Chapter 3

I stood at the front of the class, scanning the thirty-some unfamiliar faces—some curious, some dismissive, most indifferent.

In the last row by the window, Andrea was already seated quietly, arranging her textbooks.

"Claire can sit…" Serena looked around the room, then her gaze landed on the only empty seat—right next to Andrea. "Oh, perfect, there's a spot next to Andrea."

My legs suddenly felt like lead.

The class burst into knowing laughter. Someone even whistled.

Andrea looked up and gave me a polite smile, then brushed off the seat next to her like there was dust on it.

I dragged my feet over and dropped my bag onto the desk with a thud.

Her lashes fluttered slightly, but she didn't say anything.

First period was math. The teacher handed out a placement test.

I glanced over the questions and almost laughed. Seriously? I taught myself harder stuff back at the orphanage.

My pen scratched across the paper. Twenty minutes later, I was done.

When I looked up, Andrea was still frowning at the final problem, her pen tapping against her chin.

Sunlight streamed through the window onto her worksheet, highlighting the way her fingers clutched the pen so tightly her knuckles were white.

The bell rang, and the teacher came around to collect our tests. Andrea turned to me. "Did you use Lagrange's Theorem for that last one?"

I blinked. How did she even know I solved it?

"Not your business." I pulled out my textbook for the next class. "Quit pretending."

Her lips pressed into a thin line and she turned back around.

The sunlight hit the back of her neck, pale enough to see faint blue veins under her skin.

The morning dragged on like slow torture.

Every class, someone would sneak glances at me, then whisper to the person next to them.

During the break, I went to the bathroom. While I was in the stall, I heard voices outside.

"I heard she's the maid's daughter."

"No, I heard she's the illegitimate one…"

"She looks nothing like Andrea. Andrea's gorgeous."

I kicked the stall door open. The two girls outside jumped so hard that one of them smeared her lipstick halfway up her cheek.

At lunch, I sat in a corner of the cafeteria with my tray.

St. Land's dining hall looked more like a five-star buffet than a school cafeteria, but I only grabbed a sandwich and a few greens—I didn't even recognize half the dishes.

"Is this seat taken?" A girl stood across from me, her tray piled high like a small mountain.

I shook my head. She dropped her tray immediately and stuck out a hand covered in some kind of sauce. "Ophelia. Class A's class president. Ms. Miller asked me to help you get familiar with the campus."

I forced myself to shake her hand.

Ophelia talked like a machine gun. In ten minutes, she'd given me a crash course on St. Land's rules, clubs, and its very complicated social hierarchy.

I nodded while chewing, but my eyes kept drifting toward the center of the cafeteria—Andrea sat there, surrounded by seven or eight girls, looking like the sun in a solar system.

"Next Wednesday's the club fair," Ophelia said suddenly. "Got your eye on any clubs yet?"

I pulled my gaze back. "Not interested."

"Andrea runs the Art & Culture Division of the student council. They rehearse every Wednesday afternoon in the auditorium," Ophelia added with a knowing look. "She's in charge of the performance for the school anniversary next month."

My fork paused mid-air. Wednesday afternoons were the only free time we had at St. Land.

That Wednesday, I stood in the back row of the darkened auditorium.

On stage, Andrea was adjusting the microphone. She wore a lavender dress that made her skin look like porcelain.

About a dozen students sat below—some with instruments, some with scripts—all staring at her like she was some kind of goddess.

"Next performance—Romeo and Juliet, balcony scene," her voice rang through the sound system. "Actors, please come up."

Then four students stepped onstage and started rehearsing.

I crept a few rows forward, hiding behind a pillar.

They were doing the balcony scene, but "Romeo" stammered so much he couldn't even remember his lines.

"Stop," Andrea said, frowning. "Jimmy, that line needs more feeling. Juliet's your true love, not your math textbook."

The boy blushed deep red.

I couldn't help laughing. Back at the orphanage, I was the drama club's MVP. Pretending to be some happy kid from a loving family? That took real acting.

My laugh echoed awkwardly in the quiet auditorium.

Everyone turned to stare. Andrea's eyes found me instantly across the room.

"Claire?" Andrea blinked in surprise. "Are you here to join?"

All eyes turned toward me like spotlights.

I stood up straight and walked slowly to the front. "Just came to see what the oh-so-famous student council was like." I glanced at the fumbling Romeo. "Not impressed so far."

Instantly, gasps rippled through the room.

Andrea's expression froze for a second, then she smiled. "You've got acting experience?"

"More than you," I shot back.

"Perfect." Andrea actually clapped. "We could use a coach. Why don't you give us a demo?"

I hesitated. That wasn't the plan—I just wanted to mess things up and watch her lose her cool.

But now I had no way out. I stepped up on stage.

Andrea handed me a script. "Just that scene. Is that okay?"