THE NEXT THREE months of my new life entailed long days of acclimating into high society.
In the beginning, my parents tried to help, they really did.
The first two weeks, my father came home early from work every night to have dinner with his wife and daughter. But after I adjusted to my routine, he started coming home later and later, until it was just my mother and myself at the massive dining table.
And my mother tried too, helping me with my studies and trying to instil me with the poise and manners of a proper lady. That is, until she told me she'd have to return to her philanthropic duties that had fallen hopelessly behind.
So I was left with half a dozen private tutors to keep me occupied. And they did a good job, especially when they realized I caught on quicker than your average seventeen year old with the educational experience of a pre-schooler.
One afternoon, after a month and a half, I tested at a level concurrent with a freshman in high school.
"I'm quite surprised Miss. Grey," stated one of my English tutors, Ms. Lamen. She was a harsh looking woman with greying hair she kept tied up in a tight bun and who was never seen in anything less than a power suit. "You managed to write a fairly decent essay and referenced a novel you'd read last week. How on earth did you remember those quotations?"
I shrugged. "I just close my eyes and see the pages. It's not hard."
She looked at me like I was a nut case. We didn't get along well; she treated me much like you'd treat an infant, but she was a smart woman. Aside from the fact she thought I made up the whole "kidnapped when I was six and held captive for ten years" story because my parents didn't give me what I wanted.
And she thinks I'm the crazy one...
"So you're saying you think you have a photographic memory?" She glared at me incredulously. "I highly doubt that, Miss. Grey. I've been a woman of academia for longer than you've been alive, and never have I had a student with such a preposterous thing."
Safe to say I went to my mother that night and informed her of Ms. Lamen's theories.
The next afternoon I was introduced to Miss. Gilbert, a young brunette woman with big bright eyes and a pretty smile. She did a couple of exercises to test my memory and explained to me how a photographic memory worked, because that was exactly what I had.
After another month of studying with her from eight in the morning until dinner, I had achieved an academic level that rivalled most other seventeen year olds.
My fork hovered half way to my mouth, the bite of salad on it slipped off, falling back onto my plate.
It was a Saturday, meaning both of my parents, who I'd grown accustomed to calling Mum and Dad, were present at the dinner table.
And they'd chosen that opportunity to drop a Texas sized bomb on me.
"School? As in, public school? With other people?" I mentally picked my jaw up off of the table before Mum could make a comment about etiquette.
"Heaven's no!" cried Mum. She looked rather offended by my comment. "We would never send you to a public school, where just anybody could get to you."
"Okay..." I trailed off, waiting for an explanation.
My father cleared his throat. "We've booked you for an entrance exam to a prestigious private school nearby. One to which our family has donated to quite generously throughout the years. You'll write the exam on Monday, and they'll determine what form you'll begin in."
I just stared at him.
"You can't stay cooped up in this house forever, Sweetheart. It's not healthy. We're worried about you. So are our friends. You've hardly met anybody yet," Mum frowned.
I sighed. My parents had been understanding in the beginning, not pressuring me to go out in public or meet anyone I wasn't comfortable with, aside from tutors, who were paid handsomely to make sure I was comfortable.
Mum had tried to get me to go to tea with her once this past month. I'd made it as far as the country club before erupting in a full scale panic attack.
She hadn't tried since then, only briefly mentioning the odd function she'd thought would be "fun" for me.
"You'll be the only student writing the exam, seeing as you're the only new student they've accepted this year," Dad clarified.
I let out a tiny sigh of relief.
He smiled and continued. "And it's a small school, very elite. I believe there's only 200 or so students enrolled. And we've been assured nobody will be bothering you. You can go to school and be an ordinary girl, just like you asked."
That was exactly what I'd told him I'd wanted before they brought me home. A normal life.
What I hadn't been anticipating was an irrational fear of strangers. Or the extraordinarily inconvenient social anxiety. But you know, whatever.
They were trying to keep me happy, and give me what I'd wanted. I couldn't blame them for that. So, I sat up straight, plastered a smile on my face and continued pushing salad around my plate. "So, tell me about this school..."
Summer Grove Academy was a very old, well established and highly elite preparatory school. They wouldn't even consider you if your family didn't earn more than a couple million a week and your last name was known across the country. I guess I fit the bill.
I sat in the back of my parent's Bentley as we drove through the wrought iron gates. We passed an elaborate looking sign that read "Summer Grove Academy" followed by the phrase "soli magnitudinem beatitudinem consequetur". My Latin was still at a beginner's level, but I believe it roughly translated to "Strive only for greatness, for happiness will follow".
Cheery.
The car pulled up in front of a large, Victorian looking red-stone building. Vines climbed up the wall, flowering in pinks and purples. A wide set of stairs led to an ornate and heavy looking door. A sign above the door marked this as "Summer Grove Academy: Dean of Students' Office".
My mouth must have been gaping, because I heard my mother chuckle beside me.
"It's one of the most beautiful schools in the country. I'm certain you'll love it here," she murmured.
The driver came around and opened our doors. We slid out and I brushed myself off.
I'd chosen a simple outfit for the day, a knee length black skirt and a white blouse. I pulled my black cashmere sweater around my shoulders and rubbed my arms against the cool summer breeze.
As if on cue, the large doors of the school were pushed open, and two people walked out. The first a man, tall and greying, followed by a woman, who was petite with harshly cut blonde hair.
"Welcome to Summer Grove, Miss Grey. And as always, it's a pleasure to see you Charlotte," cooed the woman, her British accent more obvious than Mum's.
I followed Mum up the stairs. When we reached the top she stepped forward, exchanging kisses on the cheek with the woman.
"Scarlett, dear, this is Headmistress Fiona Karlsson, a dear old friend of mine. And this is Dean Fredrick Howes, the Dean of Students," Mum sang, her voice warm and joyous.
The Headmistress stepped forward to exchange pleasantries, but as soon as she was within two feet of me, I felt my chest tighten.
Instinctively I jumped back, narrowly avoiding falling down the steps.
The headmistress frowned rudely. "Charlotte, you assured us that your daughter no longer had problems being in public. We can't afford to have a student who can't interact with her fellow classmates. It's highly inconvenient for us."
I wasn't sure who I was more pissed at. The headmistress, who was apparently rude and lacked a conscience or my mother, who knew full well my anxiety was far from under control.
Before I could voice my opinion, Mum clicked her tongue. "I apologize dearly, Fiona. Her therapist assured me that she was doing much better. I'll have to speak to him about it. But don't worry, Scarlett is good at adapting. Once she's used to you, she has no problem."
As if to prove her point, Mum then wrapped an arm around my waist and affectionately kissed me on the forehead.
I'd long outgrown the urge to flinch at her touch. I now found it comforting. As was her blatantly lying to get me into the best school I could dream of.
I let it slide.
The headmistress sighed. "Very well. Let's get you and your daughter inside so she can write her examination. While it's being graded, we'll all sit down and discuss how we shall go about her enrolment.
With that, she turned on her heel and we followed her inside.
The exam was easy, only taking me an hour and a half to complete.
I turned in my test packet to the kind looking lady behind a desk. She took it from me wordlessly, and began grading.
I left the room to find Mum, the Headmistress, and the Dean sitting outside of the testing room. I followed them to an office down the hall, clearly marked Headmistress Karlsson.
Inside, we sat down at her desk. It was cold, much like I figured her heart was.
"So, Miss Grey, dependent on the results of your entrance examination, you will be placed in Form, which is much like a Grade. Your proper Form would be Sixth, based on your age, however your lack of structured education will likely result in you entering in Third or Fourth Form."
I wanted to scoff at her assumption that I was basically an idiot. But since Mum's lessons had taught me some manners, I knew better.
Before she could continue degrading me, the small woman who'd graded my exam entered the room, and handed the Headmistress my results. She looked them, and her brow furrowed.
"Very well then," she said, shooing the poor woman out of the room. "It seems I was mistaken, you will indeed be enrolled as a Sixth Form student, Miss Grey."
I smiled sweetly. Take that, Bitch.
Mum beamed at me. "I'm so proud Scarlett."
"The Dean will brief you on your classes. I'll be back momentarily." And she showed herself out.
I'm almost certain she excused herself to check the video cameras in the testing room to prove I had cheated or something. No faith.
The Dean proceeded to explain how my days at school would work. I'd have three one-hour classes in the morning, a lunch hour, three more classes, and a half hour break after which I'd have at least one hour of mandatory extracurricular activities. My schedule would be provided to me on the first day of classes, exactly a week from the day.
My head hurt by the time he was done. He proceeded to ask me what size I wore. I must have looked utterly confused, because Mum was the one who answered him.
"She's a size one, sir."
In my defence, I was only five foot three. And I hadn't exactly been fed particularly well over the last decade. Or so Mum tells me whenever I complain I'm too small.
He excused himself, returning with two garment boxes.
Uniforms.
I almost gagged audibly. I'd read about how horribly uncomfortable and unattractive they were online, after finding out Summer Grove students were required to wear them.
He passed the boxes off to Mum, who smiled in return.
"Please, you're welcome to call us if you have any questions. Regardless, we look forward to Miss Scarlett joining us next week."
Joy.
We exchanged smiles and I even managed to shake his hand, before we got back into the Bentley and headed home.
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