Chapter 4

Awkward silence had hung in the car ever since *she* had been in it.

Least before, I coulda filled the noise with the clack of texts from a Pixel 13 Mini. Until Dad had had the gall to sell it. All because Lexy had convinced him to.

And to replace it with an Android *two* whole models out of date! I hadn't even packed the thing out of spite.

Fred was smart enough to put some distance between me and Clarissa. Still, I hoped she noticed how I had accessorized.

Now atop my head was a black skull and crossbones bandana that had survived her purge.

Though the few pleasures I had in this life were few and far between.

Winmeinster Day was not one of them.

For all its faults, namely Clarissa, Fred, and the posh disciplinary dictates, I could say it fabulously put that dingy old public school to shame.

Even if, that washout had my few friends in it.

They got it.

They would retch with me at the period piece drab this place was. I mean there was smoky, soft strappings of Dark Academia and English chic then there was the grim overcut of window ledges and jutting cathedral steppes of all things.

Come. On. What were you trying to prove?

Once out, a limo screeched to a stop behind us.

"What in blazes!" Dad exclaimed. "What is the jack--"

Lexy quietly sympathized, yet still warned to watch his language.

The long car now grazed our license plate.

A boy sat in the front passenger seat, slinking down with a look begging God for death.

Too bad on that guy. I'd tried. Many, many times.

Until he actually took a look.

From then on he turned nauseatingly amazed.

The door opened...

And by the scruff of his collar he was excised from the car. "Kay Jojo your the world's problem now!"

With the slam of the door, tires screeching in a spiteful U turn the boy almost looked outraged.

Almost. Then the dopey smile came back before a truly stupendous stampede of students, including Clarissa and Fred bowled over each other to get a look.

Somewhere in the mob I heard my name called.

Rather than join in oggling a boy like a zoo animal I made my way inside. Near the door was a girl in a wheelchair, utterly neglected.

The chair made an already short and chubby girl of suede skin tone resemble some chocolate tasty cake. On one of her legs was a splint over a cast.

"Need help?" I asked. Not an easy thing for me to say.

Used to be temporary or no girls in wheelchairs, not to mention, *plus size girls* were just uncool.

Shopping with *that.*

It was just a drag.

"Yeah," she laughed with a soft, somewhat reproachful smile looking down. "Megan had promised to help me, now that I'm out and allowed y'know, won't hurt myself worse." In a somewhat passive stare her sight went to the continuing frenzy. No. "Before seeing her dream husband drive up."

Squinting the girl added in a much more jovial, somewhat prodding tone, "bit of a let down if you ask me. I expected a bit more I dunno, style. Grace. That sort of show."

Not much to stylize on a standard uniform. Yet I found she somehow found a way, having bedazzled and embroidered utterly natural shoots of running ivy and devious purple buds abroad on the insignia at the blazer's breast. Her sleeves rolled up and some magenta skin tattoos running the length of her wrists. Or the one clunky hot pink boot with what looked like self-doodled blood red spider webs.

Had to say, I stanned her edgy aesthetic so hard. And she earned a high amount of new respect points.

The unknown celebrity, certainly more than a bit bedraggled, had thankfully escaped. Prude.

"That's horrible," I enthused, immediately disgusted with this Megan.

"It's okay. I mean, this is Jared Prince we're talking about," she pointed out as if such things were just basic, rudimentary knowledge.

I swear.

"I don't care if he's the newly born Jesus she shouldn't have left you here-- you--"

I trailed, quickly realizing I had nothing else to call her.

Save for stumpy. Or peg leg. Or something of the kind. (Don't judge me! Not like I'd gotten the brain prod treatment!)

"Celia. Celia Heart."

Immediately I came up behind her, hefting the chair. It turned out to be just a bit easier than lugging water buckets for a lunch cooler or whatever dregs came up in a chili throw up janitorial day.

Celia reacted to each bump with an "oof" or a grunt.

"Please hate this try standing at attention when the guy has a ruler," I couldn't help but mutter.

"How--" only to backpedal, "guess you're right. I could not for the life of me."

For all my whinging and long, long moan it turned out to be no sweat.

"Yay! Girl Power!"

"I do hope you mean my power," I emphasized somewhat haughtily. Considering all the other demeaning jobs I'd once been forced to do I was well in my right to ask.

Just get a little credit.

"Oh yeah. Hey," Celia practically glowing so earnest and honest, "let's get eclairs. My treat."

"E-- eclairs, like French eclairs?"

I could hardly dare to dream of such a thing. Quality. Baked. Goods.

"Oh yeah," she gushed rolling to my front, "the. Absolute best I guarantee."

Don't cry. Really, really don't cry.

"Well what are we waiting for?" I declared, once again taking the handles.

"Other way."

I deftly made the turn, just shy of a tall, elder student shoehorned in our way. And of pastries. He really should have known better.