Chapter 5 Royals, Greeks, and Gothic Freaks

I blink as I watch her walk to her side of the room. “Excuse me?”

She tosses her ball gown onto her bed and sets her toiletry bag on her desk. Then she turns around to lean her hip on it and crosses her arms under her boobs, making them look even bigger than they already are. I can't help it. I glance down at my own B-cup-sized chest and frown.

Some girls just get all the luck. I don't happen to be one of them.

“What with the whole grabbing Marlon by his dick and then the whole scene with Claire De La Viene?” She shrugs. “I mean, it screams attention whore.”

Okay, so she called me an attention whore. But my night has been full of confrontation, and I'm all out of fucks to give. Besides, she doesn't seem to mean it the way most people would take it, which is as an insult.

I watch as she puts her cream-pink dress on a hanger and puts it into the tiny closet we were provided. It takes up nearly the entire space, and I think that it must be a bitch to take on and off. It's probably why it took her so long to get back to the dorm from the communal bathrooms.

“De La Viene?” I mutter, my eyebrows pinching together. “What is she, royalty?” Only the rich have pompous names like that. Like my neighbor. His last name is Knightley. The amount of times Roman, Beckett, and I have made fun of him behind his back is a little disappointing, but hey, we were kids.

“She may as well be.” The girl shrugs again. “I'm Herra, by the way.” She tucks long strands of pink hair behind her ears and smiles for the first time.

“Raven Hollow.” I introduce myself.

When she comes out of the closet, she raises an eyebrow at me. “You're judging Claire's name when yours literally screams gothic freak?” She snorts at me in disbelief.

“You're named after a Greek god.” I point out, sitting down on my bed.

She sighs. “Yeah, my mom was a Greek god fanatic.” She sighs. “But I'll take it. I'd rather that than some book series name.”

In the end, Herra and I stayed up way past the academy's curfew. It's going to be hard changing up my routine from day to night.

---

Ashmourne Academy has a specific uniform, strictly for each gender. Apparently the school has yet to get with the times, and Herra is not happy about it.

“First I'm forced to wear a stupid puffy gown and now they want me to wear this?” She hisses as she tries to pull the length of her pleated skirt further down her thighs. I'm in the same boat as her, wearing matching thigh-high black socks with, you guessed it, garter belts. Pairing it with a white button-up blouse that requires a black-and-grey striped tie (thank goodness they're clip-ons because I don't know how to knot one for shit) and shiny, polished leather shoes.

“I think it's cute.” I say as I tie my long black hair up into a ponytail.

She scoffs at me. “Of course you do. Your boobs actually fit inside your shirt. Meanwhile, my ass is about to fall out and my tits are going to rip a hole through my shirt.”

“Try getting a bigger size then?” I ask.

“I tried.” She stresses the words out as she fails to lengthen her skirt. “The bastard professor said there weren't any left.”

I pause and raise an eyebrow. “He's totally a pervert.”

“Ugh, whatever. Let's just go.” She groans. We grab our backpacks and shuffle out into the hall. We pass by a few girls and make our way to the cafeteria.

Ashmourne Academy is more of a castle than a school, if I'm honest. The stone buildings were built in the seventeen hundreds, so there are spires and gargoyle statues. Some of the windows are barred with wrought iron, and the pathways are made of stepping stones.

I'll admit that it's cool to look at during the day. But at night, the lit lanterns and the centuries-old torches make it all look haunted.

“You think there are any ghosts here?” I ask.

“Please, don't jinx it,” Herra mutters as she glares at a boy for staring too long at her massive chest. When we get inside the cafeteria, it's full of students. From first-years all the way to fourth-years.

It takes a while for our turn in line, and I stack my tray with pancakes, bacon, eggs, and toast. I slather a thick amount of butter and jam, and I'm a step behind Herra, heading towards a few empty seats at a back table, when someone rams into me from behind.

Something cold, wet, and sticky drips down my back and into the crack of my ass. I shudder and spin around, coming face-to-face with Claire De La Viene.

Talk about déjà vu.

“Oops,” Claire feigns worry. She holds an empty plastic cup in her hands, and the contents smell suspiciously like kombucha, you know, the fermented tea that smells like sour vinegar. “I didn't see you there.”

I call bullshit. I let her get away with it once, and on my mother's wedding dress no less. And while I should've put up more of a fight over that than this, I wasn't in the right state of mind. I am now. And I won't be letting her get away with this a second time.

I can feel it in the air, with everyone around us watching. If I let Claire win this time, then everyone else will think they can walk all over me. And if I'm going to find Roman, I can't let that happen.

So, I do what anyone else would do if they were in my shoes. I lift my food tray and dump it over her head.