings. I stood, surveying the layout of the room again. The double room was even bigger than I'd expected. There were two twin beds separated by space for two bedside tables. The windows above each bed looked over the gorgeous courtyard, which made the room feel even bigger.

On my side of the room, near the door, was a skinny counter with a microwave, two cabinets and space for the cheerful yellow mini-fridge that would be arriving any day from Pottery Barn Teen. Khloe and I had gone in on it together.

Each side of the room had its own closet with enough room on each side for one desk. I squinted my eyes. There was enough floor space for a small coffee table if Khloe and I decided we wanted one. I walked into the private bathroom on Khloe's side of the room. New white tile
had been scrubbed clean, along with a shower with a glass door, a decent-size vanity mirror, and a wooden cabinet under the sink. I already had several ideas for color schemes in mind—I couldn't wait to talk about them with Khloe. We'd learned over e-mail that both sets of parents had given us “decorating allowances” to make the room feel like home.

I walked out of the bathroom, looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror. It had taken me almost all summer—
no
exaggeration!—to choose my first-day-at Canterwood outfit.

Since it was Saturday, I'd decided to go for comfort-slash-chic. Skinny dark wash distressed jeans, a short-sleeve slouchy black tee with thin gray horizontal stripes, and a white tank underneath. For accessories, I'd decided on my beryl birthstone necklace. Classic and never out of style. I'd seen them on legendary icons from Audrey Hepburn to today's hottest celebs featured in
Trends
magazine
.

I smoothed my long, wavy brown hair—letting the soft curls cascade down my back. My makeup was minimal—a sweep of shimmery caramel eye shadow that accented my blue eyes, concealer where needed, and a coat of CoverGirl's LipSlicks in Princess. Before we'd left home this morning, I'd applied a thin layer of Neutrogena
moisturizer with SPF 30. I never left the house without sunblock. Becca said my sunscreen obsession made me smell like summer all year round.

Footsteps stopped outside the door and a key turned in the lock. Khloe! My hand flew to my necklace—a beryl birthstone on a thin silver chain with a tiny diamond above it. Beryl stones were naturally clear, but my parents had gotten me one with a light blue tint.

The door opened and I clutched the blue stone tighter. A pretty girl with warm brown eyes stared at me. She was about my height, tan, and her long blond hair hung in beachy waves around her shoulders. She looked as if she'd come from California, not Boston, where she'd told me she lived. She looked
très
glam in a white tier-ruffled A-line skirt, a clover-green V-neck shirt, and a three-quarters-sleeve cardigan. Gucci sunglasses were perched on top of her head, and delicate silver bangles hung from her tiny wrists.

She dropped two purple faux-crocodile bags that she'd had slung over her shoulders, and they thudded to the floor.

She turned to face me, put her hands on her hips, and jutted out her chin. Her pearly pink lips pursed. “Well,” Khloe said flatly. “I guess you've already chosen
my
side of the room.”

I CLASPED MY NECKLACE HARDER, MY MOUTH
opening and shutting.
Great, job, Lauren,
I thought. My roommate knew me for ten seconds and she already hated me!

“I'm
so
sorry,” I said, a flush spreading from my face to my neck. “I didn't mean to make that decision without you. It should have been something we talked about. I'm happy to change sides and—”

Khloe grinned, clapping her hands.

Okay, now I was
completely
confused.

“Yes! You totally bought it! I mean, unless you're acting, too. You're not, right?”

“Not
what
?” I asked.

Khloe put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no. I scared you. I'm sorry, Lauren! I'm in Canterwood's drama
program. I was just trying out my ubermean girl character. I've been working on her all summer.”

I sat on my bed, breathing again.

“So . . . none of that was real?” I asked.

Khloe hurried over to sit beside me. “I'm serious—I was totally joking. I'm so sorry. I honestly didn't think my mean girl was any good. I thought you'd see right through
her
. I don't care what side of the room I'm on! Trust me. I wouldn't have even cared if you'd painted the room black before I'd gotten here.”

I looked at Khloe. Sincerity radiated off of her. Regret and empathy filled her brown eyes.

I smiled—wanting her to feel better. She
had
been kidding.

“You
definitely
fooled me,” I said. “I was ready to request a room transfer!”

Khloe smiled. “Is it wrong that what you said makes me feel bad and good at the same time?”

“No way,” I said, laughing. “I never would have been able to pull that off the way you did. If I ever decide to take drama, I'll definitely have to come to you for advice.”

Khloe kicked off her silver Havaianas, taking a seat on my bed. “I want to be an actress more than anything. Well, that and a professional equestrian. I know it sounds
crazy, but I can
totally
do both. You said in your e-mails that you're a rider, too.”

I nodded.

“What else are you into?”

“Well, I was in glee club at my old school,” I said. “So, I'm definitely trying out for Canterwood's glee club. And, of course, I still have to test for the riding team to see where the instructor will place me.”

Someone knocked on our door, still left partially open after Khloe's dramatic entrance. A tall, bald man stuck his head inside.

“Miss Kinsella?” he said.

“Right here,” Khloe said, raising her hand and smiling.

“I've got the rest of your luggage,” the man said. “I'll put it right inside.”

“He's a mover my parents hired to help bring my stuff from home to Canterwood,” Khloe explained.

From the hallway, he unloaded boxes and a few suitcases onto Khloe's side of the room. She thanked him and he left the room.

Right away, I noticed that none of her boxes were labeled. Not even her name was anywhere.
I'd
been two seconds away from ordering a label maker, but Becca had talked me out of it.

“How do you know what's in each box?” I asked. “I practically went through a package of Sharpies labeling mine.”

Khloe got off the bed, unzipping a zebra-print suitcase. “You'll find this out soon enough—I'm the most disorganized person
ever
.” She scanned my boxes. “Wow. Maybe some of your organizational skills will rub off on me. Everyone knows I need it.”

Khloe flipped open the suitcase's top, revealing riding boots in zipper cases, a couple of helmets—one with scrapes, that had to be for practice only—and the other in a cover, that I guessed was for showing. A half-dozen pairs of leather gloves and stock ties were in a knit bag in a side pocket of the suitcase.

“I swear,” Khloe said. “My dressage stuff takes up half of my suitcases. I've got two filled with show coats, shirts, and breeches. And that doesn't even count the bags for my other riding stuff.”

“You're a dressage rider, too? That's my favorite discipline!”

I couldn't believe how lucky I was—Khloe had learned my last name via e-mail, but still didn't know about my accident.

“Cool!” Khloe said. She unzipped another suitcase.
“My roommate last year, Isabella, wasn't a rider. She was sweet, but she got bored whenever I talked about horses.”

I frowned. “That must have been frustrating. Did she switch roommates? Or . . .”

“Isabella transferred to another school. She tried, but she couldn't keep her grades up. She was put on academic probation and finally decided to leave. She didn't think she'd ever be able to make it here.” Khloe sighed. “Or she just didn't want to.”

That made my stomach a little rumbly. I hoped that everything I'd put into Yates Preparatory—my old school—would prepare me for Canterwood. Yates had been
hard
, but it hadn't been anything compared to the summer homework I'd done for Canterwood. I'd received e-mails from all of my teachers with books to read, terms to know, syllabi—my inbox had almost overflowed.