“Call my mother. Call my mother. Call. My. Mother.”
Maybe it’s jet lag. Maybe it’s the weird, weightless feeling in my stomach that started the moment I walked into the school and the massive change I’d made has fully sunk in.
But I turn to look over at her, and before I can think better of it, I hear myself say, “Hey. Veruca Salt.”
Her lips part slightly, eyebrows going up as she stares at me. “Pardon?”
I’ve never wanted to pull words back into my mouth so badly. Lee was right about me not liking confrontation—it’s pretty much my least favorite thing, right there underneath mayonnaise and jazz music. But something about how this girl is talking just . . . bugged me.
So maybe this is who I am now? Millie Quint, Confronter of People.
I decide to keep going with it.
“Do you mind being a little quieter?” I waggle my phone at her. “Some of us are trying to talk, and it seems like my dude here is calling your mom, so, like, maybe take it down a thousand notches?”
She keeps staring at me, and the man with her is now looking at me, too, his florid face going even redder.
Whatever. I take a deep breath and turn back to Dad. “Look, I’m here, I’m safe, everything is great . . . ish, and I’ll call you back later, okay?”
Rubbing his eyes, Dad nods. “Sounds good, Mils. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He hangs up, and I go back to the suitcase on my bed. I still have a ton of unpacking to do, and it’s going to take a lot of work to get this room looking even the littlest bit homey, so I should—
“Did you really call me Veruca Salt?”
I turn around to see my new roommate standing there with her arms folded. The guy who was with her is out in the hall, talking on his cell phone, probably to this girl’s mom like she asked.
I take a second to study her now that I’m not blinded by her bone structure and shiny hair. Her sweater is a pale green that would make anyone else look vaguely ill, but just plays up the gold in her eyes, and yeah, my original take of her being the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen holds up, but the sulky way her mouth is turning down kills a little bit of her glow.
“I did, yeah,” I tell her. “It seemed like you were about three seconds from launching into a musical number about wanting things, so it just felt right.”
Her lips purse together, curling up into a smile. “Charming,” she finally says, then her eyes drop to my jeans—nowhere near as nice as hers—and my long-sleeved T-shirt. It’s the one I got working on the yearbook last year. I’d figured there was no sense in dressing up, since we’d get our uniforms as soon as we came, but now, next to this girl, I feel a little . . . grubby.
“I take it you’re my roommate,” she says, and I cross my own arms, mimicking her posture.
“So it seems.”
That smile again. It’s a straight-up Disney villain smile, reminding me that no matter how gorgeous this girl is, she’s clearly a witch.
“What a delight for us both,” she says, and then she turns, flouncing back out of the room.
She’s probably running to the headmaster to ask to be moved or something, and frankly, that suits me just fine.
But hey, maybe school is going to keep us both so busy that I’ll hardly even have to see her.
It’s only after I’ve heard her stomping footsteps disappear down the hall that I realize I never learned her name.
CHAPTER 8
According to the itinerary I was emailed, I have a “tea” at 4 p.m., and since it’s 3 now, I change into my new uniform, which was hanging up in the closet, draped with plastic, when I arrived. There’s a knee-length plaid skirt, a short-sleeved white shirt, and two different sweaters, one long-sleeved, the other a vest. I choose that one, the Gregorstoun crest stitched on the front. It’s warm enough, so I don’t have to bother with the dark tights, settling on the kneesocks instead and finally sliding my feet into a pair of very plain black flats.
There’s a mirror affixed to the back of the door, and I take a moment to look at myself, this new Millie. A Gregorstoun Girl.
Same boring brown hair curling over my shoulders, same brown eyes. Same dimples, as I see when I give a forced smile.
Same Millie, different place.
Sighing, I open the door and step out into the hall, only to immediately hear someone calling out.
“I’m telling you, Perry, she’s on this floor!”
The voice around the corner is clearly coming from a Disney Princess—sweet, melodious, complete with the perfect cut-glass English accent, and I expect the girl I’m about to see will look like a cross between Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella. There might even be woodland creatures trailing in her wake.
The girl who suddenly appears is beautiful, and she’s also . . . a giant.
Okay, that’s not really fair, but she is easily over six feet tall, although when I glance down, I see she’s wearing high-heeled boots. And while she might not look like Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, she is stunning, with long dark hair and smooth brown skin.
And when she looks down at me, I see she has lovely brown eyes that crinkle at the corners as she smiles. “Oh, hullo!” she says brightly. “I didn’t even see you there!”
That’s probably because I’m basically a squirrel while she’s a giraffe, and I give an awkward wave. “I tend to blend in.”
“Oh, you’re American!” she trills, then gestures behind her impatiently. “LOOK, PERRY, I’VE FOUND AN AMERICAN!” she calls, loud enough to make me wince.
No woodland creatures in her wake, but the boy who follows her is a bit . . . rabbity.
That’s not nice, probably, but there’s a slight overbite situation happening, plus he seems nervous and jumpy, especially compared to the girl he’s standing next to.
“I’m Sakshi.” She offers her hand for me to shake, and I take it, grateful that someone in this place seemed like a normal human being.
“Millie.”
Sakshi grins, showing a crooked tooth, and finally, something slightly imperfect about this perfect girl. I’d been starting to wonder if you had to be a supermodel to get into this place, and I was some kind of charity case. “Millie,” she repeats. “Cute. I like it.”
I’d never thought of my name as being “cute” before, but Sakshi doesn’t seem to be teasing, so I just go with it. “Technically Amelia, but no one ever calls me that.”
She jerks a thumb over her shoulder at the guy standing just behind her. “And this is Perry, who is actually a Peregrine.”