Chapter 3 CHAPTER THREE
Scarlett's POV
I gasped, and the fine dust coated my tongue and filled my nose. It was thick, white flour, but as it hit my skin, it started to sting.
I realized it wasn't just flour, it was mixed with some kind of crushed dried plant. Within seconds, my face and neck began to itch and burn.
I stumbled forward, blinded by the white cloud, and felt a hand on my shoulder give me a violent shove further into the room.
"Welcome to Bellamy, trash!" a girl's voice shouted.
I wiped my eyes and looked around. The classroom was full. About twenty-five students were seated at their desks, and almost all of them were howling with laughter. They pointed at me, mocking my white-covered hair and the red, splotchy rash that was already breaking out on my arms.
I looked back toward the door, searching for Katie. I expected to see a look of horror on her face. Instead, she was leaning against the doorframe, clutching her stomach as she laughed the hardest of all. The innocent look was gone, replaced by a cruel smirk.
"You should see your face!" Katie choked out between laughs. "You actually thought I wanted to be your friend?"
The stinging on my skin turned into a biting pain. My eyes began to fill with hot, angry tears. I didn't stay to hear the rest of their insults. I turned and ran back into the hallway, desperate to find a bathroom or a sink to wash the reaction off my skin before it got any worse.
I found a bathroom at the end of the hall and scrubbed at my skin until it was raw. The mixture of flour and dried weeds had left angry red streaks across my neck and cheeks. Every time my shirt rubbed against my arms, I winced. I couldn't face going back to that class, so I waited in a stall until the hallway went quiet. I spent the rest of the day moving around quietly.
I attended my other classes with my head down, trying to blend into the shadows. It didn't work. Notes were thrown at the back of my head, and I heard unsavory words whispered every time I walked by.
For goodness sake, how did they even know? I had only been here a day.
One boy tripped me in the hallway, and another girl yanked my hair while we stood in line for books. I didn't fight back. I just watched, taking mental notes. I began to see the hierarchy of this place. There were those whispering and trading things. There were those who wore dark, depressing colors and gave off a heavy ‘keep away’ vibe. There were kids who looked like they were on a fashion runway even in school uniforms. They were led by a girl everyone seemed to fear. And then there were people like me. The ones who sat alone, looking like they had already given up.
By the time the final bell rang, I was exhausted. It took me nearly thirty minutes to find my way through the maze that was the school to Room 302. I pushed the door open, praying for a moment of peace.
The room was small and damp. Two twin beds were separated by a narrow aisle. My side was bare, with nothing but a thin gray blanket. The other side clearly belonged to someone else. It was covered in dark posters of heavy metal bands, and the wall was scratched with tally marks, like someone was counting down the days until they were free… or dead. A pile of black boots sat in the corner, and the air smelled like stale cigarettes.
My roommate wasn't there, and I felt a massive wave of relief. I wasn't ready to face anyone else. I threw my books in the corner and crashed onto the bed. Tomorrow couldn't be any worse than today, I told myself, before drifting into a troubled sleep filled with memories of Greg’s body at the bottom of the stairs.
The next morning, things got much worse. Not really surprising.
I tried to get to the cafeteria early to avoid the crowds, but the doors were locked until 7:00 AM. By the time I got my tray of gray-looking oatmeal, the room was packed. I tried to find a seat in a far corner, but a foot shot out and blocked my path.
"Where do you think you're going, trash?"
I looked up. Standing in my way was the girl who led the cool kids. Her name was Skye. She was incredibly beautiful, with long blonde hair and eyes like vibrant earth, but the cruelty in her smile made my blood run cold.
"I'm just trying to eat," I said softly.
"You don't eat until I say you eat," Skye replied. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. "I heard about you, Hope Rowe. A little middle-class girl who couldn't handle her daddy. You don't belong here with us."
Before I could move, Skye reached out and grabbed a bowl of hot soup from a tray next to her. Without blinking, she tipped it right over my head.
It wasn't boiling, but it was hot enough to scald. It soaked through my shirt and ran down my face. The cafeteria went silent for a heartbeat before erupting into laughter.
One guy in a black hoodie stood out though because he wasn't laughing. I couldn't see his face or any part of his body. I wonder who he was.
"Look at her!" Skye mocked, her voice ringing out. "The little murderer is crying!"
I looked toward the corners of the room. Two tutors were standing by the exits. One was reading a clipboard, and the other was checking his watch. They saw everything. They saw me standing there, dripping and humiliated, and they did nothing. They just crossed their arms and looked away.
If I stayed like this, I wouldn't survive the month and I had two freaking years to go. Someone would go too far one day, and I’d be carried out of Bellamy in a body bag.
That night, after study class, I waited until I was sure everyone was in bed before heading to the communal showers. I couldn't stand the smell of the cafeteria food and the flour still stuck to my skin. I grabbed my towel and a change of clothes, creeping down the cold hallway.
The shower room was a large, tiled space with rows of open stalls and thick steam. I chose the stall furthest from the door and hung my clean clothes and towel on the metal rail outside the curtain.
The hot water felt like a miracle. For ten minutes, I let it wash away the grime and the stress. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine I was back at my old house, before Greg, before everything went wrong.
I reached out blindly through the curtain to grab my towel. My hand hit empty air.
I froze. I pulled the curtain back just an inch and looked at the rail. It was empty. My towel, my underwear, my pants—everything was gone.