SubscribeStar Story: The Teaching Assistant, Parts 1-30

Prologue

It all started with a bored teenage girl.

Eighteen year old Ashley Roberts was one of the most popular girls at Westridge Academy. Normally, a hot, rich girl would be content with not working a day in her life, but Ashley wasn’t your average spoiled brat. There was a method to everything she did, including the hours spent working in the main office as an office assistant. 

It wasn’t about the money; the pennies she made for sitting at the front desk for a few hours every week were nothing compared to the allowance her parents wired to the private high school every month for her to treat herself and to pay the poorer scholarship girls to do her homework. Not that her parents knew the latter. 

But money wasn’t everything. The assistant position gave Ashley access. All kinds of access. Being in the main office let her suck up to teachers and administrators with none of her peers around to catch her in the act. When no one was looking over her shoulder, she could peruse the files of any student she wanted to check out. And, on those rare instances when she felt bold enough and knew she could get away with it, Ashley could go into the system and change students’ grades. Never a lot; nothing noticeable. But if a girl was irritating her, Ashley could change an A to an A- or a B+ to a B. Worst case scenario, one of those girls would notice an error or two and appeal their grade to get it fixed. If they kept copies of their previous semesters’ grades, of course. Without proof, they’d just look like girls trying to boost their GPA.  For the most part, Ashley assumed that her little edits would go unnoticed. It was more for personal satisfaction and petty revenge, as flaunting her exploits would get her into some serious trouble.

There were protocols that were supposed to prevent such abuse, of course, but administrators were busy. Ashley wasn’t supposed to be at the desk without supervision, and technically the rule was to log a student worker out of the computer’s main account whenever there wasn’t an adult present in the office. No one had time for that. Ashley worked there all the time, and always with a polite smile and a helpful attitude. Micromanaging her was too much of a hassle, especially since it would mean constantly pulling her away from the computer whenever anyone had to deliver a copy, grab a signature, or take a quick meeting. Ashley was good at her job. She kept everyone’s schedules up to date, she filed paperwork like a pro, and, after a few weeks of working there, no one batted an eye when she was the only one manning the office.

Ashley was quite happy with the arrangement. Her friends bought the excuse that she worked over lunch every few days as a punishment for whatever trouble she was causing that week. The administrators trusted her enough to leave her alone, and knew nothing about her antics outside of classroom hours. It was perfect; the lies to her girlfriends gave her a rebellious reputation and the lies to the adults kept her in good standing at the school. 

Most importantly, her admin-like powers just added onto what being rich and popular already granted her. 

It was ideal. 

Like most things, however, the job eventually grew monotonous. Her grades got a small upward boost, her enemies’ grades took a minor hit, and there was nothing else she could really get away with while still avoiding any suspicion. 

Until the inspiration that struck her in the form of a new arrival—the perfect little blonde haired target. The perfect cure to Ashley’s boredom.

Part One

Amelia Martin nervously sat in her car, counting down the minutes.

She had aimed to be early, but not this early. Her interview was at 12:45 PM, and she pulled into the parking lot just before 12:20. After triple checking her hair and outfit in the mirror, all she could do was draft verbal answers in her mind. Strengths and weaknesses, why she wanted the job, etc. Fresh out of college, the still twenty-two year old really, really wanted this. Westridge Academy was the most prestigious school in the state; an all girls’ academy that groomed teenagers for Ivy League colleges and for later success in life as well. Amelia figured it was worth a shot. Worst case scenario, she could say that she tried, before looking at other private schools. Failing those, she’d get into tutoring or something, as public schools did not appeal to her at all in this day and age.

This wasn’t a full teaching job, but it was a good stepping stone. It was somewhere between a TA position and an internship. Grading papers, leading review sessions, and observing classes would all be part of the teaching side of things, but she would also be responsible for a bit of clerical work around the office. Other young women might have scoffed at the idea of starting their adult life without being a ‘real teacher’ right away, but Amelia knew better. This position offered nearly twice the salary of what she could get as a teacher anywhere else, and that number would only go up once she put in her time and proved herself as someone who could lead a classroom by herself.

After killing almost ten minutes in the car, she finally stepped out just before 12:30. Fifteen minutes early, give or take. Anything more would seem too much, and anything less seemed unprofessional for a school that had such a strong reputation.

She gave herself one last look in the car window, then walked towards the private school’s main office. Everything about her image was carefully crafted. Amelia was short and petite, and her mentors had warned her about the challenges that came with being small in the career path she had chosen. Gaining respect from teenagers was difficult enough for any young adult, and more so when it came to students who were taller than her.

Amelia’s first and last growth spurt was in middle school. She was one of the first in her class to get curves, but that excitement didn’t last for very long. Year after year, her peers developed more and more in both the height and chest department, and she found herself stuck with pretty much just enough curves to identify her as a girl. As a woman, now. She had accepted it, but it didn’t prevent that self conscious feeling from creeping in every now and then when someone assumed she was younger than she was. Liquor stores would excessively check her ID, people would often assume she was still in high school whenever she wore anything too casual, etc. Amelia figured she might appreciate her youthful features when she was older, but it was a huge pain at her current age.

For that reason, she went through plenty of lengths to subvert her immature features. Three inch heels, for height. She was always tempted to do more, but it was important to find a balance between comfort and image. Push-up bras with a bit of padding most days, save for when she was at the gym. Her long, blonde hair was always straightened and then gently curled at the ends for a mature, attractive look. Finally, tactical make-up to hide the few freckles that came with her fair skin, and whatever subtle tricks with eyeshadow and other additions here and there that completed the day’s image.

Normally that was it, but her interview called for a classy outfit as well. Hopefully the modest black skirt and white blouse combo would paint her in a mature and professional light. Amelia wanted this job so badly. She kept telling herself it was only to say that she tried, as the open position aligned so well with graduation and subsequent job hunt, and she could only imagine what kind of competition she might be dealing with. But still. Any other school in the state would be a step down from the impressive campus she had taken in during her drive.

It was easy enough to find where she had to go. The signage in the administration building was intuitive; no surprise there. However, Amelia hadn’t expected the main office to be so empty. As she let the heavy wooden door close behind her, the only face to be found was that of a dark haired student sitting behind the front desk. “Can I help you?” the girl asked, already looking her way after the door opening caught her attention.

“Umm,” Amelia hesitated. She had expected someone on staff, not some girl that was clearly a student here. The plaid green tie over the white button-down was the same as what Amelia had seen on the website during her prep research, as was the dark blazer sitting on the back of the girl’s desk chair. Though Amelia couldn’t confirm it from where she was standing, she assumed the girl also had the plaid skirt that matched the tie underneath. “I’m here for an interview with Mrs. Thompson.”

“Student teacher, I’m assuming?” the girl asked. She looked Amelia up and down without being particularly subtle about it, “You don’t look like the IT type. What’s your name?”

Rude. Or maybe ‘blunt’ would be the better word. But Amelia knew better than to let it get to her. One of the challenges of working at an expensive private school would be dealing with judgmental rich girls. “Amelia. Amelia Martin,” she said.

“Ashley. Ashley Roberts. Nice to meet you,” the girl said, her lips pursed in a small smile as she turned her attention to the computer at her desk. After a few moments of typing and clicking, Ashley glanced back up, “Sorry, Ms. Martin. Did nobody call you? Or email you?”

“Umm, no. I don’t think so,” Amelia said. Her heart dropped at the notion that somebody else might have already swiped the job up. And, insult to injury, she already dressed up, made the drive, and psyched herself up for an interview. So much for Westridge Academy being the best, at least in the communication department. “What is it?” Best to rip the bandaid off.

“Mrs. Thompson had a family emergency come up,” Ashley said, “All of her appointments today were cancelled. You should have gotten a call.”

She was lying.

Part Two

Amelia frowned a bit as she processed what she was being told. It was better than the job no longer being available, but also an enormous waste of her time. Though that was being selfish. An emergency is an emergency, and maybe there was a voicemail waiting on her phone or something. “So, what now?” Amelia asked, “How long will Mrs. Thompson be out? Should I call to reschedule?”

“I can take care of that for you.” Ashley clicked a few times and pulled up a screen as Amelia stood awkwardly in the middle of the office. In limbo, as she had originally expected to either be greeted here, or to be sent to the administrator’s office. “How does Friday afternoon work for you? Mrs. Thompson should be back by then.”

“That works.” Amelia knew that for sure, as she wasn’t currently working. She dedicated the few weeks following graduation to looking for jobs, for the express purpose of not having conflicts with interviews. “What time?” 

“Hmm, never mind. She only has a 5:30 PM slot that day. Traffic will be horrible. How about Monday morning instead?”

“No, 5:30 is fine.” Amelia quickly said. What if the other slots were other interviewees? It would be better to be seen on Friday, just in case someone else stood out and she didn’t have a fair chance to compete before her interview turned into more of a formality. “Let’s stick with Friday.”

“Yes, Ms. Martin.” Ashley nodded. She finished with the computer, then picked up a small packet of papers from nearby, “If you want to speed things along, you can fill this out and fax it back to the office. Someone will get everything processed before you arrive.”

Amelia finally crossed the second half of the room and took the stapled sheets from Ashley. Just a quick skim caused a bit of confusion, though girl seated at the desk didn’t look like she was amused or trying to pull some kind of prank. It was a Student Registration form. Like any form, it started out asking for her name and other basic information, but then it went on with sections about high school, middle school, GPA, and more. 

“Wrong form, Ashley.” Amelia turned it so the seated girl could see the bold words at the top of the page. 

Without missing a beat, Ashley responded. “No, that’s the one we use. Westridge doesn’t hire frequently enough to have a separate form for that. Just cross off ‘Student’ and put ‘Applicant’ at the top or something. And ignore everything asking about your current grade and GPA. Just fill in whatever you can. We obviously don’t need you to attach report cards or transcripts either.” 

The immature giggle at the end of Ashley’s explanation put Amelia back at ease, as well as the constant ‘Ms. Martin’ references. Initially, she had expected the blunt girl to be the type to call a prospective teacher by her first name, but apparently that wasn’t the case. And, as she glanced through the packet, it made sense. General information was always important, and letting them know about allergies and such wasn’t a bad idea even as a new hire. 

“What about the schools?” Amelia asked, seeing the two big grids with boxes for classes and grades for high school and middle school. She could alway substitute university in one of them, but figured it couldn’t hurt to confirm with the girl who worked at the desk. 

“Stick with the form as best as you’re able. Just put the name of your old schools in those boxes, and don’t worry about the classes. College and anything else can go on the back or wherever you can find space. And obviously don’t worry about parent or guardian. Either way, I wouldn’t overthink it. The office can clarify whatever they need to on Friday, but they do prefer having as much history as possible on the form.”

Ashley’s words made sense. Having multiple forms asking for the same information did seem a bit wasteful and unnecessary, and the point she made at the end drove it home. It was Westridge Academy. The kind of school that cared about details; if not between forms, then what was written on those forms. The names of her previous schools would give some insight into where she was raised, which may or may not come up in Friday’s interview. Amelia’s initial doubt was easily washed away.

“Got it,” Amelia said, “Friday, at 5:30 PM?”

“Mm hmm,” Ashley nodded, “I don’t think I’m working then, but someone will be here to greet you.”

“Sounds good.” Amelia didn’t particularly care which student was working the front desk at the time. She was more concerned with the interview itself, and Mrs. Thompson was the one she needed to impress. Not some student handling things in the main office. “Well, have a good week, Ashley. I’m sure I’ll see you around if I get the job.”

“Maybe. Oh, you should fax the form at noon tomorrow,” Ashley said, with a wink, “That’ll put you at the top of the pile.”

Amelia couldn’t help but give a small smile in response. She had definitely misjudged the girl at the desk. The cancelled appointment was still a nuisance and a waste of her time, but perhaps this would all work out for the better. Now that she was familiar with the school’s layout, and had a few more days to prepare for potential interview answers, she would hopefully be more at ease when she returned in a few days.

“Thank you, Ashley,” Amelia said, “Anything else I should know?”

“Nope! Good luck on Friday.”

With another ‘thank you,’ Amelia turned and left the office, registration form in hand. Just a few more days, and she’d have her shot at being a student teacher at Westridge. Though this development meant she’d have to miss another day at work, it would all be worth it when she could drop the minimum wage job that was only a placeholder anyway. The money at the prestigious academy was much more alluring, as were the possibilities that came with it. 

Lost in thoughts on the way out the office door, Amelia failed to notice the devious smirk on Ashley’s face.

Part Three

“Hey, Amelia!” 

Once again, Ashley was working the front desk. Amelia was surprised, for a number of reasons. Wasn’t the girl a student? And didn’t she say she wasn’t working today? Then again, Amelia had only been here at lunchtime and now 5:30 on a Friday. Neither of those times would conflict with classes, and perhaps Ashley was able to get her studying done during whatever down time she had in the office. As for the latter question, there was no sense dwelling on it. The girl could have easily just mixed up her schedule.

“Hey, Ashley.” Amelia gave her a nod. Realizing a second too late that she probably shouldn’t be so casual with a student that could potentially be in one of her future classes, Amelia corrected herself with a belated, “Perhaps Ms. Martin, next time?” Hopefully it would be as easy as the other day, where Ashley simply adjusted to a more respectful approach. Amelia was fresh out of college, and guessed her first few years as a teacher would be spent demanding respect thanks to both her age and her youthful appearance.

“Ms. Martin,” Ashley said, without hesitation, “If you’re ready, Mrs. Thompson can see you now. All the way down the hall, hang a right, and she’s the last door on the left. Sorry again for the mix-up a few days ago.”

“It’s no problem,” Amelia said, “Did the office get all my information?”

“Probably? I don’t work here every day, so I wasn’t the one who got it. If you want, I can pull up your file?”

“No, it’s fine. I should get to my interview.”

“Good luck! I think you’ll be a great fit here.”

“Thanks, Ashley,” Amelia smiled, “Have a good weekend.”

Amelia had done everything she was told. In the name of being thorough, she filled out every single line on the registration form, complete with the extra information added on the back. If the interview went well, then everything else could be expedited. And, while the cancelled appointment had been a nuisance as she begrudgingly drove back home the other day, maybe it was a blessing in disguise. The extra time allowed her to fine tune her canned interview answers, as walking the confident/arrogant line could be quite difficult when talking about yourself. At this point, Amelia was more sure that she could put a more genuine spin on the ways she was prepared to talk herself up for the position. 

The directions were easy enough to follow. The first hall ended in a fork, and the second led to a dead end. Impossible to get lost, and the office on the end was one of the only rooms with a light on. It was late afternoon on a Friday, which made sense that most teachers and administrators were already gone. Maybe this time slot was a mistake after all? Her interviewer might be burnt out after a long day; a long week depending on what the family emergency was. But it was too late to change things now.

Amelia’s knock was met with a muffled “Come in!” through the door. 

Young. 

That was the first description that crossed Amelia’s mind when she laid her eyes on Mrs. Thompson. The brunette woman looked to be around the same age as Amelia herself. She wore a pencil skirt and blouse, and looked more like a teacher than an administrator. Like most women, she was taller and more endowed than the petite interviewee lingering in the doorway. “Amelia Martin?” she asked. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Amelia nodded. Inwardly cursing at her southern roots coming out, she took a step into the room. For whatever reason, she had assumed an older woman would be the one interviewing her. It had thrown her enough to steal away whatever greeting she’d normally use.

Gesturing to the chair across the desk, Mrs. Thompson sat back down. “Please, come in. And close the door behind you.” 

Amelia did as instructed. She quietly collected herself, once again having the thought that this could be another blessing. A younger woman might be more inclined to hire her, as gaining the trust of someone twice her age would be more difficult in comparison. “How are you doing?” Amelia asked. Small talk first, right? Breaking the ice.

“Doing well, thanks. Please, have a seat.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The interview was smooth, for the most part. 

Amelia had prepared well. After the brief awkwardness that tends to come with not only meeting someone new, but being in an unfamiliar environment, the conversation felt more natural. She touched on her strengths and weaknesses, the easiest question to have prepared answers for. The tricky part was what came next, when she had to explain how her lack of experience might impact her performance at such a prestigious school. Amelia answered as best as she was able, with the logic of how teachers who had been at the job for a while might already be stuck in their ways. She, however, was fresh out of college, and ready to be molded by the academy teachers themselves. The questions bounced back and forth between personal history and different iterations of why she might be a good fit for Westridge. All in all, the interview was a blur, despite how focused Amelia remained.

Mrs. Thompson was impossible to read. The young woman’s face was just friendly enough to not be cold, but otherwise remained neutral as she jotted down a thing or two along the way. By the end, Amelia had absolutely no idea how she stood. While the conversation itself felt natural, there was the self doubt that came with such challenging questions, as well as the knowledge that she was surely up against other candidates. The anticipation was going to be the longest weekend of her life.

“There is one more thing, Amelia,” Mrs. Thompson said.

“Yes, what is it?” Amelia asked. 

“What is your availability like next week? Would you be able to audit classes for a full school day? Ideally, we like candidates to do so for a full week, but I know that’s not realistic for everyone.”

This time, Amelia managed to avoid an ‘umm’ that would normally follow a question she wasn’t prepared for. She audited one or two classes in college, but that was with peers. But it was a reasonable enough request. If she was going to work here, it would be good to have a sense of how classes were run before she started. “Of course,” Amelia nodded, “I’d be happy to observe for a day. I think that’s a really good idea.”

“Great. Does Monday work for you? You included your measurements on the form, yes?”

“My measurements?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Thompson said. Setting Amelia’s file aside, she continued with something the blonde interviewee was not at all expecting. “We’ll have a student uniform ready for you on Monday.”

Part Four

A student uniform?

Why on earth couldn’t she just wear her normal clothes to observe a few classes? 

That’s exactly what Amelia asked, of course, but Mrs. Thompson was quick to explain. For starters, it would be less disruptive and less distracting if there was simply another uniformed girl in the room. Having a guest in the classroom impacted the dynamic of the room enough, so it would be better for the students if Amelia could blend into the background more easily. 

Additionally, it would be a good opportunity for her to experience what it’s like being one of the students; to empathize, as Mrs. Thompson put it. Since Amelia’s entire educational background was public schools and then a larger university, this was a good way for her to feel what it’s like to attend a smaller boarding school in comparison. On Monday morning, she’d change into the Westridge uniform, be given the official tour and take a standard aptitude test in the morning, and then sit in on a few different classes in the afternoon.

The process seemed a bit excessive, but who was Amelia to judge? The way Mrs. Thompson presented everything was straightforward and logical, and Amelia’s lack of experience in private schools made it difficult for her to argue against any of it. While she’d rather just be offered the job and avoid all the extra hassle, it sounded like this was an important part of the hiring process. The small blonde took some solace in the fact that she was being asked to come right back on Monday. That was a good sign, right? The school wouldn’t go through all that unless she was a serious contender for the position.

Amelia had indeed put her measurements on the registration form. Though she was told to treat it more like an application than anything else, it hadn’t stopped the young woman from overachieving in an attempt to suck up to the school. It would send the message that she was thorough, even when she didn’t necessarily have to be. In truth, Amelia was only here for the money and the résumé boost. Everything else was a lower priority, as she would much rather be teaching at the undergrad level or higher. Teaching spoiled rich girls didn’t particularly appeal to her.

“Thank you, Ms. Martin,” Mrs. Thompson said, once they got through the details of what Amelia’s audit would look like, “And again, apologies for the mix-up earlier this week. I’ll personally make sure the office communicates the necessary details before Monday morning.”

Good. The last thing Amelia wanted was for even more of her time to be wasted. The sooner she could knock out this hiring process, the sooner she could take the job and stop worrying about overselling herself and stressing about the competition. “Thank you, Mrs. Thompson,” Amelia said, “I’ll see you on Monday.”

–THREE DAYS LATER–

For the third time in under a week, Amelia was stepping out of her car and onto one of the Westridge Academy parking lots. Her weekend had been far less stressful than her previous week, complete with a shopping spree and two late nights of drinking with her girlfriends. Once her nerves had settled after the interview, she realized something on the way home–Monday didn’t really matter. 

All she had to do was show up, put on a stupid outfit, and audit a few classes. Compared to an interview, that was nothing. It’s not like she had to take notes or constantly be the best version of herself. In her mind, Amelia pretty much just had to smile and shake a few hands throughout the day, get a sense of how things operated at the school, and perhaps give some feedback during a follow-up interview. Easy. With her interview prep out of the way, she could let loose a little bit now that the difficult part was done.

She was smart enough to not drink on Sunday evening, but not even a full night’s rest was enough for her to recover from Friday and Saturday. Amelia was the definition of a lightweight. The petite girl never developed much of a tolerance, which usually led to irresponsible decisions over the weekend. Cutting herself off after one drink and only having water would always be the smart choice, but the recent college grad still found herself succumbing to peer pressure when she was out with the girls. 

The crisp morning air helped wake her up, though Amelia hardly appreciated that benefit as she frowned and shivered at the outside temperature. The last two campus visits had spoiled her, as the sun had been up both times. Now it was early, and overcast, and she just wanted to crawl back into bed and get a few more hours of sleep. Putting together her usual mature appearance meant waking up way earlier than she normally had to for her waitress job. Mrs. Thompson could have warned her that it was going to be a 7 AM call time, though it made sense in retrospect. This was a school, after all; middle school and high school classes would obviously start in the morning.

Just as Amelia reached the edge of the parking lot, heading once again towards the administration building, she heard her name. 

“Ms. Martin. Amelia!” 

She looked towards the source of the voice, and saw the same dark haired office girl standing by one of the building’s side doors. Ashley? That sounded right, though she couldn’t remember for sure. The girl had the full schoolgirl uniform this time around, unlike the last few instances where her blazer hung over the back of her chair. The familiar skirt/tie combo in green plaid that Amelia had seen on the website, and that she was bracing herself to sport as well.

“Umm, yes?” Amelia replied. She paused for a moment, not sure if Ashley was just saying ‘hello’ or if she actually needed something. 

“This way,” Ashley said. She beckoned towards the side door, “The front door isn’t unlocked yet.”

Amelia believed the girl, of course, because she had no reason not to. Her lack of teaching experience, lack of familiarity with private schools, and desperation for the lucrative assistant position kept her nice and blind to all the irregularities that had been thrown at her. A canceled meeting with no warning, a ‘general’ registration form, a schoolgirl outfit just for her, and now a student leading the way instead of an administrator being the one to greet her. 

She had no idea she was falling right into a trap set up by Ashley herself.

Part Five

The schoolgirl fantasy might be alluring to some, but Amelia felt the complete opposite as she looked herself over in the mirror. She hadn’t expected to change into the Westridge uniform right away, but that’s the first thing Ashley had taken her to do. The handicap bathroom gave her privacy, which she was grateful for; changing in a bathroom always felt a little dirty, but having a private room was a lot better than wrestling with clothes in a tight stall. 

It had been simple enough to remove her classy outfit, but putting on the uniform wasn’t quite as simple. The green plaid skirt had a stubborn zipper in the back, the white blouse was a bit too snug in the chest, and Amelia hadn’t ever tied a tie before. She wanted to leave the bathroom with the whole outfit intact, as asking for help from a student didn’t particularly appeal to her. Instead, she watched a tutorial online and mostly figured it out after a few tries. 

The girl staring back at her in the mirror did not look like an adult. Even with perfectly done hair and make-up, she looked more like a high school senior than a recent college graduate. Her padded bra was offset by the blouse and blazer flattening things back out, as the petite girl usually paired her enhanced bras with the perfect tops to give herself a more mature image. Chest or no chest, it was more that she was dressed like all the other teenagers who had been sent off to boarding school here. 

How was this a good idea? Surely some high schoolers could handle a few classes with a differently dressed woman in the room. And, while empathizing with them by going through the same process sounded logical when Mrs. Thompson explained it, Amelia was only now thinking of a major flaw in the administrator’s plan–earning respect was going to be a lot more difficult after all the students saw her dressed like this. 

Unfortunately, Amelia didn’t make the rules. And she was desperate for the job. Maybe she was overthinking things. If every applicant did this, then it should simply be part of the students’ culture at this point. She was just being self conscious about her size, and had to put her ego and her usually maturity-focused attire aside for a day.

She fiddled with the tie and blazer one more time, then stepped out of the private bathroom. Hopefully Ashley wouldn’t judge her for taking so long. Or, more importantly, she hoped that her dawdling wouldn’t make her late for the first thing on the morning’s schedule.

“Millie! You look so cute!” Ashley exclaimed, the moment Amelia stepped back into the hallway.

Millie . . . ?

Amelia had never, EVER been called that. Not once in her entire life. She had gotten her fair share of ‘Amy’ over the years, which she was fine with, but ‘Amelia’ was definitely her preference. It was more mature, sophisticated; especially ever since she started college. Her full name was yet another way to counteract the way that puberty had absolutely screwed her over. 

But ‘Millie?’ It wasn’t just immature. The awful name sounded like what you’d name some freckled farm girl. Not that there was anything wrong with growing up out in the country, but that just wasn’t at all an image Amelia had of herself. And to be called that by a high school girl, of all people? Ugh.

“It’s Amelia.” She responded in as flat a tone as she could manage without sounding bitchy at the same time. After all, Ashley had been nothing but helpful so far. Still, the young, dark haired girl was a student. Authority was important, especially when Amelia was still fairly young herself. And at an all girls’ school, showing you disliked something was a surefire way for that thing to be used against you, even as an adult. With that in mind, she added, “Or Amy, I guess.”

A preferred nickname was better than a cringeworthy one. And a casual response was a better approach than an offended reaction.

“Amy is nice,” Ashley said, “Anyway, come on. We’ll have to find you some shoes at the Lost and Found, and then it’s time for your aptitude test.”

Wait, what? “Ashley, my shoes are fine.” Amelia said. She had checked on the school’s site the other day. Black heels adhered to the dress code as much as flats did, and she obviously preferred the former for the extra few inches of height. 

“No, they’re not. You’re auditing middle school classes, Amy. Westridge only allows girls in 9th grade and up to wear heels.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just here for the day.” It didn’t occur to Amelia that she might be sitting in on the younger grades’ classes, but her schoolgirl get-up was enough of a price to pay for the job. Wearing some girl’s used shoes and demoting herself to a more immature appearance was yet another sacrifice she hadn’t prepared for.

Ashley just shrugged. “I was told to treat you like any other student on her first day here. That means flats, Amy; not heels. But if it’s really a problem, I guess we can go check with the office.”

A trip upstairs would delay them further, and possibly make Amelia look bad if she complained about something that was objectively pretty trivial. It also only dawned on her after three uses of ‘Amy’ that Ashley was exclusively using her first name. “It’s Ms. Martin,” she said, correcting the girl. Better late than never.

“What did I just say?” Ashley gave her a curious look, “I’m not supposed to give you any special treatment. This is your first day at Westridge, you’re more or less a student, and your name is *Amy*.” With a smile and a friendly wink, Amy conceded at the end. “Don’t worry. If you end up teaching here, I’ll call you Ms. Martin as much as you want.”

Had Mrs. Thompson told her about this? Now that it had been a few days, the interview was more of a blur. Amelia knew that she was auditing classes, complete with a student uniform, but what about the rest? Being treated like a student was a lot different than dressing like one, though it did line up with empathy the administrator had mentioned. Maybe she had misheard, or misremembered; maybe Mrs. Thompson had left out a detail or two, considering it was the end of the day on Friday and her mind could have been elsewhere. 

“I know. I’m not asking for special treatment,” Amelia said. Deciding to save face in front of her guide for the morning, not wanting to look bad in front of a future student, she just went along with it, “If it’s policy, then I can change shoes.”

Ashley just nodded, with a faint smile. “Good girl.”

Part Six

While accepting the full dress code seemed like the mature thing to do in the moment, Amelia regretted her decision a few minutes later. 

It didn’t fully dawn on her until Ashley was handing her a pair of slightly worn black flats she had fished out from the Lost and Found. It wasn’t the fact that they were another girl’s shoes, though that certainly didn’t help. Instead, it was the matter of losing one of her most valued enhancements. Wearing heels and padded bras were the two biggest ways Amelia made up for the way she was totally screwed in the height and curves department. Changing into flats would drop her three full inches, all the way down to her natural height of five feet. Technically, she was a quarter of an inch taller than being five exactly, but that hardly made a difference.

Unfortunately, it was too late to back out. As a future teacher, Amelia knew it was better to stick to her word. There was also that casual use of ‘good girl’ that Ashley used on her, but the dark haired girl had already mentioned that she wasn’t supposed to give Amelia any special treatment. Was that a phrase they used around here? Hopefully it was an Ashley quirk, as Amelia didn’t like the idea of having to say it to anyone. It was awkward enough being called that. 

Reluctantly, Amelia sat herself down on a nearby bench and undid the straps of her heels while keeping her legs and skirt positioned properly the whole time. Setting aside her expensive shoes, Amelia began putting on one of the flats that Ashley had found for her. It was tighter than she expected, even though Amelia’s feet were as small as the rest of her. She still put in the effort; she shoved her foot into the black shoe, only barely able to pull the heel over her ankle.

“Are there any others in there?” Amelia asked, wincing a little bit as she moved her foot around. The faded leather was beyond snug, and the back of the single flat was digging into the back of her foot too. “This is definitely too small.”

“Sorry, Amy. Not too many girls lose their shoes,” Ashley said, “Here, put the other one on. You’re going to be late for your aptitude test if you get hung up on every little thing this morning.”

“But-”

“No buts. Come on, they’ll feel better after you walk around in them for a bit.”

“Okay . . .” Amelia muttered. She had already come so far for this job. It would suck if Ashley’s point came to pass, as being late for one thing would potentially cause her to be late to everything throughout the day. 

Knowing what to expect this time, Amelia worked her other foot into the tight flat. Surprise, surprise, it was just as tight and uncomfortable as the first one. Listening to Ashley’s advice, Amelia stood up to take a few steps in the too-small shoes. The first thing she noticed, however, was not how bad the shoes felt. Instead, Amelia had to deal with the reality of how SHORT she was. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she actually displayed her true height in public. Working out was the one time Amelia had to wear regular shoes, and her self consciousness about her size had led her to exercise alone for years now. Because of her social footwear, Amelia gradually built up a fantasy of how tall she was in comparison to friends and strangers alike. At least, that’s how it felt when standing next to Ashley and having that fantasy crumble. She had already been a few inches shorter than the academy student to begin with, but now the girl had at least half a foot on her!

Thankfully, Ashley didn’t seem like the teasing type. Ever the cordial front desk worker and now first day guide, Ashley was nothing but polite and friendly. “Perfect, Amy. You’ll fit in so much better with those on,” she said. Not batting an eye at their size difference, Ashley bent over and picked up the abandoned heels by the straps, “I can hold onto these for you. Oh, and I’ll also have to confiscate your phone and your purse.”

Wait, what? 

Amelia was still coming to grips with how small she suddenly was, as well as how the flats actually made her feel more off balance than slim heels did thanks to the way they tightly hugged and dug into her feet. And now Ashley was going to take her stuff.

The taller girl must have sensed her trepidation, or maybe just saw it written all over her face. “Relax, Amy,” Ashley said, with a light giggle, “You can have them back right after your test. I doubt you’d try to cheat, but it’s pretty standard procedure to restrict outside resources.”

“Oh,” Amelia said. She let out a breath she had been unintentionally holding for a few seconds after hearing the explanation. It made sense, though she still didn’t like the idea of handing a high school girl so many personal possessions. Her phone would be locked, of course, but her wallet was less protected. “I don’t really have anything in my purse. You can check, if you want.”

“Sorry, Ames,” Ashley said, “Rules are rules. But your things are in good hands, I promise. They’ll be locked away in the office. Oh, it’s almost time! Come on, this way.”

Once again rendered speechless by the student’s logic, Amelia found herself following her down another hallway. No, walking around in the flats didn’t help. Plus the shoes were already visibly broken in, so it’s not like time would help the fit. Not that she was planning on wearing them for any longer than necessary. As usual, she was in unfamiliar territory, and could hardly keep up with all the rules and regulations that Mrs. Thompson hadn’t taken the time to thoroughly explain. 

“Okay, Amy!” Ashley exclaimed. She stopped just outside a closed door halfway down a hall that Amelia didn’t recognize in the slightest. At this point, she was so turned around from being led here and there. For once, she was grateful to be treated like a new student, as it meant no one was expecting her to know where to go. 

With her lips pursed in the same small smile as when they first met, Ashley extended her hand to gesture that Amelia needed to hand over her things. “Ready for your test?”

Part Seven

Amelia didn’t like it, but it’s like Ashley said: Rules are rules.

She retrieved her phone from where she had stashed it in her blazer pocket earlier, and added it to the collection of things in her purse. Zipping it up for a sense of security, despite how easy it would be for someone to just open it back up if they wanted to, Amelia reluctantly held out her purse for Ashley to take. “I can have it back right afterwards?”

“Umm, maybe?” Ashley replied. She took the small leather bag and placed it over her own shoulder. “Depends on how quickly you finish your test.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ll have a meeting about your results, and then you’ll be sent to class. I don’t know if you’ll have time to collect your things, but you’re welcome to ask the counselor afterwards.”

The morning had barely begun, and Amelia already had so many surprises to deal with. She had braced herself for the student uniform, though the schoolgirl looking back at her in the bathroom mirror had been embarrassing nonetheless. But it was only just dawning on her that she had no idea what the day’s schedule was supposed to look like. Mrs. Thompson hadn’t mentioned any of these steps during Friday’s meeting, but she very well could have assumed that Amelia already knew the routine. Maybe it was on the website somewhere, as Amelia had mentioned that she had perused the school’s site.

Still, it would be nice to know what else was in store for her. Apparently there was a counselor meeting after the aptitude test. Was that it, or was there more than simply observing a few classes? Amelia was pretty detail oriented; the only reason she hadn’t asked for a schedule yet is because she had assumed one was going to be provided for her. After all, Westridge Academy had such a stunning reputation.

“Ashley, can I get a physical copy of my itinerary?” Amelia asked.

Ashley just patted the top of her head. “Relax, Millie. You’re in good hands. Now, it’s time for your aptitude test.”

Before Amelia could find the words for either the patronizing gesture or the awful nickname she already rejected once, the dark haired teenager opened the door beside them. “Mrs. Lewis? Our newest student is here!”

The room beyond was a spacious lecture hall; definitely too big for a single girl to be taking a test, though Amelia was technically ‘transferring’ in this little fantasy. The room probably had plenty of testing uses for full grades of girls, as she knew the school had more periodic testing than simply once at the beginning of the semester. For now, however, it would just be her.

“Come in, come in!” A middle aged woman greeted them at the door. “Thank you, Ashley. I can take it from here.” She beckoned for Amelia to enter. 

“Good luck, Millie!” Ashley said, with a smile, “I’ll see you around.”

“It’s-” At two consecutive uses of ‘Millie,’ Amelia was about to get on the girl’s case. However, Ashley closed the door before Amelia could complete the thought. “. . . Amelia,” she muttered. 

“Alright, Millie,” Mrs. Lewis said, “You can sit anywhere you like. I’d love to chat, but we’re already a little behind schedule. The sooner we can get you started, the better.”

That was the exact problem with nicknames. It doesn’t take much for them to stick. Thanks to Ashley’s farewell, which was probably intentional teasing, a potential colleague had taken to the gross name as well. 

“I actually prefer Amelia,” she said, trying to be cordial. This time, she didn’t even offer ‘Amy’ as an option. The private school uniform and her lack of heels already obliterated a good amount of visual maturity; the least she could do was hold onto a more proper name.

“Oh, really? I thought I saw otherwise earlier,” Mrs. Lewis replied, “Amelia, then. Please take a seat.”

Saw it where? 

Amelia didn’t give it too much thought. At a boarding school for teenagers, plenty of girls probably had nicknames and alternative versions of their names. It would be easy enough for someone in education to lean towards shorter names, especially after Ashley literally just called her by one. 

She wasn’t too picky about where to sit. With the whole lecture hall to herself, Amelia simply found a chair near the end that was notably far away from one of the above vents. Even with a blazer on, she tended to get cold easily and didn’t know how long the aptitude test was supposed to last. An itinerary would have been nice. 

A few seconds later, Mrs. Lewis placed a packet and a scan sheet for her answers. “See?” she said, tapping the sticker that was sitting at the top-right of the packet. Right there, in bold letters, read MILLIE ROBERTS. “But if you prefer ‘Amelia,’ just let the office know.”

Wait, what?

Despite her distaste for ‘Millie,’ that’s not the main problem that Amelia noticed. “Umm, my last name is ‘Martin,’” she said, “Not ‘Roberts.’” 

Maybe it was just some general last name used for non-student aptitude tests, like the form she filled out for the office. After all, she also wasn’t in 7th Grade, which was listed underneath her name on the sticker.

“Separated parents?” Mrs. Lewis mused. She didn’t linger on the idea for very long. “It’s fine, Amelia. We know who you are; you’re the only new student here today. If there are any issues with your paperwork, we’ll get it sorted out. Now, are you ready to begin?”

Amelia didn’t particularly like the way she was being spoken to, but what could she do? If the point was to treat her like a student on her first day, then everyone had hit the nail on the head so far. Both Ashley and Mrs. Lewis dismissed all of her problems so casually. Still, the last few minutes created a faint nagging at the back of her head. She just couldn’t place it. 

For now, the aptitude test was now and clerical questions would have to be later.

“I’m ready,” Amelia said.

Part Eight

The test itself sounded fairly standard, save for one surprise.

Mrs. Lewis briefly explained how there were five sections to complete. Mathematics, Reading, Science, History, and Religion. Amelia must have been more transparent than she normally considered herself, as the woman immediately assured her to not stress about the non-academic one. Not every new arrival had a Christian upbringing, and the religion section of the test shouldn’t be any more stressful than the rest. There’s no passing or failing, after all, as the aptitude test is merely designed to highlight each student’s strengths and weaknesses. 

Even when she was given the explanation, Amelia was taken aback at how a fifth of the test was on something like that. She knew from her research that Westridge had daily chapel and a handful of basic religion classes. It was an old fashioned school, and a private one at that; public schools would never get away with that. But to make it part of the placement process? Odd. Hopefully her poor results would dissuade the administration from putting her in charge of any of those classes. Amelia went to church here and there growing up, but that was about it. Save for Christmas and Easter, religion hadn’t been part of her life at all since she left for undergrad. 

She didn’t have much time to dwell on those thoughts, as it was time for her test to begin. Each section would be timed, as Mrs. Lewis explained, but this would be a little different than if it was a whole grade being tested. Since Amelia was on her own, she was permitted to finish a section early if she wished. However, that would not grant her additional time on other sections. And, in proper teacher fashion, Mrs. Lewis also told her to be sure that she was finished before asking for an early end. There’s no shame in using extra time to review answers. The best students often do just that. 

“Got it,” Amelia said. 

This was all so extra. She understood the concept of empathizing with the students that Mrs. Thompson had presented to her, but did she really have to go through all this? The schoolgirl uniform made her constantly fidget in discomfort, and occasionally blush when she caught a glimpse of the plaid skirt and remembered all over again that she was no longer wearing the classy outfit she arrived in. More than anything, she wished she could take off the tight flats for the duration of the test, but that wouldn’t look particularly professional.

And how much time was this test wasting? She would much prefer to be observing the first class of the day, or meeting (and sucking up to) other staff and administration. Instead, she was going step by step through a new student’s first day, save for perhaps the way she changed after arriving on campus instead of showing up in uniform like the average girl would. Rules were rules, as Ashley reminded her, and this was apparently the price to pay in order to earn a job at the prestigious school. She would suck it up, and forever be grateful that she didn’t attend a boarding school herself growing up. Wearing the same outfit every day? It would be awful.

“Alright,” Mrs. Lewis said, “Good luck, Amelia. You may turn to section one, and your time begins now.”

Amelia did as she was instructed. The first section was MATHEMATICS, as noted by the bold section header at the top of the page. Underneath, in smaller text, noted once again that this was for 7th grade, and had a duration of twenty minutes. 

At first, she didn’t expect to take nearly that long to knock out what she assumed would be simple equations. Amelia had always been decent with numbers, at least at the pre-university levels. However, the difficulty of the aptitude test hit her fairly quickly. What seemed like easy questions ended up almost tricking her a few times with how deceptive the multiple choice options were. After noticing the tricky pattern, she made sure to pay careful attention before committing to each answer.

And those were the easy questions. 

The further Amelia got into the math section, the more vividly she remembered her own middle school years. It wasn’t just triangles and equations. A good portion of her 7th grade classes involved graphs, and it had been nearly ten years since she had solved such problems. Even as an Education Major, it’s not like she was relearning stuff like that during her undergrad years. 

She tried her best to work things out on the scratch paper provided, but ultimately ended up making a few educated guesses as Mrs. Lewis called out how much time remained every few minutes. And, while Amelia felt a bit self conscious about the fact that she wasn’t ace-ing the test like she thought she would, she reminded herself that this was supposed to be about strengths and weaknesses. Making the aptitude test too easy wouldn’t be conducive to placing students in the appropriate classes. Still, it would be nice to have an impressive score, as she assumed that taking the test in full wasn’t just a formality; the administration would probably see her score and take that into account in terms of the hiring process. 

If Amelia didn’t do well on a test literally designed for middle schoolers, that would no doubt reflect poorly on her.

Only a minute or so after she finished filling in the answer bubble for the last question, Mrs. Lewis called, “time.” Amelia had been doing a quick scan of the problems she had been less sure about, and couldn’t believe how little extra time she ended up having. If this woman proctoring the test talked about her later, how would it look? Potentially good, if she was viewed as the kind of girl who spent all her time working instead of rushing through. Or potentially bad, if she took so long and still ended up with a good chunk of wrong answers. 

Amelia wasn’t normally the anxious type, but she could already feel the self-doubt creeping in. 

And there were still four sections to go.

Part Nine

The aptitude test only got worse and worse for Amelia. 

English seemed easy at first, as most of it was reading comprehension. The answers were painfully obvious, as all you had to do was pull them from the long excerpt on the previous page. However, it ended up being very much like the section of the ACT that ‘tricked’ her in the same way back in high school. While she didn’t doubt any of her answers for a few pages, reading and re-reading drained a lot more time than she expected. When Mrs. Lewis called out that there were only five minutes remaining, Amelia quietly panicked when she realized she had only made it about halfway. The last few pages of the test ended up being rushed; she skimmed and made a few educated guesses, ultimately having to blindly choose a handful of answers at the one minute mark. 

Science and History were both difficult in a different way. Since the test was designed for thirteen year olds, a lot of the questions were based on information that would be more easily retained from someone who actually took middle classes more recently. For Amelia, it had been nearly ten years. A few science facts and historical names still stuck out to her, but the vast majority of the third and fourth sections of the aptitude test felt like total guesswork. 

And, of course, Religion. The last portion of the test was by far Amelia’s worst. Even with the knowledge that this was all for the sake of the Westridge student experience, and the fact that Mrs. Lewis had also said to not worry too much about the final section, Amelia still felt herself tense up at just how frequently she was wildly guessing at the questions. With a ‘subject’ she barely spent any time in throughout her life, there wasn’t a lot of room for educated guesses; multiple choice or not. 

Frowning at the completed scan sheet, Amelia flipped the test back to the first page as “time” was called. Maybe it was the self-doubt from the last few sections, but she seriously wasn’t sure if she would break a B average as a whole. Not ideal for a girl who was still in the interview process to be a teacher. 

“Okay, Amelia. Right this way.” Mrs. Lewis came over to collect the testing materials, then led Amelia towards a door at the opposite end of the room. 

The next room looked to be a simple waiting area. One door led to what looked like an office, and the other to one of the hallways. Amelia was told to stay there for a few minutes while her results were collected, and then she’d see where she was placed.

Left in solitude in the small room, Amelia sat down and fidgeted with her skirt. This was quite the process. She definitely felt like a new student, with all the awkward first steps that came with a first day. At the moment, nervously waiting to see how she did on the aptitude test designed for girls years her junior. Those scan sheets were designed to be graded quickly, so she knew it wouldn’t be too long. 

It was only a few minutes, but it felt like hours in the cold and quiet room. If this was for a doctor’s appointment or something similar, Amelia would be idly scrolling on her phone in the interim. However, Ashley took everything before the testing began, which meant all of her personal things were in the main office somewhere. 

Finally, Mrs. Lewis returned to summon her. “Amelia? This way, please.”

“Of course,” Amelia nodded. Standing up, she also realized her only real interaction of the day had been with Ashley so far. Part of Amelia’s plan for the day had been to build a rapport with the faculty and administration, which would actually be more difficult than she initially thought. Between the long testing period and her coming class observations, there wouldn’t be a lot of one-on-one time. “So, what brought you to Westridge?” she asked. Better to make a personal connection than worry about her test and how well she fared compared to other candidates.

“Well, I didn’t exactly transfer here, like you,” she chuckled, after a beat of silence following the question, “If you’re really curious, I can tell you about it some time. Long story short, it was a change in my career path.” 

“I didn’t-” Amelia began, but trailed off. This was the middle of a semester, so technically she would be a transfer student in this little roleplay. But surely they could talk freely when there weren’t other students around, right? Hell, Amelia also assumed she would be introduced as the observer she was when it was time for class. If everyone kept speaking to her like a new student, per Ashley’s words, then that would undermine her future authority even more than the current outfit would. 

“Didn’t what, Amelia? Proper girls speak clearly, yes?”

“Umm, yes? I’m just not sure how this is all supposed to go. I never received an itinerary, and Mrs. Thompson didn’t say anything about being treated like a new student.”

Up until now, Amelia had been reluctantly going through the motions. Putting on the schoolgirl uniform Ashley gave her, turning over her possessions, taking the full aptitude test that a new student would take, and now being lightly criticized by an adult rather than the teasing remarks the dark haired guide had made earlier. Her tired mind hadn’t offered much resistance at this point, and her inexperience with private schools paved the way for her compliance so far. 

At some point, however, enough was enough. She was an adult, and would much prefer to speak to the other adults at Westridge as herself. Especially if no one else was around. How was she ever going to be taken seriously if everyone kept pushing this empathy/experience thing of walking through the first day as a new student?

Mrs. Lewis’s next words brought back that nagging feeling that Amelia felt when she saw the front page of the test.

“Mrs. Thompson?” she asked, “Why would you have spoken with her?”

Part Ten

Was that supposed to be a joke?

Westridge Academy might have a few more specialized positions than the average public school, including the kind of role Amelia was pursuing, but she still couldn’t fathom how the woman who just administered her test didn’t know who had been in charge of the interview process to begin with. Unless they rotated who spoke with potential candidates? Either way, she was taken aback by Mrs. Lewis’s tone.

“She was the one who interviewed me.” Amelia said. 

Mrs. Lewis looked confused. “Interviewed you for what, dear? We don’t do interviews; just applications.”

“That’s ridiculous. I was literally called-” she began. Cutting herself off, as the patronizing ‘dear’ had a delayed registration in her mind, Amelia shifted gears. It was getting a bit frustrating having every conversation revolve around her ‘first day experience.’ How could she talk to anyone if they were going to keep pretending she wasn’t an adult? She had taken a day off of work for this, and had submitted herself to dressing up like a schoolgirl for the sake of authenticity. But if she couldn’t talk to the teachers or administration as herself, what was even the point? “Mrs. Lewis, no one else is here,” she said, “Can we please just speak normally for a second?”

“Have we not been speaking normally this whole time? Amelia, we really don’t have time for this. Ms. Song is a busy woman.”

“I understand that. It’s just, no one informed me about any of this. Is it really necessary for me to be treated like this all day? Do I at least get a break over lunch, or something?”

“All the girls get a break over lunch. And you’re not being treated any differently than the rest of the students, I promise.”

“That’s not-” It was the exact opposite of what Amelia meant, “I’m just asking when I’ll get a chance to be myself.”

“You shouldn’t ever be afraid to be yourself, Amelia. Don’t worry about fitting in, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’ve had plenty of transfer students before.” 

“But-”

“I know. You have a lot of questions. There will be time for that, but we really do need to stay on schedule. If you’ll follow me.”

This was all for the job. All for the job. All for the job. Amelia had to mentally repeat the motivation to herself a few times as she let Mrs. Lewis lead the way. No matter, grabbing a public school job would be a piece of cake if this didn’t work out. With teachers dropping like flies these days, there would be plenty of desperate schools out there that would pick her up in a heartbeat. And, since Amelia viewed teaching as a stepping stone anyway, she was going into this profession with her eyes wide open. But this was THE school for her. Hands down the best option in terms of future career opportunities, which meant that putting up with a little extra bullshit was still worth it.

Her tediously small size had often led to people accidentally talking down to her when they didn’t realize she was already in high school or, more recently, in college. But this stupid roleplay was intentional, which made it different. While Amelia didn’t plan on leaning into it, she could at least bite her tongue in terms of her distaste. 

The next stop of the morning was the office of one Melinda Song. According to the title just underneath the sign by her door, she was a Student Advisor. One of several, if Amelia recalled from the academy’s website. From what she understood about the position, it was a cross between high school counselor and college advisor. Was this who had her test results? If so, Amelia was anxious to see how well she did. And, more importantly, how it affected her chances of being hired. 

“Ms. Song? Are you ready for her?” Mrs. Lewis asked. She stuck her head into the room, but only long enough to get that confirmation.

Amelia couldn’t see around the corner, but could easily hear her response. “Yes, of course. You may send her in.”

Mrs. Lewis stepped aside and gestured for her to do just that. Determined to check off yet another item of the morning’s list that Amelia dearly wished she had a copy of, she didn’t hesitate in the slightest. Stepping through the threshold, she was surprised to see just how tidy the room was. It was a total contrast to Mrs. Thompson’s room, with stacks of papers and organized clutter here and there; a style that was reminiscent of most of Amelia’s college professors. Not here. Aside from the nameplate and a desktop monitor, the only thing sitting on Ms. Song’s desk was what looked to be Amelia’s placement test as well as her application packet.

Ms. Song appeared to be younger than Mrs. Lewis, but older than Mrs. Thompson. Late twenties, perhaps early thirties, though it was more difficult to tell for sure on a half Asian woman. Maybe she was a staff member that Amelia would hit it off with when she was hired. It wasn’t that big of an age gap; she would just have to show Ms. Song that she was more mature than her twenty-two year old self might be perceived as a recent graduate. 

“Good morning, Millie,” Ms. Song said. She gestured to the two chairs sitting opposite her desk. Her tone was friendly, yet formal at the same time. “Please, have a seat. We have a lot to discuss.” 

There it was again. ‘Millie.’ Awful, and cringeworthy, and absolutely not something she wanted to keep correcting all day. Maybe it worked on other girls, but not for her. “Morning,” Amelia said. She internally reprimanded herself for the flicker of attitude. It wasn’t Ms. Song’s fault; the test on her desk was labeled incorrectly. “I actually prefer Amelia.”

Ms. Song just nodded. “Amelia, then.”

Then she gestured once more to the empty seat.

Part Eleven

Amelia hesitantly sat down across the desk from Ms. Song.

Despite this being part of the unorthodox interview process, Amelia still felt a little bit like a girl being sent to the principal’s office. The schoolgirl outfit didn’t help. It wasn’t a familiar feeling, as she had always been an upstanding girl; a straight-A student. The only time she went to the office in high school was to drop off a form every now and then, and she actually struggled to remember whether or not she had ever even stepped foot into the principal’s office back then.

She wasn’t actually in trouble. And yet, she found herself shifting in her seat in general discomfort. The borrowed flats were too tight, the blazer felt a little tight now that she was seated, and the room was too warm.

“Please stop fidgeting,” Ms. Song said.

“Sorry,” Amelia replied. If she wasn’t self conscious before in the embarrassing outfit and unfamiliar environment, the blunt demand of the Student Advisor did the trick. It was so unexpected, Amelia had muttered her apology without even thinking. Now hyper focused on her posture, not wanting to start things off on the wrong foot, she sat up straight and kept her eyes trained on the woman behind the desk. “I’m just not used to the uniform; that’s all.” 

“Understood. Although you should know that excuses are frowned upon here. Proper young ladies take responsibility for themselves, rather than placing the blame elsewhere. Was it the uniform’s fault, or was it your own?”

“. . . It was my own fault.”

“Good answer. Now then, shall we take a look at your file?”

God, these poor girls. In her younger days, Amelia had often fantasized about places like this. Though she hadn’t been a rebellious high schooler in the slightest, she still dealt with the usual angst that most teenagers did. A boarding school with no parents around sounded amazing. All the freedoms of college, but earlier than that. Granted, most of those daydreams consisted of an institution like PCA, a school on a show she used to watch. Teenage life in dorms, but still with whatever outfits you wanted to wear and a beautiful, sunny campus. 

Westridge was definitely not that. While the campus was impressive, she would have preferred a modern look instead of the old, stone buildings that made up the school grounds. The uniforms, of course, were a bummer. And, from what she had experienced so far, the teachers and administration were a lot more strict than Amelia’s public school faculty were. Not unkind, but definitely too serious for her liking. Including Ms. Song, who started things off by criticizing her and tacking on a patronizing question at the end.

Thankfully, Amelia would only have to suffer through this kind of treatment for another few hours. Being on the giving end would also be weird, of course, but it was far better than receiving what she had dealt with so far. Even Ashley, another student, talked down to her. Amelia was certainly empathizing with the other students, as Mrs. Thompson had first suggested, but in a lot more ways than simply going through the motions of a first day’s schedule.

“Sure,” Amelia said. That’s all she could say. Before, the plan was to mention how she didn’t get a lot of sleep, or that she hadn’t taken a history class in years. Something to give her a little padding in case the weaker sections of the aptitude test ended up being a problem. But now that Ms. Song just made a point that excuses weren’t well received here, that no longer felt like a safe move.

The advisor pulled a small stack of papers out of a manila folder on her desk. “You should know, Ms. Roberts, that Westridge Academy is more academically strenuous than the average public school. So please, take no offense when I lay out the classes you’ll be starting in.”

Ms. Roberts? 

It was one thing seeing the fake name on the aptitude test, but something else entirely to be addressed in such a way.

“Umm, is this part of-”

“Amelia. Proper girls do not interrupt others. May I continue?”

It was definitely a rhetorical question. Feeling smaller than ever, Amelia gave a quiet, meek nod.

“Now then,” Ms. Song began, “It seems as if you were passing all your classes before, but only just. Your test results suggest that you’re not ready for the majority of the 7th grade classes we offer here. There were a number of weaknesses highlighted by your aptitude test, and it’s important that we address those before allowing you to join the other girls in your grade.”

“But- umm, I-” Amelia stuttered out. She did a lot better than ‘barely passing’ her old classes, especially if Ms. Song was looking at her pre-college information. And what was she supposed to do if she couldn’t observe the right classes? Once again, she was desperate for someone to just drop the act and be straight with her.

Ms. Song apparently wasn’t the one who would be doing that for her. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Amelia. This is common. More than half the girls here had to go through some degree of make-up material before they could fully attend their classes. Now, I’m going to go through my recommendations for you. Listen carefully, and let me know if there are any points you’d like to address. The proper response here is ‘Yes, Ms. Song.’”

It was so unfair. At this rate, Amelia was seriously considering whether or not she should just bail and go teach somewhere else. The uniform had been enough of a pill to swallow, especially due to how self conscious she was about her petite size. But she had NOT signed up to be treated this way by everyone for a whole morning. No one had told her. She didn’t care if the surprise made it more authentic; it was humiliating. 

At the same time, she was in too deep. The uniform was on. The test was done. Backing out now would mean she had gone through this awkward experience for nothing. So, she pushed on and tried to see the light at the end of the tunnel. A well-paid teaching position with benefits, and the best possible stepping stone for her future.

Biting her tongue and glancing away, Amelia muttered, “Yes, Ms. Song.”

Part Twelve

For reasons unknown to her, Amelia once again found herself in a uniquely patronizing situation. She was being made to speak like any given Westridge student would, and no one but Ashley had treated her like the adult she was since Amelia stepped onto campus. 

No one had warned her about any of this. And, aside from the frustrating way that Amelia had to endure being a ‘7th grader,’ apparently Ms. Song wasn’t even using Amelia’s correct grades. As a straight-A student all the way through the end of high school, she couldn’t even fathom how someone could maintain barely passing grades in middle school. Showing up to school every day pretty much guaranteed decent grades, even for slackers. Which she wasn’t.

“It looks like Mathematics and Reading were your two strongest sections,” Ms. Song said. Or, in other words, the exact results Amelia had expected. “Science and History, however, will require some catch-up work on your part. For the next week, we’ll put you through our remedial course in those subjects. I strongly suggest that you make an active effort in the evenings to both review and look ahead when possible. You’ll be tested again on Friday with the potential to join your classmates on Monday if you’ve improved.”

“Umm,” was all Amelia could get out. Her observations were only a one day commitment, and she wanted to ask if there were any blurred lines between her real self and her student self. Was she expected to brush up on these materials on her own time? That was fine if she got the job, but hearing it straight would make things a lot easier to wrap her head around. 

She never got the chance to clarify, because Ms. Song moved right on. “Please don’t interrupt, Millie. As for Mathematics and English, your teachers will be given your results to see what things need a little work this week. Additionally, passing your second test on Friday doesn’t automatically advance you. To parallel your classes, one of our high school girls will be assigned to tutor you until you’re fully brought up to speed with the rest of your classmates. Are you following so far?”

Amelia nodded. 

This kind of learning is what set Westridge Academy apart from the average public school. Back when she was in school, the tiers were something like Gifted, Advanced, and General. Amelia was at the highest level, though it didn’t make her feel particularly special when she was a tween. When there were 100+ peers in the same classes, it just felt like a normal school routine. Once students were placed, however, they tended to stay in those levels. The school didn’t seem to make much of an effort to push the less intelligent kids towards the next ‘tier’ of classes within the same grade, even if hard work could easily end up bypassing natural talent. A lot of other public schools seemed to have the same issue. 

Not at Westridge. The private school only offered a singular level of classes for each grade. Sink or swim. And, for girls that were having trouble swimming, the school used methods like this. Temporary remedial classes, emphasis on ‘temporary,’ and tutors. So, instead of a student getting stuck in a lower level class for a whole year and maybe advancing down the line, Westridge opted for a structure that gave attention to each individual student’s needs and maintained excellence across the board because of it. 

This was all in line with the research that Amelia did before her interview, and it seemed like the school wasted no time on such things. The moment a girl arrived, they got right down to business with the aptitude test and the subsequent placement. Although Amelia was reluctant playing along, made easy by the fact that Ms. Song was particularly strict, it was still annoying that she once again had to suffer through the use of ‘Millie.’ Again. Except if it was plastered all over the files sitting on the desk in front of her, then it made sense that Ms. Song would screw up despite Amelia’s earlier correction.

Continuing, Ms. Song explained beyond academics, “As for behavior, I’m aware that you and your former school did not always see eye to eye. Now, Millie, your first day here has the potential to be a clean slate for you. However, we have a few things on your file that have been noted, and I sincerely hope that none of that will follow you here. Teachers are to be treated with respect, as are prefects. That is the most important point I wish to make. Will you have any issues with that?”

Amelia shook her head. “Of course not.”

She was beginning to understand. Rather than working off the impressive form she had faxed to the office, she was being treated as if she was one of the more difficult arrivals. Because while Westridge was home to a lot of girls that were there for a strong academic foundation and a better chance at getting into the good universities, there were also a number of students that were sent there for more disciplinary reasons. When the freedoms of a public school served to enable more troublesome adolescents, the parents that could afford it would ship their kid off to Westridge for an attitude adjustment. It’s not that the school was harsh by any means, but it was definitely more strict across the board. 

Then she was to experience a difficult girl’s first day, rather than how her past self might have been received? It still didn’t explain ‘Millie.’ Maybe that was an attempt to needle her. Or, more likely, Ashley thought it would be funny. 

“Try that again for me. Will you have any issues with that, Millie?”

Oh. Right. 

It took Amelia a moment to figure out what Ms. Song meant. But then, lightly blushing at the absurdity of it, she said, “No, Ms. Song.”

It was going to be a long day.

Part Thirteen

Though Ms. Song had more or less wrapped up the overview of what Amelia’s first week of academics would look like, it still took another ten minutes for the meeting to conclude. 

By the end of it, Amelia suspected that the purpose of the extra time was mostly to condition her to have the kind of proper manners expected of the academy’s students. The amount of times she had to politely reply “Yes, Ms. Song” or “No, Ms. Song” to a pointed question was getting a little frustrating. Amelia was a grown ass woman, yet she was being treated like a young teenager by everyone she encountered so far. 

It was Sunk Cost Fallacy at its finest. She had already made it so far in the meeting with Ms. Song, and blowing up in exasperation would only serve to make her look bad. Teachers were supposed to be able to play it cool, even when their students made a point to needle them, disrupt class, show blatant disrespect, and so on. Amelia could see how this could be another test, in a roundabout way. If she could survive such a patronizing ordeal while keeping it together, then surely she could do the same around difficult academy girls. 

“Finally, there’s a matter of selecting an extracurricular class,” Ms. Song said, “Your cousin suggested our Visual Arts program for you. You’re more the artistic type, yes?”

Well, not necessarily. Back before university, Amelia just made a point to take a few artsy classes to pad her otherwise academic application. So her perfect grades were being ignored, but this part of her form was being taken at face value? Go figure. Out of a habit that was already beginning to form, she was about to reply with ‘No, Ms. Song,’ followed by a brief explanation as to where her actual non-academic interests lay. Just before Amelia spoke, however, she registered something else. “My cousin?”

“Yes, Millie. Is Visual Arts suitable for you, or would you rather discuss other options?”

“Umm . . .” she trailed off. 

Her cousin? Thinking back to the last page of her registration form, Amelia eliminated that possibility immediately. She hadn’t spoken to her overly controlling parents in years, and her extended family wasn’t much better. The two names she put down for her ‘Emergency Contacts’ were friends from university that she knew lived in the city. There were definitely no relatives she would have listed anywhere, which meant that this was just another part of the act?

Either way, she was determined to get this charade over with sooner rather than later. Once she was officially hired on as a teacher, she could peruse all the extracurricular options available to the girls. Going through them with an overly strict advisor, while dressed as a schoolgirl? No, thanks. “Visual Arts sounds great, Ms. Song,” she said. Anything to progress things and get this all over with. At the end of the day, it’s not like her selection would matter. 

Amelia had to awkwardly sit in silence as the woman sorted things out with the files on her desk. A few things were marked on the physical copies, and subsequently entered on the computer right afterwards. Trying to be patient, and still assuming that every part of her day was a test in one way or another, Amelia did her best to sit still and avoid fidgeting. Normally that would be an easier task, but the unfamiliar outfit made it difficult to avoid fussing with her clothes. The biggest temptation was to bend over and make an attempt to adjust the tight flats, but she decided to wait until she had either had some privacy or at least a moment where no one’s eyes were on her. 

After what felt like an eternity, but was really only a few minutes based on the wall clock off to her left, Ms. Song finished things off with an emphatic tap of the Return key, followed by a single hit of Amelia’s physical files on the desk to straighten them out. Now could she break character? At least for a moment, so Amelia could have a chance to breathe? 

“You’re all set, Millie. While the main office sorts out your schedule, you’ll be given a brief tour of the campus. Ashley volunteered to show you around, and I’m sure she’d be willing to help with your luggage.”

So much for breathing. 

“My luggage?”

“Ah, are your things being shipped?”

“What things?” Amelia asked. For a moment, she was totally lost. Parroting Ms. Song’s words back in question form, it finally clicked into place when the woman gave her a peculiar look. Right. It was a boarding school. And, if Amelia was supposed to be a new student, then she would be staying in one of the Westridge dorms. “Oh, umm, right. Sorry, Ms. Song. Yes, my luggage is still on the way.”

“Well, as long as you have enough for a few days. The office should have all the tracking info, and will keep you informed as to when the remainder of your possessions will arrive. Now, before you get started on your tour, do you have any more questions for me? I’ll be your advisor for the duration of your intermediate education here, and will be checking in with you over the next few weeks as you make the transition from your old school.”

As badly as Amelia wanted to ask if they could just speak candidly for a moment, she just wanted to move on to the rest of her day. So, with a small shake of her head, she said, “No, Ms. Song. Thank you for your time.”

“You’re quite welcome, Millie. Do you need an escort back to the main doors, or can you find your way there?”

“I can find my way,” Amelia said. Tired of pushing for her real name, she at least wanted her future colleague to know that she didn’t need help with directions. In truth, the numerous turns made her skeptical about whether or not she’d be able to make it back to the front of the building on her first try, but she’d rather backtrack once or twice than need a babysitter. 

“Very well. Ashley will have been paged by now, so you should get going. Welcome to Westridge, and I wish you excellence in your endeavors here.”

“Thank you, Ms. Song.”

With an awkward nod, Amelia left the office. 

Part Fourteen

Letting out a small sigh as the door closed behind her, Amelia walked in what she hoped was the right direction. She had admittedly lost her bearings after the multiple stops she made with Ashley earlier, followed by the walk from the testing room to Ms. Song’s office. But, if it meant having a moment to herself, then she would prefer roaming down the hall and making a few educated guesses about the upcoming turns. 

Most of all, she wanted to take off the flats from the Lost & Found. Her feet could really use a breather from the slightly too tight footwear. However, there wasn’t a bench or a chair to be found nearby, and there wasn’t really any time for a break even if she wanted to take one. Ashley was meeting her back at the lobby, and there was already a good chance Amelia was going to waste time with a wrong turn or two. 

At least Ms. Song wasn’t around to get on her case any longer. As Amelia made her way to the end of the first hall and took a left, she used the temporary solitude as an opportunity to fidget with the unfamiliar uniform. Sitting still for so long would have been a lot easier in her normal outfit. She adjusted the blazer, tucked the dress shirt a little farther into the plaid green skirt, and straightened the tie that probably didn’t actually need straightening. The last thing Amelia needed was for the office girl with the unfair curves to remark on any imperfections in the already demeaning outfit.

As expected, Amelia ended up taking a few wrong turns along the way. Thankfully, no one was around to watch her double back a few times to try another hallway. The building was only so big, thankfully. Before too long, she found her way back to the lobby. Not quickly enough, apparently, as the familiar dark haired student was already waiting for her.

Ashley was off to the side, leaning against the wall and texting. She glanced up from the screen when she caught Amelia’s movements in her peripherals, or perhaps the faint clack of the flats. “Hey, Millie,” she said. Pushing off the wall and tucking her phone into her blazer pocket, she smiled. “Took you long enough.”

It was one thing for Amelia to bite her tongue in Ms. Song’s stern presence, but the prospective teaching assistant’s patience was growing thin. She would begrudgingly play this game around the other adults, but not with one of the students. “It’s Amelia.” Flat tone, and no concessions of ‘Amy’ or ‘Ames’ like before. The girl really shouldn’t have been using her first name to begin with, even if they met in the office instead of a classroom. But it was too late to insist on ‘Ms. Martin.’ For now. 

“Sorry, Millie,” Ashley shrugged, “That’s what all your documents say. If you want to change your preferences, there’s a form you can fill out. But later, okay? We’re already behind schedule.”

Wait, what? 

Amelia hadn’t expected the girl to echo the awful nickname after the correction, but the explanation threw her even more. It didn’t sound like Ashley was kidding, but since when did names work like that? Normally, it’s the reverse. Someone gets called by their full name, and then expresses the nickname they go by. But not only was Amelia dealing with the pervasive roleplay she had been thrust into since putting on the Westridge uniform, but her inexperience with private schools pushed back against whatever doubts she had in regards to Ashley’s response.

Which reminded Amelia of her internal question from earlier. “That’s not what I put on the form,” she said. Maybe a student would be more keen to break character than an administrator, or at least more willing to be honest about what was going on with her ‘first day experience.’

“Huh, really?” Ashley asked, “Could be a filing error. Do you know who was working when you faxed your stuff in?”

Of course not. The whole point of faxing is that it’s done over a machine. “No,” Amelia simply replied. No need to take her frustrations out on a teenager. “Don’t you?”

Ashley just shrugged. “No idea. When did you fax it? Actually, never mind. I’m not that familiar with the schedule. I just know when I work.”

“Okay, but you can still call me ‘Amelia.’ The files don’t really matter; I’m just here for the day anyway.”

Walking the rest of the way over, the dark haired girl placed a hand on Amelia’s shoulder and looked down into her eyes. When they were face to face, the height difference was a lot more dramatic. Per the student handbook, high school girls were permitted to wear heels, but flats were required for the younger students. Amelia had only skimmed the handbook per Mrs. Thompson’s suggestion; the only reason she remembered this detail is because Ashley pressured her to fully follow the school’s dress code earlier. 

There was a reason Amelia normally wore heels. When barefoot, she stood a fraction of an inch taller than five feet. Even with the advantage tactical footwear gave, she still fell on the shorter side. The most she ever had was an extra two or three inches, as the physical cost of wearing anything more than that outweighed the height benefits. With the borrowed flats, however, the petite blonde was back to her small stature. Ashley, on the other hand, was wearing what looked like one-inch heels. Amelia had already mentally dealt with their height disparity earlier, but it seemed worse now that she actually had to look so far up to meet the girl’s eyes.

“Have you ever tried going by ‘Millie?’ Like, really tried?”

“Of course not,” Amelia said, “I like my full name just how it is.”

“So you haven’t tried?” Ashley asked.

Sighing, Amelia answered in the proper way Ms. Song had enforced earlier. “No, Ashley. I’ve never tried going by ‘Millie.’”

Softly smiling, Ashley said, “Maybe you should.”

Part Fifteen

Amelia wasn’t prepared in the slightest to handle the logic Ashley was using.

Normally, when you tell someone you prefer a certain name, that’s the end of it. They might slip up once or twice afterwards, but eventually it’s familiar enough that they’ll always get it right. This was quite the exception. Not only was Amelia’s name incorrectly filed in the office, apparently, but now Ashley was actively working against her attempts to correct it. Not maliciously; at least, not on the surface. Instead, she approached things in a similar manner to when a parent pushes vegetables on a child. 

“How can you say you don’t like something if you’ve never tried it?” Ashley asked, “I mean, I tried ‘Ash’ for like a month one time, and it really grew on me.”

“That’s not the same,” Amelia said. She had already gone through a short ‘Amy’ phase, which was more or less the same as the way Ashley shortened her own name. But Millie? Not great. Although it’s not like she could deny the dark haired girl’s point. Over the course of her meeting with Ms. Song, Amelia had already gone from subtly grimacing every time she was called ‘Millie’ to not batting an eye at it by the end. Maybe it was an acquired taste. Or maybe she was just going numb to it, which is distinctly different than growing to like something. 

Either way, she’d have to deal with it for a little while longer. Ashley seemed fixated on the idea now that they were talking about it. “Let’s walk and talk, Millie,” she said. Taking Amelia’s hand, she gave a small tug towards the double doors. “And you can tell me all about why trying new things is so scary.”

What . . . ?

Amelia was both caught off guard and a little insulted by the girl’s casual words. It wasn’t like that! She considered herself a fairly adventurous person. To have a total stranger imply the opposite, even if it was in a teasingly patronizing way, put her at a loss for words for a moment. It was also a second problem to face; girls talked, and it would be better if Ashley liked her. Positive gossip meant a good reputation on the first day of class. Negative gossip, however, was twice as powerful. 

More than anything, Amelia wanted the former. Not to be a ‘cool teacher’ or anything like that. She just hoped to avoid the uphill battle that would come with a bunch of girls not respecting her from day one. But what could she say? It’s not like Amelia could talk about all the bars and clubs she went to on the weekends. What kinds of ‘new things’ would be relatable and impressive to an eighteen year old?

With all the thoughts sparked from Ashley’s nonchalant yet offensive question, Amelia didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with her hand being taken. Reluctantly walking forward from how the hand cupped around hers led forward, Amelia tried to tackle both the ‘Millie’ thing as well as the conversation it was leading towards. “I’m not scared of anything, Ash,” she said. Despite the schoolgirl outfit, Amelia was still an adult and a future teacher. Confidence was a little more difficult to grasp, however, after doing so poorly on a test and going through such a demeaning meeting afterwards.

“Oh?” Ashley replied. 

She pushed one of the doors open and tugged at Amelia’s arm again to guide her through. The autumn air was noticeably colder with only a skirt to protect her legs, although the blazer helped. The mid-morning sun shone down onto an empty quad; all the other girls must be in class, which meant that she wouldn’t have to be seen by dozens of students. Not yet, at least. Amelia assumed she would have to walk from class to class like everyone else that afternoon. Not only for the ‘first day experience,’ but also because only observing one teacher didn’t make as much sense as observing several. 

“Mm hmm,” Amelia nodded. She was just now registering that they were holding hands. Lightly blushing at the fact that she would definitely look like the younger girl from afar compared to Ashley’s mature height and figure, Amelia resisted the urge to pull her hand free. Now that she had allowed it to begin with, there was less of an opportunity to voice that it didn’t feel super appropriate. Amelia was a future academy teacher, and Ashley was a student. Not wanting to add yet another layer of potentially complicated conversation about what should be simple topics, however, Amelia let her hand remain where it was. 

She was so distracted by everything Ashley was throwing at her that she didn’t pause for even a second to think that being escorted around like this would make her appear more like a lost little lamb of a new student, rather than a slightly younger girl walking side by side with the office assistant who probably did tours like this all the time with new students. 

“Well, if you’re not scared of anything,” Ashley said, pausing their walk only a few steps from the administration building with a squeeze of Amelia’s hand. “Then prove it. Go by ‘Millie’ for the rest of the day. You can handle that, right?”

“Umm. Well . . .” Amelia trailed off. It wasn’t quite as simple as that. If a college friend had dared her to do something similar, especially if they were out where no one knew her, it would be different. But she was supposed to be an authority figure at Westridge, and her current attire was already screwing with her image. Adding an embarrassing name to the mix would only make things worse. 

Squeezing her hand again, Ashley just smiled. “Come on, Millie. What’s the harm? Everyone’s going to be calling you Ms. Martin anyway, right?”

She had a point there. But, still. “I don’t know, Ashley.”

“Just try it. Be brave! Tell me that your name is Millie.”

Swallowing hard, and crumbling to peer pressure and a need to prove herself after being treated more like a tween than an adult all morning, Amelia reluctantly gave it a try.

“My name is Millie . . . ”

Part Sixteen

Millie.

Somehow, Ashley had pressured Amelia to temporarily accept the nickname. It had been done so casually, so effortlessly; which made pushing back nearly impossible. After dealing with Ms. Song’s constant scrutiny earlier, Amelia was a little disarmed by the time she met Ashley for the tour. With so many other reasons to already feel self conscious, she couldn’t bring herself to argue about something so trivial. 

The conversation ended as easily as it began. With a chipper attitude, Ashley had exclaimed, “Cute! Okay, Millie. Ready for the tour?”

Amelia distinctly remembered Ms. Song using the word ‘brief.’ However, the circuitous route Ashley took her on felt like the complete opposite. Maybe it was the uncomfortable flats, or the schoolgirl uniform, or the constant use of the new nickname, but time seemed to drag on and on as they walked nearly the entire campus. Without her phone, it was difficult to get a sense of how long she had been there. Changing, then the aptitude test, then the advisor meeting, and now this. When was she going to get to observe classes? 

Westridge Academy was a boarding school, but it reminded Amelia a lot of her experience at university. A smaller campus, sure, but that was the only notable difference. Two big dorm buildings; one for girls grades six through eight, the other for girls grades nine through twelve. Amelia knew they used ‘intermediate’ for the middle school aged girls, but only because Ms. Song referenced it earlier. She couldn’t remember the phrase for high schoolers, but it was probably just as unnecessarily posh. 

A few academic buildings, a library, a modest gym alongside a variety of outdoor sports areas. It would have been much simpler for Ashley to gesture to most of those things from the top of the large hill that the campus was on. Instead, they walked everything. Amelia’s feet were killing her by the time they made it back to the quad. Just when she thought it was over, Ashley led on. 

To the intermediate students’ dorm building, where they ascended two stairwells. “You’ll be in a suite with nine other girls,” Ashley said. She took Amelia’s hand and tugged her down the hallway; the gesture was just as difficult to shake as the new nickname. Throughout the tour, the dark haired girl had held her hand and let go just frequently enough where it would feel awkward to bring up an issue with it now. “That’s four doubles and two singles. And lucky you, Millie! I was told that you’d be getting one of the singles.”

At this point, Amelia wasn’t surprised. More of the role, more of the act everyone managed to keep up despite her real age. An hour or two ago, she would have questioned the implication that she was being given a room. That was then, however, and this was now. “A single sounds lovely,” Amelia said. Just because she was being treated like a teenager didn’t mean she was going to talk like one.

“Trust me, it will be nice to have some privacy at night. It’s the only time you can really be yourself, you know?” Ashley winked. Then she opened the door to the common room. At the end of the room was a table with a handful of chairs, no doubt meant for studying. And, in one corner, there was a sofa and loveseat, as well as a small coffee table. Other than that, six closed doors surrounded the room. The area wasn’t particularly extravagant; it was just enough for a group of girls to study and hang out before curfew. 

As Amelia walked over to her door, hand in hand with Ashley, she was reminded of a detail she had put out of her mind earlier. Similar to the name pairing on the aptitude test, the private dorm room door was already labeled for ‘MILLIE ROBERTS.’ Before, Amelia had been too distracted by the new setting and the impending test. Now that she was with Ashley again, she flashed back to her first day in the office. “Roberts? Like you?”

“You remembered!” Ashley exclaimed. She gave Amelia’s hand a squeeze. “I’m flattered. And here I was, thinking I was just another student to you.”

“But-” Amelia hesitated. She hadn’t been prepared for the enthusiastic response. It also wasn’t the thing she wanted to focus on. “But, it’s ‘Martin’” Hopefully the girl would pick up the uptick at the end of that thought. 

“Yeah, but ‘Millie Martin’ would sound silly, don’t you think? Relax! I thought it would be fun to make you my cousin for the day. My little cousin, that is.”

“Wait, you did this? You changed my name?”

“Technically, the office did. I just suggested it after I learned that I’d be your tour guide. If anything, blame Mrs. Thompson!”

“Yeah, but you-”

“Are you saying you don’t like my last name, Millie?”

It was such a typical girl tactic. The question was obviously a trap, but this new development sparked Amelia to pause and act more like the adult she was. She wasn’t about to fall victim to some eighteen year old’s logic. “I’m saying I like my last name better,” she finally replied. Avoiding the yes/no trap, and focusing more on what she actually cared about, “And I should have been involved in this conversation, Ashley.”

Ashley didn’t seem bothered by the fact that Amelia deflected. She just shrugged and said, “That’s not how this works, Millie. You’re an intermediate student here. Thirteen year olds don’t get to make decisions. You are thirteen, aren’t you?”

‘NO. I’m twenty-two!!’ Amelia wanted to scream the correction. 

But she couldn’t. Ashley worked at the main office, which means that she would have more interactions with the administration than your average student. This tour could even be a sneaky part of her interview process. While Amelia doubted that Ashley was directly involved with the evaluation, it would be easy for someone on the staff to ask the dark haired girl to at least report her observations afterwards. 

Like so many times before, the sunk cost fallacy was real. She had already put on the schoolgirl outfit. Taken the aptitude test. Gone through a patronizing advisor meeting. And now this–learning that she was apparently supposed to be Ashley’s younger cousin for the day. This was all for the job. And, if she could suck it up for a single day, then there would possibly be a chance to reprimand Ashley later on for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. 

So, swallowing her pride, Amelia agreed with the lie. “Thirteen and a half, actually.” It was meant to come across as a little sarcastic, to show how none of this bothered her. Instead, she ended up blushing when the delivery of the words sounded more petulant than playfully snarky.

“Mm hmm. And you’re my little cousin?” Ashley asked.

“Of course, Ashley,” Amelia replied, “Your cousin, Millie.”

And that was that. Ashley gushed over how cute she was for a moment, then showed Amelia the private bedroom. Like the common room, it wasn’t anything special. Just a twin bed and a small dorm room desk. It was completely empty, save for a small stack of linens sitting on the end of the bed. Ashley explained how the school would supply anything that Millie needed until her luggage arrived. Sleepwear, toiletries, spare notebooks, etc. 

While Amelia knew this was all pretend, it was still interesting to hear about what Westridge offered. Although it wasn’t surprising. The academy was comprised of so many students from wealthy families. A new student meant more tuition money coming in, so dropping a few dollars on hospitality was a drop in the bucket.

At long last, Ashley began wrapping up the tour. Hand in hand yet again, they left the dorms and walked towards the academic building. 

Amelia hadn’t heard a bell, but the previous hour of classes had clearly concluded. A few small groups of girls scurried across the quad in the opposite direction that she and Ashley were walking, probably to stop by their rooms before the next round of classes. That was nothing compared to the sheer volume of girls walking the halls in the academic building itself. There were no lockers in the old stone building, but the area still had the same energy as a public school in terms of the brief chaos that happened between every class. The main difference, of course, being that every single girl was wearing the same outfit. 

“This way, Millie!” Ashley tugged her to the right, guiding her through the crowd. 

Amelia expected to be taken to a classroom, in order to start her first observation, but Ashley had other plans. They took a detour to a study room off one of the side hallways, where a familiar brunette was waiting for them just around the corner. “Hey, Claire!” Ashley exclaimed.

Claire, or ‘Mrs. Thompson,’ was lounging on a nearby sofa. Instead of administrative clothes, however, she was dressed the same as all the other academy students.

Part Seventeen

For the most part, Ashley was the calculating type.

Being popular wasn’t just about being the richest girl, or the prettiest girl, or even the most confident girl at school. While Ashley was rich and pretty and popular, she was also self aware and realistic. It would be foolishly vain to believe that she outclassed the other Westridge girls in any of those categories. Almost every student at the boarding school had some degree of wealth, which meant the other two qualities weren’t far behind. At least, for the families like hers that put pressure on appearances and social interactions.

Ashey, however, was unique in the fact that she went the extra mile to stay on top. Studying other girls; going so far as to take notes to review later. Avoiding confrontations; it was easier to carefully gossip here and there to gradually take another girl down, but in a way where it wouldn’t be traced back to her. And finally, surrounding herself with classmates she considered potential threats. Instead of waiting for them to become a problem, Ashley opted to keep them close and let them enjoy the taste of popularity while believing that it was Ashley herself who made it possible.

Most importantly, she made herself trustworthy. In the movies, the top dog is always some bitch who berates and demeans the other girls to keep them in line. Ashley chose the opposite approach for real life. Aside from a casual backhanded compliment every now and then, the dark haired girl gave off a more approachable aura. Similar to the way she was eventually left alone in the front office via trust, she also gradually became the assumed secret keeper, advisor, and protector to her friends. It put her in a position where everyone relied on her, but also knew that crossing her would result in too much fallout if it ever came to that.

Enter Millie.

The blonde college grad was a fucking twig, and fairly short even with the assistance of heels. Not only that, but she also looked like a lost lamb when crossing through the threshold of the office’s door. Certainly not the kind of young woman who could control a room full of entitled teenage girls. In fact, if the little blonde wasn’t all dressed up for an interview, she wouldn’t look that different from most of the other academy girls.

Ashley decided to go for it. It was a lot more impulsive than her usual mode of operation, especially since an administrator could walk in at any moment. But as Ashley lied through her teeth, she realized that it actually wasn’t that risky. Worst case scenario, she could play it off as a joke. Or a mistake in the system, depending on the adult. Ashley had worked in the office long enough to trust herself to think on her feet. Thankfully, it never came to that, and she convinced Amelia to leave and come back another day.

In other words, to give Ashley time to prepare. It was an absolutely crazy idea, one that she wasn’t sure that she could pull off. But if it worked . . .

The paperwork was easy. Thanks to Ashley’s ‘helpful’ tip, the faxed registration form arrived when everyone in the office was having lunch and she was once again the only one in the room. The paper version submitted by Amelia would never make it to the school’s records. Its only purpose was to give Ashley the information she needed.

Opening an electronic version on the computer in front of her, the dark haired girl smirked to herself and began transferring all the relevant details. It had taken her quite some time to decide on a suitable grade for little Millie. Could the young adult pass for a middle school girl? She was the right size, but there was still an air of maturity that would make it a hard sell. Ultimately, Ashley decided to go for it. If the school uniform could be involved, that would surely offset any adult mannerisms.

Amelia would be thirteen years old. Old enough to have a bit of boob, but young enough to not be taken seriously in the slightest. And, just for fun, she would be called ‘Millie.’ The perfect name for a transfer girl on scholarship. And the perfect name to add to the image that Ashley was aiming for.

Ashley only shared her scheme with one other person–Claire. The tall brunette was easily the best choice. Just like Millie would look years younger when dressed like a schoolgirl, Claire could pull off a more mature look when wearing the right combination of clothes and make-up. Not only that, but Claire could keep a secret and had a great poker face. Between Ashley’s excessive editing of the registration form and Claire’s fake interview, all the pieces would be in place for Millie to spend a full day at Westridge Academy as a new student without even realizing it.

And it actually worked.

By setting the interview at 5:30 on a Friday–thirty minutes after the work day in which most administrators left early, and a good two hours after the last class of the day–no one was around to notice that Claire was borrowing an office at the end of the hall. Posing as Mrs. Thompson, after Ashley switched the names on the office doors, Claire convinced the unsuspecting applicant to come back and spend a day as a new student in full uniform.

Just for good measure, Ashley changed the girl’s last name to ‘Roberts.’ Setting it up so they were cousins meant that it would be easier for her to get out of a few classes in order to show her dear younger relative around the campus. After all, changing schools in the middle of the year is quite a big transition. Having a familiar face on the first day would help Millie feel more comfortable. And, since it was Ashley’s home turf, it was all too easy to confiscate the small blonde’s possessions before her aptitude test.

Once all was said and done, Millie looked so CUTE. Honestly, once Millie swapped out her heels for a pair of used flats, she probably could have physically passed for a twelve year old. However, thirteen was still the right call, as the girl’s hair and make-up were just enough to give her a slightly older look.

Next, came the biggest wild card of the day. Ashley passed off her ‘little cousin’ to Mrs. Lewis. Aside from introducing Millie as a new student, there wasn’t anything else she could do. Ashley just headed to class, touched base with Claire, and prayed. Between the aptitude test and the advisor meeting, little Millie would be alone with two separate adults.

The good news was, Ashley had added plenty of negative things to Millie’s registration form when she transferred the physical version to the computer. Rather than the straight-A student that the petite blonde really was when she was younger, the newly thirteen year old Millie was now a straight-B student. And a B student at a public school is basically a C student at Westridge. On top of that, she was oh so troublesome. A handful of detentions, issues with authority; ‘compulsive liar’ was on the list as well, to undermine any adult truths that the new transfer student might be tempted to tell if she figured out the game Ashley was playing.

After dropping Millie off for her test, Ashley could barely concentrate as she sat in the back row with Claire and another friend of theirs. First, Mrs. Lewis would oversee the aptitude test. Then, Ms. Song would put together a schedule for the girl based on both the test and the falsified registration form Ashley has submitted to the school’s system. Unfortunately, Ashley had a different advisor, so she couldn’t do any foundational work as Millie’s ‘older cousin’ before the meeting on Monday. Even though she spoke to Ms. Song every now and then in the front office, Ashley didn’t know whether or not Millie would even go for the ‘first day experience’ idea until after Claire’s Friday meeting.

So many questions. How well did Millie do on the aptitude test? Was Ms. Song able to define all the expectations of a proper Westridge student without Millie catching on? If the little blonde did figure out what was happening, would she be able to slam on the brakes? All the phone numbers on the registration form had been changed, and Ashley had hidden away the phone and wallet that would more easily be able to prove Amelia’s real age. But if Ms. Song indulged the girl and let her use an office phone with a memorized number, this whole thing was over.

Finally, after the longest history class of her life, Ashley was called down to the main office. To give Millie a tour of the campus, as originally planned. Or to face the music, if her not fully calculated idea failed.

Ashley shot Claire a confident wink, to assert that she wasn’t nervous in the slightest, and then went to see how everything played out in her absence.

Part Eighteen

Ashley was nervous.

Not because she was worried about getting in trouble. This whole thing was a prank at the end of the day, elaborate as it was. But if she was caught, the rest of her senior year would be more of an inconvenience. The wrist slap of a punishment would probably involve taking away her hours in the office and the perks that only Ashley knew came with it. That was really her only worry, other than the annoyance of putting on an apologetic show.

Thankfully, it seemed like things had worked out. The little blonde was still dressed like a schoolgirl, and had a bit of a lost look on her face. Cute. Ashley would be more than happy to lead the way, but only after asserting that ‘Millie’ was a better name for her. Maybe Millie would have stood up for herself if she was dressed in her normal clothes and standing at the front of a classroom, but she had no such defenses at the moment. Not only was Ms. Song a force to be reckoned with, but Ashley herself had a way of getting what she wanted. Dealing with both women back to back would be difficult to handle.

Sure enough, Millie caved, and that was that.

Ashley proceeded to lead an unnecessarily long tour of the campus with the intention of slightly tiring the girl out. Every little bit helped, and physical exhaustion tended to pair well with the mental stress that Millie would no doubt be dealing with soon. That, and it gave Ashley a chance to drop the nickname dozens of times along the way. The fact that Millie had actually been assigned a dorm was amusing, too, considering the school hadn’t yet received a down payment for room and board. Normally the office waited until they had the check in hand, to avoid potential financial complications down the line, but perhaps the mid-semester ‘transfer’ had caused that particular step in the process to be overlooked.

No matter. Ashley wasn’t intending for Millie to stay the night, although giving the student teacher a curfew designed for thirteen year old girls was a fun thought. For the moment, it was just a matter of making this feel more real and official. That way, the reveal would be all the more delicious. Uniform, aptitude test, class schedule, dorm. For all intents and purposes, it would seem like Millie was set up to be an actual Westridge student. By the time Ashley sent her home later that day, there was no way she’d ever return. If anything, she was helping the school by filtering out a gullible pushover from the pool of applicants.

There really wasn’t an end goal to the dark haired, dark souled girl’s plan. It was mostly an impulsively inspired exercise meant to flex her creative and manipulative muscles. And, as she walked schoolgirl Millie around campus, Ashley couldn’t help but appreciate the results of her little experiment. Now it was time for the next wild card. There was no telling how the young woman would react to learning the truth.

While it would be fun to keep Millie in the dark for as long as possible, Ashley really wanted to be present for the realization. Partially because she was both excited and curious to see the look on the girl’s face, to see the first words that sprang to mind, to witness how a girl straight out of college handled the fact that everyone at the school but Ashley actually believed that she was thirteen without question. But from a more pragmatic standpoint, Ashley also wanted to be there to control what came next. If she and Claire weren’t present, then there was nothing stopping Milllie from storming across campus and telling her story to the office. Even though Millie was a compulsive liar, at least according to her online registration form, it would still only take one phone call to sort things out if an administrator indulged her. It would be best if Ashley could intercept that line of thinking before it fully formed into a proper idea.

So, with her ‘younger cousin’ in tow, Ashley met Claire in their usual study room between classes, and mentally prepared for any number of ways this would go.

—————————————————

Time seemed to stand still as Amelia took in the sight before her.

The brunette on the sofa totally clashed with the former image Amelia had of her. It wasn’t just because of the student uniform; her posture was more relaxed, her hair was up in a casual ponytail, and even the smile on her face contrasted the stern expression she wore behind the desk during their interview.

This wasn’t one of those situations where Claire might have been Mrs. Thompson’s daughter, or a girl who bore a striking resemblance to the young woman. Amelia was really good with faces, and this was definitely the same person. So, what was going on? Why on earth would Mrs. Thompson be dressed like that? Unless . . . Ever so slowly, things began clicking into place. The late interview. The ‘first day experience.’

“You-” Amelia hesitated. She didn’t know what to say, and her mind was still racing as she connected all the dots. Fragmented memories of the last few hours, all of which were mortifying in hindsight if her suspicions about what was going on were true. “You set me up?!” Settling on more of a question than an accusation, she wondered just how many people were in on this. Now that she had been given the answer to a puzzle she hadn’t realized needed solving, it was easy to see how Claire could have passed as an adult with the proper outfit and make-over. But Ms. Song? The half-asian features might have given her some youthful features, but Amelia knew without a shadow of a doubt that the advisor was an adult. Same with Mrs. Lewis, whose age was a lot more obvious at first glance.

Either those two women actually believed that she was supposed to be a transfer student, which was absurd, or they were somehow involved. Did she get the job, and this was nothing more than an elaborate first day prank? No, that didn’t make sense. Technically, Amelia hadn’t interviewed with anyone. Before today, she had only met with Ashley and Claire. Was this a psychology experiment or something, done at her expense? Westridge was known for its academic excellence, so they probably offered a psych class. But Amelia was a candidate for a student teacher position! If someone approved what Ashley no doubt suggested, what did that mean for her real interview process?

Claire was the first one to speak, breaking Amelia out of her thoughts. “Millie, proper girls don’t raise their voices. And that’s no way to speak to your older cousin.”

“She’s not my cousin!!” Amelia snapped. Belatedly realizing she was still holding Ashley’s hand, she immediately yanked free from the casual grip and took a step back. Even though Claire was the one who replied, Amelia turned her attention to the girl who she had spent the most time with throughout this charade. “Ashley, what the fuck is going on?”

“Careful, Millie.” Ashley didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. Her voice was calm and quiet in comparison, and she gestured towards the brunette. “Claire is a prefect here. She can write you up for just about anything, and I already count two infractions. Treating girls with disrespect, and swearing. Now, I suggest you apologize before you make it worse.”

Apologize? In what universe did it make sense for Amelia to apologize for anything, when she was the victim here? “No.” She dropped her voice and tried to keep it as flat as possible despite the way her heart was pounding and her head was spinning. How could she have been so stupid?! Putting on a fucking student uniform and letting everyone treat her as such? While Ashley was obviously to blame, Amelia was the one who let it all happen without pushing her unanswered questions. “One of you, explain. Now.” She was still the adult. And as badly as she wanted to just demand her things back–her clothes, in particular–it would be easier to handle a conversation like that once she had the full picture. Was this a test, a prank, an experiment; something in between, or completely different?

Ashley just sighed. “You always were the difficult little cousin, Millie. Such a brat. Honestly, it’s not that difficult to behave. Apologize first, okay? Then we can talk.”

Amelia parted her lips, jaw slightly dropped at the audacity. Collecting herself in what she hoped was a timely manner, she said, “Ashley-”

“Now, Millie. Apologize.”

“But, you can’t-”

“It’s fine,” Claire said. She sat up and pulled out a binder from her backpack that was resting against the sofa, “Maybe a few official infractions is what she needs. I’m sure the office would love to hear all about how poorly little Millie is doing on her first day . . .”

Part Nineteen

The threat shouldn’t have affected Amelia as much as it did.

It’s not like she actually went to school here. This was just . . . well, she didn’t actually know what it was, because neither of the girls before her were explaining. Regardless, she was an adult. A young woman who shouldn’t be intimidated by a couple of eighteen year old girls. And yet, Amelia had always been a perfect student. She got the best grades and she certainly wasn’t the type to cause trouble. Which is why her ‘good girl’ nature kicked in almost reflexively.

“Wait!” Amelia exclaimed. Her voice was a little more shrill than she expected. “Wait,” she echoed, at a more controlled level the second time around, “Please. Just, slow down.” Remembering what Ashley said about an apology being necessary before moving forward, Amelia tacked on an awkward, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Ashley asked.

Good question. Racking her brain for the details of the recent conversation, Amelia guessed, “Sorry for being difficult. Now, can we-”

“Ah, ah. ‘I’m sorry for being a difficult little brat. Like always.’ A real apology, Millie.”

She was tempted to slap the girl for her insolence, or storm away to set things right at the front office. Instead, she repeated the apology that had been dictated for her. As frustrated as she was about all this–embarrassed, too–there were just too many questions. She needed a better grasp on what was going on, which meant she had to suck it up and play nice. “I’m sorry for being a difficult little brat. Like always.” A light blush accompanied the words.

“Good girl,” Ashley said, “Although it’s more proper to address people by their name. Since we’re cousins and all, I can cut you some slack. However, Claire is a prefect. For girls in her position, the correct title is Miss Claire. It shows respect, but also fosters more familiarity than you would have with a teacher or advisor. Do you understand, Millie?”

“Yes, Ashley,” Amelia said. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that her ‘cousin’ rounded off the brief lesson by giving an example. A sign of respect, allegedly, though it didn’t feel that way amidst her current predicament. Still, she had swallowed her pride this far. To ensure that wasn’t for nothing, she made a point to turn towards the taller girl. “And Miss Claire.”

Claire nodded. “Good girl.”

It was the third time the patronizing phrase had been used in a matter of minutes. With each iteration, it took more of a conscious effort to keep from glowering. Even if an elder said that, Amelia would have had a negative reaction despite how it was technically praise. To hear it from two teenagers, however, made it that much worse. And yet, she couldn’t chew them out for it. Not yet. She wanted to demand for the explanation she was promised, but was worried that repeating herself so quickly would just add to the immature light they were painting her in.

Thankfully, neither of the girls dragged things out. “Why don’t you sit, Millie?” Ashley said. She gestured to the space next to Claire. “We only have a few minutes, so we’re going to have to make this quick.”

Without so much as an ‘okay’ or any other verbal assent, Amelia simply walked over and delicately sat herself down. She fidgeted with the skirt almost immediately, still not used to the unfamiliar uniform she was wearing. Standing was fine, but there was a little bit too much thigh from the way the plaid skirt rode up a bit every time she sat. She had put a comfortable distance between herself and the brunette, but that effort was instantly undone when the girl scooted closer.

Ashley joined them on the sofa, although her landing wasn’t nearly as delicate as Amelia’s. She haphazardly tossed her shoulder bag onto a nearby armchair and then plopped herself down on the end of the sofa. Speaking of too much thigh . . . But Ashley didn’t seem to care. One of the perks of being an attractive girl, apparently. Overconfidence and/or shamelessness. At least, that’s the way Amelia viewed it from her own teenage years and other girls she knew back then.

“Sit still, Millie. Claire’s going to do your hair while we talk, okay?”

For a split second, Amelia assumed that Ashley was commenting on the fidgeting in a similar manner to the way Ms. Song did. So far, there seemed to be a consistency when it came to girls being ‘proper’ at Westridge, whether it was an administrator or a fellow student. Not that Amelia was a student. Instead, this was about something else. “My- my hair?” she nervously asked. There were a lot of things Amelia was self conscious about–her height, her distinct lack of curves, her youthful facial features–but she loved her hair. It was her favorite physical quality, one of the blessings she counted against all the other ways puberty had screwed her over. The gentle curl she added at the ends of her golden locks made her that much prettier and more mature-looking. Wearing her hair down was the best for her image, which meant anything Claire did would be counter-productive to that daily goal of looking her age.

“Mm hmm.” Ashley smiled. She leaned forward and placed a hand on Amelia’s bare leg, and looked right into her eyes. “You are a good girl, aren’t you?”

“I-” Amelia’s voice caught in her throat. She was instantly overwhelmed, especially since she had already been distracted at the thought of her precious hair being messed up with whatever style Claire had in mind. But now? There was the hand, the direct eye contact, the demeaning trap of a question. Amelia knew in the back of her mind that she should leap off the sofa and put her foot down to pretty much all of this, but she couldn’t find the strength. Instead, the only act of rebellion she could muster was with her words. “My hair is fine how it is . . .”

“You didn’t answer my question, Millie.” Ashley’s smile faded a bit, and her eyes narrowed, “Are you a good girl?”

Amelia was reminded of Ms. Song and her no-nonsense attitude. Even though Ashley looked nothing like the young woman, her judgmental look was enough to spark memories of the recent meeting and how small Amelia had felt by the end. “Yes, Ashley,” she mumbled. Her cheeks turned crimson.

“And a good Westridge girl would trust a prefect to know best, right? Answer quickly. Remember, we don’t have a lot of time!”

“Yes?”

“Is that a question?”

“N-no. It’s just . . .” Amelia trailed off. Why was it so difficult to speak her mind?! ‘You can’t treat me like this.’ ‘I’m an adult!’ ‘Tell me what’s going on, right now.’ But she couldn’t turn those thoughts into words. Some combination of the uniform, the setting, and the idle threat of getting into trouble was causing her to freeze. Despite not really being a student, Amelia subconsciously hated the thought of anyone seeing her as imperfect. Her high grades and her good attitude had always been enough for a good reputation and an overall lack of negativity in her life.

Ultimately, this left her wholly unprepared for any kind of confrontation.

Ashley removed her hand and sat back, crossing her arms. “It’s just what, Millie?”

“I don’t know . . .” she muttered. Judgment, time pressure, and a desperate need to get the truth that was being dangled over her head. In a matter of minutes, she had fallen from ‘frustrated applicant’ to ‘meek schoolgirl.’ Not that Amelia viewed herself as the latter, but she certainly wasn’t doing a lot to combat the image in her current state.

Ashley, on the other hand, was reveling in the transformation she had pulled off in less than half a day. Discounting the prep, of course. “Need some help, Millie?” she gently asked, “You can nod. Remember, we’re running out of time.”

Without even thinking about it, Amelia gave a small nod.

“Good girl. Okay, all you need to do is give some permission. No one has made you do anything, right? This is the same. You need to ask Claire, alright? Nod again.”

Amelia nodded. There was a lot to unpack in that first question, but she couldn’t dwell on it. She needed an explanation, and there was only so much time to get it. Still feeling small, she waited for the directions that would get her what she needed.

With a supportive smile, Ashley said, “Please, Miss Claire, will you do my hair for me?”

She hesitated. “And then, you’ll explain?”

“Of course. Is there anything you want to ask Claire for, Millie?”

Taking a deep breath, Amelia grasped whatever courage she could find. She wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point there became a need to seek validation from these two girls. She had no idea why; she was just flustered and confused.

Sighing, she said, “Miss Claire, umm . . . Do my hair? Please?”

Part Twenty

“Happily!” Claire chirped.

The girl was quite the juxtaposition, at least to Amelia. ‘Mrs. Thompson’ had a similar air of authority as the prefect position Claire had. However, she was also still an eighteen year old student. Behind that posturing, she had some teenage energy as well. The subtle enjoyment of Amelia’s dumbstruck expression when they had come face to face, as well as the enthusiastic tone just now.

Amelia winced as she felt the girl’s fingertips running through her hair for the first time. She opened her mouth to say something, but Ashley beat her to the punch.

“Hush, Millie. You do want to hear everything, right?”

She nodded, still blushing at how many times she had shyly bobbed her head in affirmation instead of speaking up.

“Then sit still and be quiet, okay? Class starts soon, and we’d hate for you to be late and earn yourself an infraction.”

“But I’m not-” ‘actually a student.’ Amelia only made it halfway through before realizing she was about to cause the very problem the dark haired girl was talking about. More circling, more time wasting; a bigger delay before learning what exactly was going on. So, against her better judgment, she cut herself off and replaced her partial response with a, “Yes, Ashley.”

“Good girl. Try to work on your posture, too.”

“And don’t fidget,” Claire added, “It’s distracting.”

“Sorry . . .” Amelia mumbled. The apology slipped out so naturally. She didn’t even think she was fidgeting, aside from the way she fiddled with her skirt a minute ago, but now she doubted herself. Sitting up properly, feeling more like a student than ever, she managed to keep perfectly still as Claire ran her fingers through her blonde hair a second time. Amelia hadn’t heard the word ‘posture’ in years.

Ashley remained quiet for a moment. The lingering silence made Amelia feel self conscious all over again, and she immediately put a little extra effort into sitting up straight and not flinching in the slightest as Claire began separating her pretty hair into a number of strands. And, to top it all off, Amelia pressed her lips together and didn’t say a word. Quiet, and still. Therefore, not judged or the cause of more stalling on Ashley’s end.

“Let’s start simple,” Ashley finally said. Brushing back her own hair, she met Amelia’s eyes with an amused smile, “Claire and I are the only ones here that know your real age.”

‘What?’ Amelia’s eyes widened slightly. Her jaw also dropped a little, undoing her recent efforts of trying to keep her lips sealed. She was kidding, right? There was no way two separate administrators had mistaken her as a teenager. At least, not one this young. She had seen herself in the mirror after changing into the boarding school uniform and, while it definitely shaved a few years off her life, there was no way it had stolen a decade. Of course, that was before she had traded her heels for flats, and she had also been looking at herself as an adult. With unbiased eyes . . . still, thirteen years old? Not a chance.

“Mm hmm,” she affirmed, “Mrs. Lewis and Ms. Song were totally fooled. Honestly, Millie, you aren’t much of a grown-up without your fancy clothes. It’s all about perspective, right? If you look like a student, and people think you’re supposed to be one, they’ll believe it without much thought. And, as far as Westridge Academy is concerned, you’re a troublesome little transfer student.”

So this was an elaborate prank? That had been one of her initial thoughts after seeing Claire, but Amelia had dismissed it pretty quickly. Although her fleeting vision had been something where the school was on board, rather than it being two students masterminding the whole thing. Of course, now that it was being explained, she had her doubts. After all, Amelia was still in denial about the fact that she could pass a seventh grader with no one batting an eye. This could still be a psychological experiment, and Ashley could be lying to spark a reaction. There was no way two students could pull something like this off without any administrators being involved.

“Ashley-” Amelia began. She didn’t make it very far.

“Millie, you promised you would be quiet.”

Typical. Ashley and Claire might have been eighteen, but they were still teenagers. And that was such a teenage thing to do–turning silent agreement into a ‘promise.’ Amelia pursed her lips in annoyance, but went quiet again. She would hear the girl out, even if she didn’t fully believe what she was being told.

“Good girl,” Ashley said, echoing the patronizing phrase. And then she explained.

It wasn’t the full story, but Amelia didn’t need to know that. For the most part, Ashley glossed over the finer details and stuck to the highlight reel. Fake interview, edited registration form, student uniform. After that, it was simply a matter of passing her off to Mrs. Lewis and letting the school handle things from there.

The more Amelia heard, the more she actually believed that it was the truth. If this was some experiment or school sanctioned prank, then surely the dark haired girl would mess up the explanation or break character at some point. Additionally, all of this validated the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she hadn’t been able to place earlier. How dressing up like a schoolgirl was a little extreme for a ‘first day experience,’ and how neither of the adults she had met addressed her as an applicant for even a second before keeping the charade going. If it wasn’t a charade at all, then Amelia had made a horrible mistake by playing along and breathing life into Ashley’s lies.

By the end of the story, Amelia’s hair was pulled back and tied up into a simple braid. Not a horrible style, but it also took away the golden locks that had been previously been worn down for a more mature look. Luckily, the make-up still hid her freckles, but her face was more youthful without the proper framing. “Well, congrats. It worked,” she said. Mostly convinced at this point, it was a conscious effort to not slap Ashley. Or, on the other extreme, to sink down into the sofa and be mortified about the first impression she made with two potential colleagues who currently thought she was thirteen years old. “Now, you’ve had your fun. How about giving me back my things so I can clear this up?”

Despite how she felt, Amelia decided to play nice. It would be so embarrassing to go back to the office and explain everything. Difficult, too. She didn’t have any of her friends’ numbers memorized, and certainly wasn’t about to call her parents for help after so many years of cutting herself off from them. Without her cell phone and the contacts within, who could even verify her identity? If she really looked like a student, then no one was going to treat her like an adult until she had some proof. Which was a problem when her phone and purse had been confiscated.

Ashley must have been counting on that, because she didn’t seem particularly amenable to the request. “Hmm, not yet. You haven’t been a very good Westridge girl so far. If you want to be an adult, Millie, you have to show us that you can at least handle being a proper little student first.”

What? That didn’t make any sense. “Ashley, I’m serious,” Amelia frowned, “Look, I promise you won’t get in trouble or anything. Okay?”

“I’m being serious, too. Are you saying you can’t handle intermediate classes?”

“Of course I can, but that doesn’t mean-”

“And are you a bad student?”

“No! I’m not a student at all.” She was quick to clarify, but it didn’t make much difference.

“I mean in general, Millie. Are you a good student, or a bad student?” Ashley asked. Her voice was calm, and just assertive enough.

Still not in a great position without her possessions, Amelia reluctantly answered the either/or question. “I’m a good student. But-”

“Then prove it.” The same tactic the dark haired girl had used when saying that going by ‘Millie’ shouldn’t be that difficult. An annoying yet effective challenge that could often bait someone into doing something that they otherwise would prefer not to do. And, for a girl who was clearly the self conscious type, and who thoroughly lacked the backbone required to be a teacher, it would probably only take another little push or two. “Show us that you’re a good student. Make it through the day without getting in trouble. Easy, right?”

Amelia hesitated. She had already signed up to be there for the day anyway. And even though she had nothing to prove to these two girls, the peer pressure was taking effect. “And then you’ll give me back my things?”

“Details, Millie,” Ashley waved her off, “Are you going to be a good little student, or not?”

Part 21

Amelia knew she shouldn’t say it, especially since she was supposed to have authority over these girls in terms of both seniority and the job that she was here for. She could only ignore a question so many times in a row, however, even though Ashley was definitely doing the same thing.

“Sure,” Amelia said.

She could do that, right? It had already been established that the schoolgirl outfit did wonders in terms of making her look younger. If anything, the biggest hurdle was the emotional one; everyone was going to view her as a thirteen year old, which was a pretty solid blow to her dignity. But the damage was already done, and she’d rather play Ashley’s insulting game if it meant that Amelia would have an easier time setting this all straight at the end of the day.

“And what’s your name?” Ashley crossed one leg over the other and gave her a pointed look, “Make sure you smile. We don’t want you all pouty on your first day of school.”

For a moment, Amelia did the opposite. Her lips tightened in frustration. Not only was it annoying when someone else told her to smile, but she could already see how Ashley was trying to push her luck. The only reason Amelia complied was due to the thought that it wouldn’t be long before she’d be rid of these senior girls. As mortifying as it was going to be to attend an intermediate class and have everyone there assume that she belonged, it would at least be easy to sit quietly in the back and run out the clock. That sounded better than spending another minute with Ashley and Claire.

Forcing a smile on her face that ended up looking a little dorky and awkward from reluctant effort, she said, “My name is Millie.”

“Oh, this is going to be SO much fun!” Ashley giggled.

Claire ran her hand over Amelia’s completed braid. “Agreed. Now, are you ready for your first ever Westridge class, Millie?”

Assuming the girls would get on her case if she didn’t play the part, Amelia kept the unnatural smile as she said, “Of course I am. Do I have a schedule?” It would be nice if she knew what was in store for her for the rest of the afternoon.

Ashley informed her that her first teacher of the day would have all the necessary materials. Without any further delays, the two ‘older’ girls got up from the sofa and beckoned for Amelia to do the same. Just like before, the dark haired office girl who started this whole thing took Amelia’s hand and laced their fingers together. In the name of progressing things without any more delays, Amelia didn’t protest in the slightest. Besides, she hadn’t argued about it earlier, so she could already imagine her alleged cousin feigning confusion at the sudden distaste.

The hallways were far less crowded than they had been when Amelia had been taken into the study room. Good news, fewer people were around to notice the ‘new girl’ that would soon be a teaching assistant. Bad news, it meant she’d probably be the last one to class. Like a scene from a movie, there was a good chance everyone else would already be seated upon her arrival, which would draw unnecessary attention to her arrival. Doubly so since she was being escorted by two girls.

Thankfully, class hadn’t started yet. While Amelia’s fears about being the center of attention were true in terms of her being the last one in the room, most of the uniformed girls were busy chatting amongst themselves or getting some work done for either the impending lecture or perhaps for some other class to avoid their free time being wasted later. That didn’t mean she was invisible; several of the students noticed her right away, though there wasn’t much time to dwell on it.

“You must be the new girl.” The teacher in the room was easily recognizable by her unique outfit compared to all the otherwise matching girls. Not to mention she was pretty clearly an adult. The woman extended her hand with a warm smile, “Welcome to Westridge Academy, young lady. I’m Mrs. Webb.”

Normally, Amelia would greet someone properly right away, but her right hand was currently held captive by Ashley’s. “Don’t be shy, Millie. Introduce yourself!” Only letting go after reinforcing the nickname, Ashley gave her an encouraging nudge.

Lightly blushing at how she was instantly set up as the ‘nervous for her first day’ type, Amelia stepped forward and tried to do a little damage control. If she wanted to be seen as a serious teacher when all of this was said and done, then being confident as a ‘student’ was an important first step. “I’m Millie,” she said. Right away, she hit a snag in her plan. It was the first time she had ever called herself that unprompted by Ashley, resulting in the hint of a cringe before she collected herself and forced a meek smile onto her face. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Webb.”

“It’s very nice to meet you as well, Millie. And thank you for showing her the way, girls. Will you need a note for your teachers?”

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you for offering,” Ashley said, “I already got permission. Little Millie here is my cousin, so I was picked to give her the tour. And Claire is handling the prefect side of things, of course. She’ll make sure someone’s here to help Millie out after class, too.”

“Well, you two can run along, then. I need to get Millie here sorted before class starts.”

Ashley nodded. “Of course. See you soon, cuz.” She stepped forward to give Amelia an affectionate peck on the cheek. Pausing for just a moment, she whispered, “You better be smiling next time I see you. I’d hate for your phone to ‘accidentally’ fall in the toilet.”

“Bye, Millie!” Claire winked.

Just like that, both of the eighteen year olds turned and left the classroom.

Amelia was left with a knot in her stomach. Was all of this a huge mistake? The only reason she had agreed to keep up the charade was because she believed it was the path of least resistance that would lead towards getting her stuff back. Sitting through a few classes was something she had already signed herself up for before Ashley admitted what was really going on, so it was easier to justify following that through in her mind. But smiling? Amelia didn’t even know when she’d still see her fake cousin again. Was she supposed to plaster on some equally fake smile every time there was a chance they’d run into each other again?

“Mrs. Webb-” she began. Maybe it was better to cut her losses. Now that Ashley wasn’t there to intercept her, there was a better chance of getting to the office and coming clean. And, while she had originally promised to not get the girls in trouble, Amelia was a lot more keen to go back on her word now that Ashley had passed on the offer to end everything a few minutes ago.

The teacher before her had meant what she had said about getting things done before class, however, which was about to make Amelia falter in her efforts to speak up.

“I have some things for you at my desk, Millie. Please follow me.” Mrs. Webb walked away in the opposite direction of the two girls who had just gone on their way, leaving Millie no choice but to follow. It was either that, or be left standing in the middle of the room and risk being stared at by all the students in the room.

As she met the woman at her desk in the corner of the room, Millie realized that this was actually better. A private conversation would be a lot easier when she wasn’t dead center to potentially draw more attention to herself. “Umm, there’s something-”

“Ms. Roberts,” the woman said, “I was informed that your personal possessions have not arrived yet. So, in the meantime, you’ve been issued a standard academy binder for your studies. Unlike our uniforms, it’s not required, but it does have an efficient organizational system for your classes. We highly recommend that new students try it for at least two weeks before deciding to make a switch.”

“But-”

“Millie, please don’t interrupt. We’re already behind schedule as is. I do expect my students to be punctual every day, which brings us to this-” she picked up a small book from her desk with the school’s insignia on the front cover, “-The school’s Code of Conduct. I do hope you looked at the online version before today, but I would carve out some time to read the book cover to cover. In my experience, girls who skim it or don’t read it at all are the ones that end up with a mountain of infractions over their first few weeks. Trust me, it will be better in the long run if you take the time at the beginning and save yourself some trouble . . .”

What came next was a total surprise. “. . . Especially a girl with your record.”

Part 22

“My what?” Amelia asked.

“You heard me,” Mrs. Webb said, “One thing you need to know about this school, Millie, is that we excel at communication. Administrators, teachers, and even prefects have a well organized filing system for every student here that we can all access. Not everything is visible to everyone, but the relevant details are shared across the board. For example, it’s not just the office that knows about your issues with authority. I make a point to check up on every new student of mine before she steps foot in my classroom, so I wouldn’t bother playing dumb.”

Amelia’s mind was racing. What was this woman talking about?!

And then it hit her. Or, more accurately, a recent memory surfaced. Back when she was in Ms. Song’s office, the stern advisor had mentioned how Amelia was barely passing her classes back at her old school. When she had still been under the assumption that this was all just a vivid showcase of how a new girl might spend her first day at the academy, Amelia had made the connection that perhaps she was being treated like a difficult girl who had been shipped here by rich parents who thought it was the best solution. Now that Mrs. Webb mentioned another piece of false history, Amelia finally remembered a crucial detail that had eluded her so far:

She had faxed her information to the school instead of submitting it online.

Ashley had played nice on the first day, and ‘helpfully’ suggested a specific time for Amelia to send things to the office. Although Ashley had claimed at the time that she had no idea who was working then, that could easily have been a lie. For all Amelia knew, the smirking girl simply shredded the form in favor of inputting her own information into the system. But then, why did she ask for Amelia to send anything in the first place?

Either way, this was a lot worse than she originally thought now that the pieces were coming together. The school thought she was some troublesome girl who could barely pass her classes! In a way, that was almost more insulting than everyone thinking that she was thirteen. Amelia was an amazing student, then and now, and suggesting otherwise was like saying water wasn’t wet.

“Please, Mrs. Webb. I’m not-”

“Millie. Proper ladies do not speak out of turn, and this is your last warning. I’d hate for you to receive an infraction during your very first class, especially when the academy is the perfect opportunity for you to have a fresh start. Not another word. Do you understand?”

Just like that, Amelia’s fire was gone. Her history of being a good student left her thoroughly unprepared for what it felt like to be chastised by a teacher. Parting her lips in surprise, she almost blurted out what her adult self would say in an attempt to diffuse the situation. Instead, she simply nodded her head. She could only imagine how pathetic the gesture looked, but also didn’t know if answering the question was allowed when the directive had been not to speak.

As if reading her mind, Mrs. Webb said, “You are permitted to speak when spoken to, Millie. For example, do you have something to say about the binder and the Code of Conduct I’m giving you?”

Feeling a blush coming on, Millie awkwardly murmured, “Thank you . . .”

“That’s better. Now then, this is the Mathematics textbook you’ll be using for both this grade and the next. Your class schedule is in the binder, as is the syllabus for my class. Based on your old transcript and the results of your aptitude test, I set your current grade to 85. If you perform well over the next few weeks, we may discuss whether or not that starting number can be raised. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

NO. It didn’t. Amelia wanted to scream. She had never gotten below a 90 before university, and starting with a B made her instantly frustrated. Instead of fighting back, however, she simply nodded again. “Yes, Mrs. Webb,” she said, remembering the lecture from ‘Ms. Song’ about speaking properly. The grade didn’t matter, since none of this was real.

After another few points about expectations, Amelia was told to find a seat.

In her initial vision of observing classes at the academy, she had pictured herself sitting at the back of the room in a unique spot that would separate her from the other students despite the fact that she was wearing a uniform. That clearly wasn’t going to be the case now that she was assumed to be an actual transfer student. She didn’t even have the option to sit in the back row, as those seats were already claimed by girls who no doubt coveted the distance from any given teacher. While Amelia was normally the opposite of those girls–a front row type–she just wanted to blend in and get through the day.

All the side desks were also claimed, probably for similar reasons the back row was full. Private or public school, people liked their personal space. Amelia did, too, especially when she was about to be surrounded by a bunch of younger girls that were getting a mortifying first impression of her. At this point, she was pretty sure Westridge was no longer an option to teach at. The older girls would hear stories from Ashley and Claire, and surely at least one of the intermediate girls would recognize her later on once she had her mature image back in place.

She had been totally screwed out of the perfect job.

One of the nearby girls gave her a friendly smile as she sat down. Amelia grimaced, but managed to turn the expression into a half-hearted smile at the last second. The girl was ten years younger than her, which was all kinds of awkward. To them, Amelia was a peer, which meant she was stuck ignoring everyone or playing the part. Either way, it was a lie by omission about who she really was, but she was obviously going to go with the former option. Keep to herself. One, because she had no interest in acting more than she needed to. Two, because she was nervous about unfairly lashing out due to her pent up frustration with her ‘cousin.’ The last thing Amelia needed was some peppy girl trying to befriend her.

Although Amelia was bitter about being trapped as a schoolgirl, it was actually a relief when Mrs. Webb started teaching right away. It would be a lot easier to quietly blend in when she didn’t have to talk to anyone.

Opening her book to the page everyone was instructed to turn to, Amelia found a sheet of scratch paper in her binder and began working on Practice Problem 3b with the rest of the class. Thankfully, it wasn’t a quiz or test day, as some of the finer details of graphs and equations had been lost to her over the years. The last thing the recent college grad needed was a less than perfect grade that was a result of not being surrounded by this stuff every day like when she was younger. Even the problem they were given made her pulse race a little bit.

It was a graphing problem. Amelia could still solve the average equation in her sleep, but this was different. Suddenly feeling a little warm, though she doubted it was the blazer, she flipped back a few pages to find a formula and/or an example that would spark her memory. ‘Oh God,’ she thought to herself. Nervously glancing up, she was relieved to see Mrs. Webb at the front of the room. The last thing Amelia needed was the strict teacher roaming the room and seeing that Amelia had no idea what she was doing.

According to the aptitude test, this was supposed to be one of her strongest subjects, and yet she was totally floundering. This is the kind of stuff she would have brushed up on as a teacher before leading a class, but jumping in with no review whatsoever left her woefully underprepared to solve even one problem.

“Lyra, would you care to show your answer on the board?” Mrs. Webb finally said.

Amelia let out a quiet sigh of relief. At least the stern woman wasn’t going with the ‘spotlight on the new girl’ trope.

Her page was still almost entirely blank, but the beginning of the chapter had given her a few fragments of information from the hasty skim. Now racing the young brunette who was walking to the front of the classroom, Amelia was determined to get to the answer before it was given to her. Doing some quick mental math, she jotted down her solution and drew a curve on the graph before subtly putting her pencil down.

‘Please be right,’ Amelia prayed, as she watched Lyra step up to the chalkboard.

Part 23

Dead wrong.

There had been a fleeting moment where Amelia hoped that the girl had screwed up, followed by a pang of guilt as she realized she was wishing for a thirteen year old to be publicly wrong just so Amelia wouldn’t have to deal with the personal embarrassment of being so incorrect herself. But Lyra had the right answer, and Amelia’s graph didn’t even come close to what the figure was supposed to be.

At least Mrs. Webb hadn’t told the students to exchange papers. That was pretty common in Amelia’s public school childhood; either that, or passing their work forward. The last thing Amelia needed was for one of her ‘peers’ to see how she apparently had no idea what she was doing. Instead, the teacher jumped into the day’s lesson. Starting with a few minutes of review, she broke down the problem they all just worked through.

Amelia was in full on student mode. Taking all her personal knowledge, as well as the tidbits from her recent skimming, she paid close attention and took aggressive notes as Ms. Webb went through the equation step by step. It made perfect sense once everything was slowed down and taken apart, and fragments of old knowledge started coming back to Amelia along the way. By the end, she wished she could try another problem on her own, but it was time to move on. Even the ‘new’ material, however, was probably easier for the rest of the class than it was for Amelia. She was being thrown right into an ongoing curriculum, which made following along tricky despite how hard she was trying.

When class was over, Amelia found herself immediately thrown into a completely different kind of gauntlet. As the new girl, she naturally drew attention to herself without even trying. No longer bound by the strict quietness Ms. Webb compelled with her presence at the front of the room, the nearest girl hopped up from her chair and walked over. “Hey, Millie! Welcome to Westridge. Don’t worry, we’re all more fun outside of class!”

“Umm, hey,” Amelia replied. Belatedly remembering Ashley’s directive, she pushed a small smile onto her face in case her ‘cousin’ had circled back to check up on her. “I’m-” she hesitated. No, saying she was observing would be stupid. Clearly everyone thought she was a transfer student, and there was no reason to explain it to a random classmate. “I mean, class wasn’t too bad.” She just awkwardly blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Uh huh. Sure,” the girl said, with a knowing smile, “Says the super stressed girl.”

Had she been that transparent? Obviously so, if an intermediate student could read her so easily. “It was just a lot,” Amelia admitted.

“Public school girl? Sorry, not like that. I mean, whenever non prep school girls transfer here, it’s like skipping half a school year and then being told to catch up and keep up.” Excessively straightening her back and tilting her chin up, she said, “Here at Westridge, we strive for excellence in every endeavor.”

Amelia couldn’t help but chuckle at the mockingly pretentious tone. “Sounds about right.” Looking back, Ms. Song had definitely said something similar about ‘excellence.’

“Anyway, I’m Piper,” the girl said, “Where are you going next?”

Home. If only. Amelia’s mind had been quite busy absorbing as much math as possible, and she had long forgotten anything about what the rest of her day looked like. Grabbing the binder she had been given, belatedly realizing that she wasted an opportunity to correct the nickname to her full name, Amelia said, “Earth/Physical Science?”

“Cool, me too. I’ll walk you!”

Amelia wanted to decline the offer, but didn’t know how. This girl was years her junior, and clearly believed that they were the same age. Plus Amelia really didn’t want to face another teacher berating her. If Piper led the way, there was less of a chance that Amelia would get lost and arrive late. Scooping up the heavy pile of books, Amelia made it all of two steps out of the classroom with the girl before finding herself face to face with another three girls with matching hairstyles. She vaguely recognized them from the class they just had.

“Hey, Piper!” The tallest girl, a blonde standing in the middle of the trio exclaimed. Her lilting tone and smug smile said it all: popular girl with a mean streak. “Introduce us to your new friend?”

Piper seemed to immediately shrink. Gone was the fun, friendly girl from just a minute ago. “This is Millie,” she quietly said.

“Good enough,” the blonde shrugged, “Run along, now.”

For a moment, it looked like Piper wanted to say something back. Instead, she just turned to Amelia with a mumbled, “Sorry.” Then, doing as she was told, she scurried down the hall, away from both Millie and the group of girls.

“Millie. Cute name. I’m Summer.”

“Umm, okay?” Amelia replied. Girls like this might have been a threat once upon a time, but she was way too old for posturing and unnecessary drama. Summer was the kind of student that Amelia would have enjoyed to take down a peg or two. Not in a vindictive or excessive way; it was more that girls like this really needed to get over themselves and come back to reality. Of course, Amelia wasn’t being seen as an adult at the moment, which complicated things. Also, it was beyond unfair for a teenager to be that tall. Per uniform rules, Summer also wasn’t wearing heels, which meant all that height was natural. “Look, whatever this is, I’m not interested. I have to get to class.” The first half of her dismissal was the most adult Amelia had sounded recently, until undermining herself at the end.

“Not interested? Summer pouted, “That’s not very nice. You’re the new girl, aren’t you? Don’t you want to make a few friends on your first day?”

“No, thanks,” Amelia replied, “I’ll stick with Piper. Or anyone else, honestly.”

“Rude. Last chance, Millie. Do you want to be my friend?”

Not even a little bit. Settling on something slightly more polite, since Summer was doing the obnoxious girl thing where technically there isn’t anything wrong with what’s being said. Instead, it’s all about hint and tone, while being able to selectively feign innocence if ever called out. “Ask me later,” she said. Or never, since there was only so much time left before she was done with this nightmare of a day.

“Shame,” Summer said. Waving down some nearby girl, she said, “Hey, ponytail. Miss Prefect.” When the girl actually began walking over, Summer added, “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

The girl was Asian, though her features made it difficult to make an educated guess beyond that. She was also clearly from a few grades up, based on her demeanor alone. “It’s Maxine,” she said, “May I help you?”

“Mm hmm,” Summer nodded, “Millie here is wearing make-up. I tried to tell her it’s against the rules–I mean, she’s literally holding the handbook–but apparently she thinks she can get off easy as a transfer student or something.”

“Summer’s just trying to get me in trouble since I won’t play her stupid games,” Amelia said. It was one thing to let Ashley get away with her lies. But this girl? No way. Unlike the situation with her ‘cousin,’ Amelia had nothing to lose by coming clean about cringey girl drama.

Maxine just sighed.

Pulling out a slip of pink paper from her blazer pocket, she jotted down a few things. “Summer. You’re getting an infraction for disrespect. Please address teachers and prefects properly, even if you have yet to meet them. Would you like some examples of phrases you could use?”

“No, thank you, Miss Maxine,” Summer said. A pretty forced, neutral tone. “May I go to class?”

“Of course. And I can’t write you up for being a tattletale, but I wouldn’t encourage it. Us prefects are more than capable of doing our jobs.”

“Yes, Miss Maxine.”

With that, Summer sauntered away with her girls in tow. Still fairly cool and confident, despite being chastised. Although it wasn’t too surprising, considering the type that she was.

“Thanks,” Amelia said. She didn’t really need the protection of some high schooler, but it was nice all the same that she didn’t have to deal with Summer and company any more.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Maxine replied. She pulled out another pink slip. “Unfortunately, I do need to give you an infraction as well. Make-up is against school policy for girls your age.”

Part 24

In terms of academy rules, Amelia wasn’t surprised. She was sure it was stated somewhere in the handbook Mrs. Webb had given her before class. Trading her heels for the uncomfortable flats, and now this? It was an easy theme to pick up on–younger academy girls had stricter rules to follow as they developed, and older ones had more freedom. That’s how it was at most schools, of course, but a prestigious preparatory academy like this clearly heightened such things.

When Amelia had been preparing for the day, however, she had been an adult preparing for a day of observations. Now that she was stuck as a student, however, what could she say? It was clear what Maxine was doing. She knew Summer was right, but couldn’t give the popular girl the satisfaction. But Maxine also didn’t want to let Amelia off the hook, so she waited until the other girls left before reprimanding her for the very thing summer had tattled on.

“Maxine, I’m not even supposed to be here . . .” Amelia said. Maybe she could get through to this girl. It would at least be easier than talking to a teacher who apparently had read the file of lies Ashley had created.

“Miss Maxine,” she corrected, “And I know. No one likes being transferred in the middle of the year. Look, I know it’s your first day, but I can’t make exceptions. If I were you, I’d read the uniform section of that book tonight, and then reread it once or twice. That’s the easiest part to mess up when you’re first starting out.”

“But-”

“The rest is mostly common sense, though I’d also recommend going through the whole handbook when you get a chance. You really should have done so before starting here; perhaps your parents didn’t tell you.”

Or, in other words, Maxine was being nice and offering the benefit of the doubt. Amelia was slightly relieved when the initial ‘I know’ didn’t mean that Maxine was part of Ashley’s team, but the rest didn’t make it sound like she would believe Amelia’s story that wasn’t actually a story. “It’s not that,” Amelia said, “I’m actually-”

“Millie.” The awkward nickname was said more pointedly than anything before it. “You’ll get a little slack on your first week, but please don’t push your luck. Arguing with prefects or teachers can earn you a similar infraction to the one Summer just received. Consider this a warning. Do you understand?”

Quietly accepting her fate, Amelia muttered, “Yes, Miss Maxine.” This girl looked to be around Ashley’s and Claire’s age. And yet, Amelia was allowing herself to be treated like the thirteen year old girl everyone somehow believed her to be. She couldn’t help but blush at the resigned words that had just escaped her lips; deep down, she knew that not speaking up was more or less confirming her student status to Maxine, but it didn’t feel like she had any other choice at the moment.

“Better,” Maxine nodded. It was more encouraging than patronizing, but it was impossible to not hear at least a little bit of the latter whether she meant it or not. “Now, we don’t believe in sending girls off to fix things like this during lecture hours. Missing class would be a detriment to your education. For something like this . . . ” she opened her binder and pulled out a green slip of paper from one of the pockets that was the same size as the pink infraction one. “What’s your last name?”

“Mar-” Amelia cut herself off. Her real last name, Martin, wasn’t on anything official. Ashley had made sure of that, when picking and choosing which parts of the paper registration form had made it onto the school’s online system. Once again going along with the false reality against her better judgment, she shifted to, “Roberts.”

“‘Mar-roberts?’ Can you spell that for me?”

“Just Roberts. Sorry. I thought of my middle name.”

“Margot?” Maxine guessed, “And oh, that’s right. You’re Ashley’s cousin. I remember her mentioning that a relative starting this week.”

Amelia was oblivious to the fact that ‘compulsive liar’ was part of her file, but it was slowly becoming a reality as she kept up the act with omissions and reluctant agreements. She was already suffering through ‘Millie,’ and the middle name the prefect suggested wasn’t exactly her favorite either. “Marissa,” she said. Not even the same starting letter as her real one, but it was prettier than the alternative in her eyes.

Maxine marked a few things on the green slip, then handed it to Amelia. “Here. Keep this with you, and show it to anyone else who tries to write you up for the same thing.”

It made sense. The pink slips stayed with the prefects, but a duplicate like this would keep a student from getting in trouble multiple times in a row. Disrespect was obviously a new infraction every time, but uniform violations were different. That was what was circled on the form for Amelia–‘uniform violation’–as well as the girls’ names on their appropriate lines and a quick note about the make-up.

“Okay,” Amelia replied. What else was there to say? She tucked the green slip into the binder Mrs. Webb had issued her. The last thing Amelia needed was for Summer, or any other classmate for that matter, to get on her case about a first day infraction.

“Do you know where your next class is?”

Not at all. That’s what she had been relying on Piper for. “No,” she admitted, “I have science next. Umm, earth and physical; Room 304,” she clarified, after glancing down at the schedule showcased behind the clear sleeve on the cover of her binder. “Can you point me in the right direction?”

“And risk being late?” Maxine asked, “I’ll escort you, Millie. I’d hate for you to get in trouble twice on your first day here.”

Amelia was tempted to brush off the offer. She was an ADULT. Not a barely teenage student. But she also had no idea where anything was yet, save that her next class was probably on the third floor of some building. And there was a distinct lack of students in the halls now that a few minutes had passed; most of them were probably already in class, save for the one or two stragglers. Despite her distaste for what Ashley had pulled, Amelia was a good student. Being late wasn’t in her nature. “Thank you, Maxine. Miss Maxine!” she quickly corrected. God, it was so weird calling an eighteen year old girl that.

Luckily, Maxine seemed more amused than judgmental. After a light chuckle, she did make a point to say, “Try to get in the habit. Like I said, your grace period only lasts so long as a new student.”

“Yes, Miss Maxine,” Amelia said. It still felt weird.

With an affirmative nod towards the phrase, Maxine gestured towards the direction they needed to go. As they walked, she explained some of the academy’s layout. Math and Science shared a building, as did History and Literature. There was a vague separation of grades by classroom floors, but it wasn’t a perfect system due to the upperclassmen having a less linear schedule. Intermediate girls, however, all pretty much followed the same structure until they were sixteen or so.

As Amelia guessed, her science class was on the third floor. Thankfully, they made it to the classroom thirty seconds before she would have otherwise been late, so Maxine didn’t have to escort her in and explain things like she had offered to do on the walk up. Regardless, Amelia felt like the center of attention anyway. She was still the new girl, and had to go through the same process with the science teacher that she did in her previous class.

With the science textbook added to her collection, she felt more like her younger self than ever. With two heavy books, a binder, and the academy handbook in her arms, it was easy to flash back to middle school when she would be stuck carrying a similar armful of things when there were a few back to back classes where it was impossible to make it back to her locker without being late.

Westridge didn’t seem much different, based on the stacks the other girls had on their desks as Amelia walked towards a free chair near the back. If anything, this school might be worse–instead of lockers in nearby hallways, they would have to trek all the way back to their dorms to exchange materials.

It wasn’t until she was sitting down that Amelia realized that Summer was at the desk behind her. The two other girls that had been with the popular blonde before were in the back row as well, seated on either side of her.

Unfortunately, Amelia had already set her things down, and it was too late to change course. Class was starting, so she nervously sat and hoped for the best.

Part 25

The first half of the science class came and went with no difficulties.

Amelia was grateful this wasn’t the type of school that put new students at the front of the room to introduce them. The last thing she needed was a whole classroom looking at her transformed self and sealing in their minds that she was indeed thirteen. Although at this point, it didn’t matter. Her only choices regarding Westridge now was whether she wanted to leave and never look back after being demeaned all day, or permanently dye her hair and go by her real middle name in an effort to avoid recognition by any of the teachers, administrators, or students if she could somehow still land the amazing job after all the fuckery Ashley caused in the office.

As for class, it was mostly a lecture. While jumping in mid-semester put Amelia at a disadvantage, she was still intelligent enough to follow along for the most part. Science was always one of her worst subjects, but it was more the high school classes that kicked her ass when she was younger. This kind made a lot more sense. Stuck in the role she had committed to going along with for the day, Amelia actually took notes in the binder given to her. It’s not like she was actually interested in the class she hadn’t taken in a decade, but simply sitting there and doing nothing could potentially get her noticed by the teacher up front.

Having Summer behind her, however, made it difficult to focus. Not only had Amelia refused to flinch towards the popular girl’s intimidation tactics, but she had also indirectly gotten her in trouble with one of the prefects. In reality, Summer had gotten herself in trouble due to the way she called Maxine over, but that’s not how teenage minds worked. Since the tall blonde would have a hard getting back at Maxine, the easier girl to blame would be Amelia.

The problem was, Summer wasn’t doing anything. She was poised to attempt any number of mean girl antics, and flanked with her friends to boot, but nothing was happening. And, due to how she was positioned directly behind Amelia, there was no way Amelia could keep an eye on her.

Amelia stayed on edge for the whole hour, half heartedly taking notes and following along in the textbook when necessary. She hated that a girl so many years her junior was making her nervous, but it’s not like she had much power to defend herself. Everyone in the room thought she was thirteen, and she was also shorter than Summer and outnumbered three to one if it came to that. Although perhaps that was the perk of this being her ‘first day.’ Too many eyes would be on her, meaning Summer wouldn’t have a chance to corner her or get away with anything in a quiet classroom.

Apparently Westridge didn’t do bells. It took Amelia until the end of her second class to notice, but they were simply dismissed by the teacher instead of a jarring outside source announcing that it was time to move on to something else. As she and the rest of the class stood up and began collecting their things, Summer pounced.

Quickly and quietly racing forward out of nowhere, she grabbed and twisted one of Amelia’s ears while simultaneously hissing in the other one. “You do not cross me, Millie. EVER. Got it?”

Gasping in both shock and pain, Amelia acted purely on instinct. She slammed her elbow back somewhere into Summer’s torso and turned enough to get a good kick on one of the girl’s shins. “Back off!!” Amelia yelled.

Clearly Summer hadn’t expected her to fight back. The girl let out a gasp of her own as she was struck and momentarily winded from the blow, and let go to take a reflexive step back from the follow-up kick. “Fucking. Bitch.” The flicker of weakness on her face all but vanished, probably due to having her cronies nearby who expected their leader to always be fearless.

Amelia was a bit of a mess herself, but put on a similar act. She wasn’t going to let some preppy brat push her around, but also . . . could Amelia get in legal trouble for what she just did? It was purely self defense, but she had still landed two physical blows on a younger girl. Although it was tough to think about such things when she was still bracing herself for a catfight that might lead to something worse than an elbow unless she simply allowed herself to take whatever was thrown at her without fighting back.

Thankfully, the decision was taken out of her hands. “HEY.” Their science teacher had been rather proper throughout the entire class, but her whole tone and demeanor shifted as she snapped at the girls. “What is going on back there?” She stormed towards Amelia and Summer, and any students in her way scrambled to part for her. Half the uniformed girls still in the classroom escaped the classroom, not wanting to be present for such a confrontation, but there were plenty who remained to watch from the sidelines and have something to gossip about later and/or so they wouldn’t be the ones who missed out.

Summer piped up right away. “The new girl just attacked me for no reason!”

“I did not!” Amelia exclaimed. The nerve of this girl. “Summer started it. She fucking grabbed my ear, and-”

“Millie. Language.” The teacher held up her hand. Rather than continuing to address either or the girls, she looked at those standing nearby. “Anybody?” she asked.

One of the popular blonde’s friends spoke up first. “Umm, technically Summer started it?” It was the last thing Amelia expected her to say. That is, until the girl went on. “I mean, she was going to ask you a question about tonight’s assignment, and accidentally nudged Millie’s shoulder on the way.”

Summer picked it up from there. “And then she went off on me! Look, Millie, I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

“They’re lying!” Millie gasped. It was so much like her own teenage years. She had never been a target of such things, but it was pretty common for girlfriends to stick together. And, in this case, to cleverly put just enough blame on Summer to make it seem like they weren’t choosing sides. “Summer just-”

“Summer,” the teacher interrupted, “Is one of my best students. And she’s the only one who has apologized so far.”

“But-”

“Oh, my God- Sorry. Oh, my goodness,” Summer said, “My leg is bleeding.”

Barely. Her leg was barely bleeding. But Amelia’s kick had connected enough to tear the skin just enough for a single drop of blood to trickle out. Visual evidence that Summer was the ‘victim.’

“Apologize, Millie.”

The woman’s demand was beyond unfair. She wasn’t even giving Amelia a chance to defend herself. Hadn’t anyone else seen?! Or were they all too scared of Summer? After all, siding with the new girl had far fewer benefits when it was clear that Summer was top of the food chain in this particular grade.

One day. Like Mrs. Webb’s accusations, and Maxine’s write-up, and now this, there was still no benefit to pushing back. Once again choosing the path of least resistance, Amelia muttered, “I’m sorry, Summer.” She half expected the apology to drag on into specifics, but there was still one afternoon class to go.

Most of the girls were dismissed, so they could get to their next class on time and so the classroom could empty out for the students that were on the way. Everyone except Amelia. The science teacher told her to stay and come to the desk up front.

Amelia dared a glance towards Summer, but the tall blonde didn’t so much as smirk as she left the room. Probably wasn’t worth the risk, when she was apparently one of the ‘best students.’ In that sense, it seemed crazy that Summer would do something so aggressive in such a populated room, but they had also been in the back and the bitchy girl had probably approached in a way that looked innocent to anyone who wasn’t watching carefully at the time.

As the room cleared out, Amelia had to bite her tongue as she approached the desk. Path of least resistance. Though Summer and company weren’t around to insist on their side of the story, Amelia didn’t bother trying to retell her perspective. Besides, it was starting to feel juvenile to argue that ‘she started it.’

“It’s always a coin toss with new girls, isn’t it?” the teacher sighed. Amelia still didn’t know her name, as only the class was on her schedule and she had been told by the science teacher that the syllabus was online. Amelia couldn’t remember if it had been mentioned earlier when they met.

The woman proceeded to open the top drawer and pull out a stack of those damn pink slips.

Part 26

Amelia was fuming by the time she left the classroom.

She couldn’t blow up at the teacher for risk of getting into even more trouble. Instead, she merely swallowed her pride, and stood by the desk as she was given three separate infractions. Three. For instigating a fight, for lying, and for swearing. The former was the most serious, as was explained to her. The others, however, would begin to carry more weight for repeat transgressions. For a girl who had never gotten into trouble at any school, ever, it was a lot to handle despite knowing that she wasn’t really a student.

The moment she stepped out into the hall, Amelia’s apologetic face disappeared in favor of a pissed off scowl. She was tempted to track down Summer and give the girl a piece of her mind. However, that held all the same problems as before–Amelia was an adult, even if no one at Westridge believed it. If she verbally went off on the girl, it might cause problems after Amelia got herself out of the role she was currently stuck in. And, on top of that, Summer was apparently a star pupil with girlfriends who would back up her lies. If Amelia targeted her now, especially after receiving an infraction for starting a ‘fight,’ it would just land Amelia in more trouble.

Her real anger should be focused on Ashley, but Amelia had no idea how to find the eighteen year old who started all this. She could be anywhere, plus the uniforms made every girl look kind of the same when this was Amelia’s first day. The next thing on the schedule was a study hour, then dinner. Ms. Song had explained how the hour before lunch and the hour before dinner could be allotted to any number of things. Some girls signed up for extracurriculars; some opted for the extra study time. While far more strict than public schools, the academy certainly offered more freedoms than the nonstop classes she had grown up with.

Unfortunately, Amelia wouldn’t get the chance to enjoy the hour. If it were up to her, she would spend the whole time breathing after a frustrating and demeaning afternoon. However, she was stuck in the remedial courses for both Science and History. That was also different from girl to girl. In her case, there were two academic subjects from the aptitude test that she did poorly on. According to Ms. Song, the school approached such shortcomings by paralleling the catch-up work and the ongoing courses. As in, Amelia would have to attend the science class she just sat through, as well as a second hour of the remedial content. And be expected to keep up with both.

Finally, there was religion. While it wasn’t weighted nearly as much as the core subjects, it was still viewed as a historically important requirement at the boarding school. Amelia would be issued materials to read on her own time, and had also been signed up for a course on Sunday mornings.

It was a lot.

There was a reason Amelia had planned on using Westridge as a stepping stone. The pay and benefits were good, and the school opened a lot of doors for students and faculty alike, but it was not a place she’d see herself at long term. If this is how ‘intermediate students,’ as middle school girls were labeled here, were treated, Amelia could only imagine the course load the older girls had to go through. She much preferred her upbringing in comparison.

“Millie Roberts?” An older woman was waiting for her in the empty classroom Amelia had been directed towards. A prefect had noticed the aimless wandering of a new girl, and had pointed her in the right direction. “Good afternoon. I’m Mrs. Fletcher, your private teacher for the day.”

Amelia had considered not going. The office was still open, and nothing was standing in the way of her marching over there and trying to clear this whole thing up. Emphasis on ‘trying.’ The fact that every single person so far had believed that she was thirteen made Amelia feel self conscious in all kinds of ways. And then, instead of the perfect student she truly was, now every teacher viewed her as a transfer student who was barely passing most of her classes. Would anyone believe the claim that she was actually a college graduate? Or would that just make things worse with Ashley, the girl who had stashed away Amelia’s phone and ID–the only items that could prove the truth about who she was?

Against her better judgment, like usual, Amelia simply followed the schedule of the student everyone believed her to be. That was the best way to keep Ashley happy, and to avoid more trouble. Maybe her ‘cousin’ was happy about all this, but that didn’t mean Amelia was. “Whatever,” she replied to the woman. Not only did it make her sound like a moody teenager, but the attitude was more in line with the girl in her file than her actual self.

“Okay, then.” Mrs. Fletcher didn’t flinch. She gestured to the front row, for Amelia to pick any of the open seats. “What would you like to work on, Millie?” She briefly explained the choice. They could do history in the morning and science in the afternoon, which would make each of the subjects go back to back with the regular classes, or they could do the reverse if Amelia would prefer. As a future student teacher herself, Amelia understood. Different learning styles. Either stick with the same subject while her mind was calibrated for it, or shift gears to freshen things up and stay engaged in a different way.

She still had a bad taste in her mouth from the previous class, so it was an easy choice. “History,” Amelia said. It’s not like it mattered; this was the first and only remedial session she was going to have before leaving.

Though it was meant to catch her up, the hour of private teaching really showcased how much Amelia had forgotten. The big names and dates still stuck out in her mind, but her memory had dropped everything else over the years to make room for the things she learned in her high school and university classes. Mrs. Fletcher didn’t comment on how many times her gauging questions went without answer, but Amelia wasn’t actually a young teen. She could read the silent judgment and subtle worry all over the woman’s face.

A lazy, troublesome public school girl. That’s all she saw Amelia as.

By the time the lesson was over, the uniformed blonde’s brain felt like mush. The actual classes had already been a lot on top of being hit with the truth of Ashley’s game, but Amelia could hardly think straight after being barraged with history she was expected to retain for her retest on Friday. To round out the session, Mrs. Fletcher gave Amelia a small packet to complete. The pages were meant to review everything they had just gone over; the faux student was to try the whole thing by herself, and then use the textbook to find any answers she couldn’t remember.

“That will be all, Millie,” Mrs. Fletcher said. She collected her materials, then added on, “Is there something you wish to say?”

Polite. Proper. “Yes, Mrs. Fletcher,” Amelia replied. It was already turning into habit after Ms. Song and everyone after her harped on how to appropriately address authority members on campus. “Thank you for the lesson.”

“You’re very welcome, dear. Do you need help finding your way to the dining hall?”

“No, Mrs. Fletcher.”

The academic buildings might have been difficult to navigate. They all looked the same with their old stone, and a sea of uniformed girls had added a layer of chaos to the unfamiliar campus earlier. But the dining hall was impossible to miss; it was just one big room. Amelia was having trouble remembering when exactly her day would officially be over in terms of Ashley being satisfied.

At the moment, admittedly, she was a little hungry. Breakfast was the last time Amelia had eaten, and it was a pretty early meal, too. Besides, that’s probably where she’d find her alleged cousin. She crossed the large courtyard between most of the main buildings, blushing a bit when she saw a cluster of other uniformed girls who were heading to dinner with unfettered arms. In contrast, Amelia was carrying a mountain of books.

Maybe her dorm was better? If she could retrace her steps without someone’s help. Wait, and what if it was locked? Ashley hadn’t given her a key . . .

“Millie!” An enthusiastic voice off to her left called out.

Amelia turned to see a brunette girl waving at her. At first glance, she thought it was one of her ‘classmates’ as she squinted to see the girl against the setting sun. As the brunette approached, however, Amelia realized that it was Claire.

“Hey, brat,” Ashley’s co-conspirator smiled, “How was your first day?”

Part 27

Amelia ignored the patronizing term.

After the longest and most frustrating afternoon of her life, it took all her effort just to smile back. While it was technically Ashley who insisted that Amelia have a good attitude when they next crossed paths, Amelia assumed that Claire would count herself as part of that directive. And after everything Amelia had gone through, the last thing she needed was some bullshit technicality making things difficult at the finish line. “It was fine,” Amelia said. That’s about as positive as she could describe the last few hours where every single person believed she was a young teenager without a second thought.

There was no winning with either of the senior girls, apparently. Though Amelia had remembered to smile, Claire easily found something else to correct. “It was fine, Ms. Claire,” she said, “I’m a prefect, remember? Have you had a chance to read your academy handbook?”

Of course not. When would there have been time, when Amelia was supposed to be paying attention in every class? Also, it’s not like she had addressed Claire without the prefix. Was she seriously expected to tag every answer with the phrase? Or was Claire just trying to get a rise out of her? “I haven’t read the handbook yet, Ms. Claire,” Amelia said. Whatever. If that’s what the blonde wanted, that’s what she would get.

“Better,” Claire nodded, “Anyway, I was sent to check on you. Do you want to come chat with Ashley about your performance today, or do you want to wait until after dinner?”

“Right now, Ms. Claire. Please.” Amelia tacked on the polite word in addition to the unnecessarily excessive use of the proper title. It was an obvious choice. Dinner at her apartment was hands down the preference. Not just because she had no desire to share a meal with a bunch of teenagers, but also because getting her stuff back and driving off campus was the first step to figuring out whether or not she could salvage this job or not. Whether she ended up at Westridge or not, she would absolutely find a way to make sure Ashley was punished for all of this.

For now, however, Amelia would smile and play along.

She half expected Claire to comment on her decision or pressure her to go to dinner in the name of prolonging Amelia’s stay, but she did neither of those things. Instead, Claire simply beckoned for her to follow.

Amelia was jealous of the eighteen year old’s free hands. In contrast, her own arms were the most full they had been so far with all the things she had been handed over the afternoon. If it were a friend or family member, Amelia would absolutely ask for some help. But not Claire. The uniform and her experiences at the academy had been degrading enough. Amelia wouldn’t dare show weakness to one of the two girls that actually knew how old she was.

Claire led her back towards the dorms. Amelia could have found the building herself, but was internally grateful to have someone who knew the way once they were inside. It’s not like there were twists and turns to navigate, but one walkthrough hadn’t been enough to get a good grasp of the layout. At first, she thought Amelia was being taken to Ashley’s place, until Claire mentioned how nice it would be for Amelia to settle in for the night after her first day.

“Umm, what?” Amelia asked. She stopped halfway down the hallway that suddenly seemed a lot more familiar despite how it looked pretty much the same as the rest of them. Surely Claire couldn’t be serious.

“Come on, Millie,” Claire said. She paused a few steps after she realized Amelia was no longer awkwardly following. “You do want to spend some more time with your cousin, right?”

Amelia just sighed. No one was even here. Although she didn’t know that for sure with all the closed doors, it was dinnertime and there had been enough uniformed girls headed that way that Amelia assumed that’s where most students would be. “Of course I do, Ms. Claire,” she lied. Of course fucking Ashley would take one more opportunity to embarrass her. By ending the day in Amelia’s room that was probably just an empty one that Claire had access to with her prefect key.

Claire just gave a sweet smile and nodded her head towards the other end of the hall, “Then let’s go, Millie.”

It wasn’t much farther to the room. Amelia followed Claire in, and wasn’t particularly surprised to see Ashley lounging on the bed like she owned the place. There was nothing ladylike about the way the dark haired girl had her legs positioned as she worked on something in a binder of her own. It took a conscious effort for Amelia to avoid looking up the girl’s skirt; she wasn’t even into girls outside of a bit of experimentation here and there in university, but the sheer amount of visible bare thigh was enough to unintentionally draw attention. Amelia averted her gaze after inadvertently checking out the eighteen year old for a fleeting moment, and only realized after stepping into the private bedroom that she had no idea where to even start.

Ashley, on the other hand, was ready for her. “So, Millie,” she began. Just like Claire, echoing the nickname as much as possible. She sat up and closed her binder, setting it aside, “I thought you said you were a good student.”

Amelia hesitated. Her blush deepened when her first thought was ‘I am a good student.’ She managed to stop herself from actually saying it, since the last thing she needed to do was breathe more life into the role she had been stuck in all afternoon. Especially since she had already started feeling like a schoolgirl in just a matter of hours. She very much knew who she really was, of course, but she hadn’t been able to outwardly show it for quite some time. Instead, she let every single authority figure treat her like she was nothing more than a transfer student struggling to adapt to life at a boarding school.

These two girls, however, knew who she really was. There was no reason to keep up the act. “Look, I played your stupid game. Now, give me back my things. Please.”

“Millie, don’t you remember our deal?” Ashley asked. She cocked her head to the side, as if confused as to why Amelia would be making such demands. “You promised to be a good student. You said you could make it through the day without getting in trouble.”

Once again, Amelia paused. When Ashley first mentioned the good student thing, a similar thought had crossed Amelia’s mind. How did Ashley know? But then again, Claire was a prefect. Did Maxine mention something? Or did girls like Claire and Maxine somehow have immediate access to information like what happened in Amelia’s last class of the day?

There were too many thoughts racing through her mind, and not enough time to sift through them. Wanting to say something rather than giving Ashley the satisfaction of rendering her speechless, Amelia just said, “I’m not even supposed to be here. This is all-”

“But you are here, Millie,” Ashley cut her off, “And you’d think a girl your age could handle following a few simple rules. Seriously, four infractions? In one afternoon? I can’t even imagine how poorly you’d do if you had classes in the morning, too.”

“That’s not fair. Summer-”

“You’re going to blame a thirteen year old instead of taking responsibility for your actions? Not very mature, Millie.”

“It’s AMELIA. Look, Ashley-”

“No, it’s not. You’re my little cousin, Millie. At least, until you can prove that you’re capable of being a mature girl. Now, you’re going to sit right here and read the academy handbook from cover to cover. Do you understand?” she gestured to the room’s small desk.

“Ashley, you’re not listening. I’m not actually a student, and I want to go home.”

“You are home. This is your room. We went over this earlier, remember? If you want to be an adult again, you need to prove that you can be a proper student. So far, you’ve failed spectacularly at that endeavor. Haven’t you?”

The truth was, Amelia couldn’t remember all the details of her earlier conversation with Ashley and Claire. She had been too blindsided and self conscious about the fact that everyone so easily believed that she was thirteen, which had made it difficult to fully pay attention as she was strung along by the girls’ logic and conditions. “It’s not like that . . . ” was all she could say. “And I’m not a student. You-”

“Yes, you are. Millie, look at you. You’re dressed up just like all the other girls, you’re registered here, and you clearly have some behavior that needs to be corrected. Think about it. What makes you any different than the other students who are sent here?”

Part 28

‘Because I’m not actually thirteen!’

The exclamation was on the tip of Amelia’s tongue, but she had enough sense to know that getting outwardly emotional would simply prove Ashley’s point. Maybe this was still some elaborate joke at her expense. The two eighteen year olds were clearly power tripping, since it had become clear that Amelia was relying on them to put an end to all this. Instead of going home and having dinner at her apartment, she was going to have to stay even longer and read the handbook.

Was that going to be it? Or would they next insist that she needed to study? Amelia could imagine plenty of ways her predicament could be drawn out, especially since she had managed to bomb half the placement test and subsequently somehow got in trouble all afternoon despite just trying to keep her head down and survive the day.

No matter what, one thing was certain–she had to act like none of this bothered her. That tended to take the fun out of things for most young women who liked to play games. “You know why I’m different,” Amelia said, as flatly as she was able without sounding like a bitch about it, “And fine, I’ll read the handbook.”

Ashley just smiled. “Cover to cover.”

It took a conscious effort not to groan. Plenty of authority figures, administrators and prefects alike, had gone over the ‘proper girl’ thing. “Yes, Ashley,” Amelia replied, “I’ll read the handbook cover to cover.”

“Good. Claire, you have snacks stashed away in your prefect suite, right? I don’t think little Millie will have time for dinner tonight. And I doubt she even wants to go to the dining hall, anyway.

Ashley was correct.

“Of course!” Claire hopped up. She turned towards Amelia to explain, “As you’ll read, meals have to be eaten in the dining hall. Certain snacks are permitted, however, for both prefects and students. Ask nicely, and I can go get you something!”

Just like so many times before, Amelia chose the path of least resistance. Being dismissive towards Ashley’s friend wasn’t going to get her anywhere, especially since Claire was a prefect who could easily write up an infraction that any of her fellow prefects would believe. “Ms. Claire, can you please get me something to eat?” Amelia asked. She said it with a demure smile and warm tone that simultaneously want to gag and roll her eyes. ‘Happy, brats?’

“Better,” Claire nodded, “We’ll make a proper Westridge girl out of you yet.”

She slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Amelia with the dark haired girl who started this whole thing. Similar to the way Claire barely reacted to Amelia’s over the top reaction, Ashley didn’t have much to say about it either. “Hop to it, Millie,” she said. She gestured towards the desk while picking up her binder again, to supervise while simultaneously doing some studying of her own.

Once again holding back a sigh, Amelia walked over to the desk and sat down to get started on the demeaning and completely unnecessary task. Even as a teacher at the private school, she assumed she’d only need to know whatever sections were pertinent to the classroom. The rest would be for the prefects and administrators who handled dorm life and other things. And, while she would normally skim through the whole thing, there was a good chance Ashley would quiz her at the end.

The first section included a code of conduct followed by some cringeworthy statements about Westridge girls, the very same thing Claire had just called her.

“Westridge girls are polite and respectful to their teachers, to their prefects, and to each other.”

“Westridge girls strive for academic excellence.”

Maybe it’s because she wasn’t actually a student, but the whole thing read so typically ‘teenager.’ Despite how the academy was regarded pretty highly, the format wasn’t so different from some of the stuff Amelia had seen throughout her public school experience growing up. Solid branding, she noted, with the constant repetition of the private school’s name.

When she turned the page, her previous thoughts were immediately countered. Amelia’s experience growing up had mostly been ‘dress appropriately.’ As long as girls didn’t show too much thigh and/or cleavage, they could wear whatever they want. That definitely wasn’t the case here.

The handbook started out describing the uniform that Amelia was more than familiar with at that point. The green plaid skirt and matching tie, white blouse, and black sock/shoe combination. There was an asterisk for the intermediate grades at the bottom that mentioned the required flats Ashley had her change into earlier.

Once she got past the familiar stuff, Amelia found herself more and more surprised at just how many rules there were, especially for the younger girls. No make-up, which she had learned earlier in the form of an infraction. Hair could only be braided in a regular pattern, or held with simple bobby pins or hair ties. Piercings could only be located in the earlobe, and jewelry needed to be both simple and understated. Rings were not permitted, period, though advanced grade girls had a few limited options once they were of appropriate age.

The more she read, the more Amelia wished she had a friend around so she could talk about how this book clearly must have been written over a century ago by fucking nuns or something. But the only girl with her at the moment was Ashley, and the devious girl would no doubt jump at any opportunity to get on her case. So Amelia remained quiet and pressed on.

It wasn’t a huge surprise that there were specifications when it came to underwear, considering how many other ways Westridge girls had to conform to the boarding school image that seemed to only offer the slightest bit of individuality in terms of accessorizing beyond the matching uniforms. Full cut cotton underwear in white or nude was the only acceptable option, with matching bras being required for said colors. Camisoles were also acceptable.

Amelia couldn’t help but wonder how many students broke that particular rule on a daily basis. It’s not like anyone would check. She was actually mostly adhering to the undergarment dress code, as she had worn a matching plain nude set with her professional outfit that morning. However, the thong she had on definitely wasn’t full cut. While no one would see that as long as she sat properly, Amelia was still a rule follower, and didn’t love that she was breaking one despite how said rules shouldn’t actually apply to her.

The uniform section transitioned into hygiene, which was about when Amelia started skimming past the obvious stuff. From an authority standpoint, it made sense, as listing everything in the handbook gave prefects excuses to discipline girls who didn’t take this stuff seriously. But as someone who took her morning routine quite seriously, Amelia didn’t need to read too deeply into that. The only part that stood out to her was how students were to avoid excessive perfumes and hairsprays that would bother other girls. There were enough of those out there that teachers and prefects reserved the right to make the final call.

Amelia kept reading.

There was a whole page detailing politeness and respect, per the statement about Westridge girls at the beginning. There were rules about when and where students were allowed to be places or not be places, as well as a curfew that shifted based on both age and day of the week. There was even a section on acceptable school supplies, as binders and such needed to either be distributed by the school or be approved for comparable ones. So many fucking rules. It was getting difficult not to gloss over each page, as the core principle was the same–uniformity.

The school was prestigious for a reason, after all. While the majority of students attended because they were rich and going there would open as many doors for them as Amelia planned on getting for herself, there was a good portion of girls who were sent there to be reformed. In a way, it was good for them. Instead of being left behind, like most systems would do without admitting they were doing it, the girls that were shipped off to Westridge were still taken care of academically. But, of course, at the cost of their rebellious individuality.

That was the problem Amelia had been facing all day. Everyone thought she was one of those girls, when in truth she was the total opposite. While the handbook rules were still quite suffocating, she definitely would have preferred attending Westridge as her proper, straight-A self.

“Ashley?” Amelia said. Quiet as it was, her own voice surprised her a little bit. The only sounds for quite some time had been the turning of pages as well as the occasional shifting on the bed behind her as the dark haired girl changed positions while she studied. “I’m done.”

“Hmm,” Ashley barely glanced up from her binder, “Shouldn’t you be calling me ‘Ms. Ashley?’ That would be more respectful.”

So there was going to be a quiz. Either that, or Ashley was just enjoying herself. One way or another, Amelia armed herself with all the knowledge she had just packed into her mind in a single sitting. There was a good chance half of it was going to be gone within a few hours. Cramming was only a viable study tactic in the short term, and something she never did personally. “No, Ashley,” Amelia said. Still following the proper response drilled into her earlier by Ms. Song, she said, “It’s only ‘Ms.’ and ‘Mrs.’ for prefects, teachers, and administrators.”

Ashley raised an eyebrow, “But I’m your elder.”

“That doesn’t matter. We’re both students.” For a fleeting moment, she almost fell for it. But something like that would have stood out, plus it didn’t make sense. The handbook was absurdly rigid, but it was at least consistent. The hierarchy was students/prefects/teachers/administrators. While there was obviously an unspoken version of that at every school in terms of older girls getting their way, there was nothing official in terms of titles or showing extra respect to girls in the advanced grades.

“You’re no fun. Okay, Millie. Can you tell me when your curfew is?”

“In my dorm building by 8:30, in my room by 9:30.”

“And the exceptions?”

“Friday and Saturday, or if I’m getting back late from an extracurricular or a school sponsored event.”

“Very good. And what about quiet hours?”

Amelia answered question after question. She didn’t have all the answers locked and loaded, but managed to remember what she needed to mostly due to Ashley’s quiz prompting her memory. There was no way Amelia could have listed off all the things that Westridge girls were supposed to be, but she could at least handle the things Ashley was throwing at her.

Eventually, Ashley circled back to her earliest question. “So you need to be in your dorm building by 8:30, yes?”

“Yes,” Amelia nodded.

“Then you’re running out of time,” Ashley smirked, “It’s almost 7:30, and we still have so much to do. At this rate, you might have to spend the night . . . ”

Part 29

What else was there to do?

Reading the handbook had been more than enough in terms of taking a dignity hit. Amelia was twenty-two, and she was letting herself be bossed around by two bitchy eighteen year olds thanks to how they had tricked her into her current situation. But there had to be a line. She had an apartment to get home to, and a very serious personal deliberation about whether or not she would still try for this job. The enormous list of pros was still there, but the cons were slowly stacking up.

At worst, Ashley and Claire would be able to hold this over her head. And, since they were teenage girls, Amelia didn’t particularly trust them to keep it to themselves. But what about Mrs. Lewis, and Ms. Song, and all the teachers she had met throughout the afternoon? While perhaps being Ashley’s ‘cousin’ was a blessing in terms of how ‘Millie Roberts’ and ‘Amelia Martin’ were distinctly different, there was still the risk that she was statistically bound to be recognized by at least one of them. Or, God forbid, by Summer or one of her friends.

Just in case Ashley wasn’t teasing, Amelia pushed back on her latest taunt. “I’m not sleeping here, Ashley.”

“That’s not really up to you, is it?” Ashley shot back, “First of all, Millie, I went through a lot of trouble to get you your own room. You should really be thanking me. Second, your day isn’t over until you’re done with your schoolwork. It was math and science for you today, right? Plus your remedial material?”

“Yeah, but-”

“But nothing. Honestly, you have it pretty easy. You won’t have to worry about history or lit until tomorrow. That’s literally half the work every other girl your age is going to be working on tonight. So instead of complaining, why don’t you get started?”

“And then I can go?” Amelia bluntly asked. She was getting a little tired of the game, but that tiredness was also making her cave more easily at the same time.

Ashley just sighed. “Are you a good student, Millie?”

A lot of colorful replies raced through the petite blonde’s mind, but she managed to bite her tongue. “Yes, Ashley. I’m a good student.” Like a proper Westridge girl. She had attempted to play it cool and respond like none of this was bothering her, but it was impossible to avoid a slight blush at the borderline submissive answer. Amelia could not believe that students here were actually taught to reply in such a way. Although it wasn’t like every answer had to be like that–she just kept getting put in situations where it looked like she was more troublesome than she actually was, which resulted in pointed questions that she was stuck responding to in a demeaning fashion.

“Then prove it. You have homework to do, right?”

She did. Both teachers had assigned work at the end of class, and Amelia had written down what was on the board despite assuming at the time that it wouldn’t matter. It was just an instinct after years of being a student and only just recently graduating from university. The syllabus for each class had readings and suggested practice problems as well, which Ashley was happy to point out as Amelia placed her stack of books and binder in the middle of the desk.

Ripping off the bandaid, she started with science. It was the subject that would be the most tedious. As expected, she needed to flip through the book and her single day’s worth of notes again and again to find what she needed. Every answer was objectively easy, especially in retrospect after she got there, but it had been too many years since she dealt with many of the terms littering the problems at the end of the chapter. Then there was the remedial packet assigned to her, which required diving into the earlier chapters to play catch-up.

Amelia’s aptitude test hadn’t been wrong. Science was definitely one of her weaknesses.

Just when she was reaching the light at the end of the tunnel, in the form of reaching the last page of the small packet Mrs. Fletcher had assigned her, Claire returned. “Hey, Millie!” she exclaimed, “Being a good little girl, I see?”

“Mostly,” Ashley answered for her, “A little complaining here and there, but she’s gotten better. What took you so long?”

“The usual prefect duties,” Claire huffed, “Honestly, you made the right call not joining me. It can be so much work sometimes. Can’t a girl just go to her room without being bombarded with a million little things?”

“Tried to warn you. Although, be real. The perks are pretty good.”

“Whatever. Here you go, Millie. You better appreciate me.”

Before Amelia could question what she meant, Claire walked over and turned a small drawstring bag upside-down over her desk. A collection of snacks haphazardly landed on and around the science work she had been going through. A granola bar, a small bag of trail mix, and a few pieces of fruit. Healthy enough, though not particularly extravagant compared to the high reputation of the school’s dining hall. “Thank you, Ms. Claire,” Amelia said. The food could have been placed more neatly in front of her, but she trusted nothing at this point. Anything could be a test, and addressing a prefect properly was easily the safest option. Especially after Claire had teased about wanting to be appreciated.

While Ashley chuckled from her spot on the bed, Claire just smiled in response. “You’re very welcome. Make sure you hydrate, too.” She placed a single water bottle on the edge of the desk. “Just so you know, this isn’t going to be a common thing I can do for you. But it’s your first day, so what the hell?”

“Bad prefect!” Ashley exclaimed.

“Sorry,” Claire rolled her eyes, “What the heck.”

So ridiculous. But Amelia knew better than to follow suit with the eye rolling. She just waited for the two girls to get through their teasing back and forth, then made a show of opening the trail mix before pushing the rest aside and getting back to the science work in front of her. While she was admittedly a little hungry after not eating since breakfast that morning, there were better and warmer options available back at her place. Claire’s return hadn’t shifted her priorities.

Concentrating was a lot more difficult now, unfortunately. Ashley was more than happy to announce that she was taking a much needed break from her own schoolwork, and Claire said she needed a breather after all her classes and prefect responsibilities. They jumped into all kinds of gossip and other eighteen year old tangents that Amelia could barely follow. And, while she wasn’t paying that much attention to their jabbering, the giggling and the nonstop back and forth of their voices made it take so much more effort to focus on the task before her.

After what felt like hours, Amelia completed the catch-up assignment given to her by the science tutor. Band-aid, done. But there was still all the math homework. While it was a more straightforward subject, and one that would be easier now that she sat through a whole class going over where they currently were in the book, it would still take time to go through all the problems and whatever equations were required to reach each answer. And no calculator. Maybe it was a Westridge thing, or just the grade/class she had been stuck in, but apparently showing every step of the work was required. That meant that mental math was out as well.

Could she ask the girls what time it was? Without a phone, or a clock in the room, Amelia’s only real sense of time was Ashley’s ‘almost 7:30’ comment. Even that could have meant a number of things, and Amelia had no idea how long it had taken her to push through all that science work. Fuck it. “What time is it?” Amelia asked. She at least waited until there was a lull in their conversation

Ashley shot her a wink. “Don’t worry about it, cousin dearest. Claire brought more than snacks, right? Or were you oh so busy with whatever crisis it was this time, Ms. Claire?”

“I was busy with stuff and brought everything Millie needs,” Claire replied, “Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, razor, soap, shampoo . . . umm, what else?” She opened her backpack and glanced inside, “Oh, conditioner. You’re welcome.”

What? Amelia genuinely couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not. It wasn’t until she glanced back towards Ashley and saw the dark haired girl with her lips pursed in a smile that it dawned on Amelia that there was maybe some intention to what she had assumed was a teasing threat earlier. “I don’t need any of that,” she asserted. Turning her attention away from the math worksheet passed out earlier, Amelia focused her gaze on Ashley. While Claire was the prefect, Ashley was the office girl who started this whole thing. “You said I’d be done after I read the handbook and-” she cut herself off. ‘Did my homework’ was not what she wanted to be caught saying.

“I said that you needed to be a proper student,” Ashley said, correcting her, “Are you finished with everything that was assigned to you, Millie?”

The same temptation was there. To correct her, to say ‘It’s Amelia.’ But she still felt stuck in the role Ashley had manipulated her into. Not just because everything she had brought onto campus save for her underwear had been confiscated by the girl, but also because Amelia had elected to speak up before she had made it all the way through the schoolwork that was left on the desk in front of her. It was the wrong time to pick a battle.

The only way to be a ‘proper student’ was to see it through. Read the handbook. Address Claire properly. Do her homework. The first two had been achieved, but Amelia would have more of a leg to stand on if she wrapped up the math assignment she had yet to start.

“ . . . I’m almost finished,” she muttered.

Ashley’s response was borderline predictable. “Almost finished isn’t actually finished,” she said, like she was parroting something an average parent would say. “Am I wrong?”

Swallowing her pride, Amelia muttered, “No, Ashley. You’re not wrong.” It was so cringeworthy, but she didn’t want to give Ashley any openings.

“So CUTE,” Claire giggled, “Back to work, Millie! Yes?”

“Yes, Ms. Claire.” Blushing more the second time around, as she added the title to Claire’s name that she made a point to avoid with Ashley’s, Amelia opened the mathematics textbook and got started on the first problem.

Just a little longer, and she’d be done with the day’s homework.

Hopefully, that would be it . . .

Part 30

As expected, the math assignment ended up dragging out a lot longer than Amelia would have liked. It didn’t matter that she was decently competent with the subject and only had to reference the book a few times for a few of the things she had forgotten over the years. When a problem had multiple parts to it and all of those parts required working through multiple steps to get to the answer, she could only complete the work so quickly.

It took even longer than usual now that Claire was back. The two of them started gossiping and giggling and talking about everything under the sun as if Amelia wasn’t there. None of it was particularly relevant to her, and it was so cliché ‘teenager’ considering that they were both eighteen. Rumors about teachers and classmates, complaints about classes, and amused stories that involved themselves and other girls Amelia didn’t know. While she was perfectly capable of tuning out white noise in a crowded room, it was something else entirely when it was an isolated conversation complete with piercing girly noises every few minutes while she was trying to concentrate.

But she persevered. Little by little, Amelia chipped away at the problems. The academy definitely lived up to its reputation. While her own teenage years were a little blurry, she remembered enough to know that the classes then paled in comparison to what she was currently facing in terms of difficulty. The remedial content was more on par with public school material, while the actual classes felt more like they were adding and weaving in stuff from future grades. Kind of like university classes that taught at a graduate level.

Unable to avoid huffing out a sigh as she placed her pencil down after the last problem, Amelia turned towards the girls. “I’m done,” she said, in case they didn’t pick up on it from the previous gesture.

“Took you long enough,” Ashley replied. She glanced down at her phone, then back towards Amelia. “Well, it’s after curfew. Looks like you’ll be staying the night.”

“What? No!” Amelia exclaimed, “Ashley, you said-”

“I said that you need to be a good student, Millie. That includes not breaking curfew. If you wanted to leave the building, you should have finished your work more quickly. Now you’ll get in trouble if you go anywhere but your hall. Do you understand?”

Claire jumped in right away. “You don’t want to get in trouble, do you? Especially after all those infractions you’ve already received.”

But, Amelia was an adult. Not a student. It shouldn’t even be possible for her to get in trouble in the first place. “Just give me my ID,” she said. Her attention was fully on Ashley, the girl who started all of this and confiscated her clothes and her possessions earlier. “I can-”

“You can get your driver’s license thrown away,” Ashley interrupted, “Think about it. Do you really think anyone will believe that you’re that old? If you show that to one of the prefects, they’ll just assume it’s a fake ID. A really dumb fake, too. Why would a girl your age pretend to be so much older? They’ll take it away, you’ll get in trouble for wandering about after curfew, and then you’ll be escorted right back here. So, Millie. Is your ID what you really want?”

Amelia hesitated, then said, “I want everything.” Now that Ashley had her thinking about the risks that came with everyone viewing Amelia as a thirteen year old, simply walking out of the building and back to her car seemed slightly less appealing. What if a prefect stopped her halfway? Or a campus security guard outside, as she vaguely recalled the academy staffing people like that.

And that’s exactly what Ashley and Claire went on to explain as they bounced off each other in terms of why Millie should listen to them and stay put. If she remained in her schoolgirl uniform, then she would be the troublesome new girl that no one believed. Car keys? Stolen from someone. ID? Fake. Credit cards? Given to her for emergencies, perhaps. And, if she changed back into the clothes she had arrived in that morning, there would then be the question of why she was on campus at that hour. It was after curfew, so it’s not like she would be visiting a relative or something. Instead, she would be an adult woman illegally trespassing on private property. The two seniors kept things light as they talked about how Amelia would be a teenager no one believed or an adult who had to explain a pretty ludicrous story if she stuck with the truth, but the weight of the words were impactful nonetheless.

They didn’t quite hit everything, however. After sitting there and letting even more time slip away in terms of how far past curfew it was, Amelia brought up the one thing that she knew would be most helpful. “My phone.” While it wouldn’t necessarily get her off campus, she could at least call a few friends in the area and explain what was going on.

“Oh. Hmm,” Ashley mused, with her lips pursed in a small smile, “Oops. I think I left that in the office.”

“Ashley!” Before she knew it, Amelia was standing up. “This isn’t a fucking joke. I can’t just pretend to be a student and stay overnight like this. And you can’t just take all my things. Enough is enough!”

Ashley just rolled her eyes, then got off the bed and stood up herself. She approached Amelia step by step, easily towering over the girl who had been demoted to flats earlier. And, with no warning, slapped the petite blonde across the face. “Millie!” she snapped, “How many times do we have to go over this? You’re not pretending. You are a student, until you can prove that you’re proper and intelligent enough to be an adult again.”

Slightly staggering from the forceful slap, stunned and shocked at the audacity, Amelia began to say, “You-”

SLAP.

The same hand, cracking across the same cheek. “NO. Failing more than half your aptitude test? All those infractions? We’ve been through this. You literally agreed to it. Promised, even. Are you not a girl of your word, Millie?”

Once again speechless against Ashley’s words, and feeling smaller than ever as she rubbed her cheek with watery eyes, Amelia found the breath to say, “I am, but-” Where to even go from there? She had never been slapped before, and a whole day of being demeaned–intentionally or not–by teachers and these high school seniors–left her with very little fight left. And after the encounter with Summer earlier, there was still the hesitance in terms of how hitting back would be bad thanks to Amelia’s real age. “I’m not- I’m not actually a student.” She didn’t know what else to say. Because she did do poorly on a test designed for younger girls, and she did incur an embarrassing amount of infractions. And at the end of a long and mortifying afternoon, it was impossible to remember how much she had actually agreed to vs. how much of this was Ashley doing the typical teenage thing and twisting a partial ‘yes’ into a promise like she did earlier. So instead of trying to argue through multiple points at the same time, Amelia opted to sound like a broken record and just hit the truth that outweighed the rest of it in her eyes.

“I know,” Ashley conceded. Of course, there was more to it than that. “You’re really an adult named Amelia, right? You want to be a teacher?”

Somehow, it felt like a trap. And also sounded somewhat foreign, after a full day of Ashley’s insistence to the contrary. Still, it was the truth. Amelia nodded, lamely adding a belated verbal “yes” to the gesture.

“Okay. But you have to be Millie first, okay? I don’t want someone teaching at my school who can’t follow the basic handbook rules. And until you can show us that you’re competent at intermediate classes, then how can we trust you to teach that material to others?”

It sounded logical, but obviously it was more complicated than that. “But-”

“But nothing, Millie. How about this? Claire was kind enough to bring you down some toiletries. Why don’t you go shower and get ready for bed, and then we can talk about this some more?”

“Umm . . . ” she trailed off. A shower? Amelia had already showered that morning and, more importantly, it was preferable to do that back at her apartment. Even if her private room had a small bathroom attached, saving her the awkwardness of using one of the public ones down the hall, there was no need to shower twice in the same day. Especially not in an unfamiliar environment.

Her hesitation was enough for Ashley to press the idea. “Come on, Millie. I’m sure you’ll feel better afterwards. And don’t you want to talk some more?”

While Amelia was very much on her back foot, and unable to keep up with everything Ashley was throwing at her, she wasn’t so lost that she had forgotten the main thing that the dark haired deviant had failed to account for beyond where it was inconveniently located. “I want my phone,” she muttered, countering the suggestion that talking was what she wanted.

Ashley just smiled. “We can talk about that, too. After your shower, okay?”

“But, umm-”

“Listen to your cousin, Millie,” Claire piped up. She looked up from an academy binder similar to Amelia’s that she had been busy with through the back and forth so far. “You’ve had a long day. I’m sure you’ll feel better after rinsing off.”

“That’s right,” Ashley nodded. Like it had already been decided, she said, “Do you need help getting undressed or anything?”

“No!” Amelia blurted out. She blushed a bit at that image as well as the unintentionally shrill tone, and suddenly found herself actually wanting to shower like the girls were suggesting. It’s not the water that would be refreshing; instead, Amelia just desperately wanted the solitude. After half a day of going through orientation without realizing she was unintentionally feeding into what Ashley had set up for her, and half a day playing the role even after learning the truth about how she had been tricked, it was only now dawning on Amelia that she hadn’t truly been alone since driving in her car early that morning.

Maybe that was what she needed. A bit of privacy and time to herself. It would be easier to talk with Ashley and Claire after having a moment to center and think things through without being turned around again and again through frustrating teenage logic. Also, getting out of the schoolgirl outfit would be nice. Honestly, anything would be better than her current immature getup. And, while wasteful, perhaps a hot shower wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world after such an exhausting and frustrating day.

Taking a breath and finding her normal voice again, she said, “I mean, no, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

“Whatever you say,” Ashley replied, “Chat after your shower?”

Apparently. Confirming what she had just implied, Amelia mumbled, “After my shower.”