Hunters of Chaos (3 page)

“What's going on?” I cried, still hugging the rear of the car as if it were my stuffed cat, Whiskers.

The driver, who had climbed out of his seat, pressed a button on his key chain and the trunk popped open with a snick. He furrowed his brows at me and let out a grunt. “What?” he asked.

“The—the—” But by then it was over, I realized. I leaned against the trunk and sighed.
Did he seriously not notice that?
Maybe earthquakes were so common here, a huge rumble like that barely registered. It's possible that it would seem normal to me eventually. But I seriously doubted I would ever stop noticing the
ground moving
.
Great,
I thought.
One more thing to get used to.

After the driver dragged my suitcase out of the trunk and onto the walkway, he wished me luck and drove off, waving his baseball cap out the window as he went. I waved back as if I were saying good-bye to an old friend or a favorite uncle instead of a total stranger. It sure beat thinking about the fact that I was now completely alone.

With a sigh, I turned and made my way past the columns into the warm glow of the lobby. For a moment I just stood there, not sure where to go next. Everyone else seemed to know exactly where they were going and what they were supposed to do. Was I the only new girl? It was a terrifying thought.

“Ana Cetzal!” a loud voice boomed. I looked up to see a tall blond woman in a chic summery dress and low heels striding toward me. She seemed to be around the same age as Aunt Teppy, but with golden skin and fewer laugh lines around the eyes. When she got closer, she held out her hand. As we shook, she smiled sweetly. “We've been expecting you,” she said. “I'm Principal Ferris. How was your flight in? Did you have any trouble getting here?”

I shook my head. “No, it was pretty cool. They showed movies on the plane.” I immediately cringed inside. Had that been a dumb thing to say?

But Principal Ferris didn't seem bothered. “That's wonderful!” she said, letting my hand go and clapping hers together. “Now, let's get you all settled in, shall we?”

“Sure,” I said, shrugging.

“Splendid. This way, please.”

Silently, I followed her through the lobby and out a back door at the far end. We stepped into the sunshine onto a path that split off in five different directions, each one leading to what looked like a miniature version of the main building. Perfectly manicured grass and precise rows of flowers filled the spaces between the paths. The paths came together at the lobby door, intersecting in a wide paved circle with curved benches all along the perimeter. I'd bet that from the air this whole place looked like an elaborate crop circle.

“These are our five dorms,” Principal Ferris said in her cheery voice. “Each one is named after an important person in Temple Academy's history. You'll be staying in Radcliff Hall, named after one of the founders of this school.”

She looked at me expectantly, as if I should be thoroughly impressed by this revelation. I tried my best to make her happy. She was being so nice to me; I didn't want to let her down. “Wow!” I said, faking enthusiasm. “That's . . .”
Don't say cool. Don't say cool.
“. . . awesome.” I sighed. I'd have to step up my vocabulary game for sure.

But the principal just smiled wider, seeming happy that I understood what an honor it was to be placed in this hall. We entered the circle and took the second path to our right, then walked up to the cozy-looking dorm building. After we passed through the heavy oak doors, I was even more surprised. Outside may have been all old-world charm and history, but inside—well, it looked like a West Elm showroom. The furniture was sleek and modern, with the occasional sparkly pillow thrown
just so
in the corner of an armchair. A flat-screen TV was mounted above a small fireplace, and a huge black-and-white photograph of Frida Kahlo took up half the wall behind the couch. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from screaming,
Cool!
I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, but it wasn't this.

Principal Ferris seemed to note the surprise on my face. “Quite nice, isn't it? We renovated it recently, at the request of some of the girls, actually. History is important to us here at Temple Academy, but we saw no reason not to make the common areas a bit more modern.”

“Good call,” I said. “It's . . . exquisite.”
There you go.
I mentally patted myself on the back.

“All the girls have access to this space,” she continued, gesturing for me to follow her up a short flight of stairs. “Each dorm has what we call a dorm mother. Yours will be Mrs. O'Grady, who is a dear woman. She'll be around to keep an eye on you ladies.”

“How many of us are there in this dorm?” I asked.

“Including you, there are approximately forty young ladies. But you'll only have to share a room with one.” At the top of the stairs we came to a hallway with several doors. She knocked on the third one, which bore a small white block with the names
NICOLE VAN VOORHIES
and
ANA CETZAL
on it.

The door swung open and the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen in real life stood there, smiling at me. She had shining corn-silk-blond hair that was the stuff of shampoo commercials, straight white teeth, and makeup so flawless she looked like she belonged on a red carpet.
I have to room with her?
I thought miserably. It would be like a potato farmer rooming with Marilyn Monroe, and guess which one of us was the potato farmer?

“Is this my roommate?” she squealed.

Principal Ferris laughed. “Yes, I told you she would be arriving today. Nicole, I'd like you to meet Ana. I expect you to make her feel right at home.”

“Naturellement!”
Nicole cried, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the room. She gave me a quick hug. “Oh, God, totally! I'm so glad you're finally here. I've had this room to myself for two whole weeks already. Privacy is nice, but after a while . . . bo-ring. Am I right?”

I didn't know what to say. Up until this moment I'd always had my own room. I'd had friends over sometimes, but between music, books, and my thoughts, I'd never been bored when hanging out alone.
Should I have been?

“Totally,” I agreed, nodding hard.

“Wait till you see how big our closet is,” she said. “Come on, I'll show you.” She reached behind me, grabbed the handle of my small suitcase, and rolled it away.

I looked back at Principal Ferris, who gave Nicole the same head shake and smile Aunt Teppy usually gave me. “Well,” she said, “I can see I'm leaving you in capable hands. There's a welcome packet in your desk with more information for you. And Nicole can fill you in on anything else. But feel free to find me if you need anything. Okay, Ana?”

I nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Principal Ferris.”

She gave me one last warm smile and retreated down the hall, humming to herself.

Reluctantly, I closed the door and followed the sound of Nicole's chatter to our shared walk-in closet.
Seriously?
I didn't even have a walk-in closet at home.

“The left side is mine,” Nicole said, gesturing to the long rack of what looked like brand-new clothes and a shelf stacked with shoe boxes. “The right side is all yours.”

I looked from the huge empty half of the closet to my pathetically small suitcase. “Um, I don't think I'll need a whole side,” I muttered.

Nicole seemed momentarily confused. “This isn't all you brought, is it? I know my mom didn't want me lugging four suitcases around the airport, so she shipped the rest of my things in boxes. Thank God, too. I wouldn't have had the heart to fold my Carolina Herrera dress.” She reached out and lovingly stroked a gorgeous designer gown made of some kind of shimmery fabric that looked like vanilla ice cream.

“This is all I brought,” I said, suddenly feeling underdressed and underpacked.

To Nicole's credit, if she was appalled, she hid it well. She shook her head and said, “Well, you don't need a million pieces. You probably just brought the essential ones. Less is more. Am I right?”

I had a feeling I'd be answering that question a lot and that the answer was always supposed to be yes. But now as I unpacked my neatly rolled T-shirts and Old Navy jeans, it seemed to dawn on her that maybe, for the first time ever, she was wrong. Very, very wrong. Her side of the closet screamed New York Fashion Week, and mine screamed Cleveland mall. Suddenly I felt kind of dumb for not having seen this coming. When I flashed back to everyone I'd seen in the lobby, it occurred to me that they hadn't all been just like me. Not that I was any kind of fashionista, but I could read labels as well as anybody, and I knew that one girl had been wearing a Donna Karan tank top, and one of the purses I'd seen had been Louis Vuitton. Nicole's side of the closet was a who's who of every designer I'd ever heard mentioned on
Fashion Police
. Until now, I'd never met anyone who had even one piece of designer clothing—not a real one, anyway. But designer clothing was all Nicole seemed to own!

I shouldn't be surprised.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that a school that only the rich could afford would be filled with rich kids.

And me, now.

“Um, Ana, don't take this the wrong way, but . . . did you bring anything a little less . . . casual?”

I didn't want to tell her that my idea of dressing up was wearing a belt with my jeans. My expression must have said it all, because she looked at me with real sympathy for a moment, like I was a lost puppy she'd come across in the woods.

“You know what?” she said. “Don't even worry about it. Actually, this is a good thing. You can be my little protégée!”

I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that. I almost protested. But then I thought about how out of place I already felt. Maybe I could use a little training. It couldn't hurt.

I grinned at Nicole. “Okay, sure. Help me, Obi-Wan. You're my only hope!”

Her nose crinkled in confusion. I guess she wasn't a
Star Wars
fan. “You're so weird,” she said. “I love it! Now, I think we're about the same size. So let's get you into something a little more sophisticated.” She rifled through the rack, her wooden hangers snapping against one another, until she came across a beautiful silk skirt with orange flowers blooming along the hem. Then she pulled out a sky-blue sleeveless mock turtleneck from a pile of folded tops on a shelf. “Perfect!” she said. “You don't want to be too matchy-matchy.” She pushed the ensemble into my chest. “Go ahead. Try it on. I won't look.”

She turned her back and whistled a game-show theme song while I kicked off my sneakers and socks, peeled off my road-weary jeans and cotton T-shirt, and pulled on the designer duds, grateful that the turtleneck allowed me to keep my jaguar a secret for a little longer. I couldn't even see myself yet and already I felt like a million bucks.

“You can turn around now,” I said. I held out my arms. “So, what do you think?”

Nicole nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Getting there,” she said. “But we've got to do something about that hair.”

I could practically hear Uncle Mec say,
Told you that you should have run a brush through it.
For a moment I missed him so much I thought I might cry. So it was a relief when Nicole pulled me back into the room and sat me down on a chair facing away from her. After she dug my brush out of my suitcase—she later informed me the one I was using was all wrong, of course—she brushed my hair until there wasn't a single tangle left. Then she took it in her hands, twisting and patting and twisting some more. Finally she disappeared into the closet again and returned with a pair of pretty beige Jimmy Choo flats with little blue satin bows near the toe. “Six and a half, right?”

“How did you know that?”

She shrugged. “It's a gift. Lucky for you, we're the same size there, too.”

I slipped my feet into the shoes and stood up.

“Oh. My. God,” Nicole said. “Major upgrade. Ma-jor.” She dragged me over to the closet again, but instead of entering, she closed the door to reveal a full-length mirror. “Look how pretty you are!” she gushed.

I had to admit, I really was. She'd styled my hair into a sleek side braid that hung over my shoulder, and the light blue shirt popped against my jet-black hair. Even the skirt was flattering on me, and I never wore skirts.
I could get used to this,
I thought. “Nicole,” I said. “You're a miracle worker.”

She fluttered her hand and said, “Pshaw,” but it was obvious that she agreed. “Well, now that you're ready to be seen in public, let's get out there! I'm dying to show you around.”

“You mean there's more?” I asked. How big was this place?

“Are you kidding?” she answered. “Wait till you see. Let's go.” She grabbed a small Michael Kors bag and slung it over her head so the strap rested in a diagonal line across her chest. In her peasant blouse, dark blue True Religion jeans, and strappy sandals, she managed to look casual and glamorous at the same time. How did she do that?

When we were almost at the door, I stopped and said, “Hey, Nicole?”

She turned and raised her eyebrows.

“I just wanted to say, thanks for doing all this. I mean, I know I'm probably not the kind of roommate you expected. But you've been really”—there was no other word for it—“cool. So thanks.”

Nicole smiled, flashing her brilliantly white teeth. “Not even,” she said. “We're going to be great friends, you and me.”

“You think so?”

“Naturellement.”
She winked and floated out of the room.

I smiled. I still felt like a strange girl in a strange place, and Nicole wasn't like anyone I'd ever known. But at least I had a friend, and that felt kind of nice.