Chapter One

Chapter One
I Find Myself Back At School


I suppose there are many ways in which I could tell my story. I thought I would at least change all the names and for a time I even considered writing in third person, hiding my identity in the clinically-detached, phantom embodiment of a narrated character.

Then I realized you would never believe me anyway.

So I say, fuck it. Here’s my story. Believe it or not, I don’t give a damn. I have to write it down or I’ll lose my mind.

I didn’t use to be so heavy-handed with the expletives. In fact, I rarely ever cursed at all. But when you’ve been through what I have, a foul mouth is the least of your worries.

As I write this, I am still…altered, for lack of a better word. I can’t just come right out and say what’s happened to me or you’d never get past this sentence. And what’s worse is, I still have no idea who has done this to me, how it was done, or, perhaps most importantly, why. Maybe as I write this, things will become clearer. Maybe I will become clearer. Maybe this is my only way of finding out who I really am.

Or maybe this is who I really am, and that other body was just a dream—an illusion.

See? Crazy. I’m going crazy.

Everything began with a school known as St. Xavier’s. It’s my second year at the school. Nothing notable happened my freshman year, so I won’t bore you with the details. However, there are a few things you should know about the school itself.

St. Xavier’s is a private, coeducational preparatory high school. It has been in existence since 1862 in the quaint Virginia town of Silvergrove. Because it’s so old, it has some structural oddities, like low ceilinged hallways that no longer lead somewhere, or boarded up and painted over doors. Even after being here a year, I still don’t know all the ins and outs of the cramped campus. St. Xavier’s students have the option of boarding here, or, if they live close enough, may choose to live off-campus. Most of the student body boards fulltime, and consists of the wealthy, spoiled and intelligent.

When I first came to St. Xavier’s, I was expecting all of the students to be of that particular brand. And I was mostly right. Except for one girl. I’ll call her…Alice, I guess.

Alice Warren is a highly interesting person. We are the same age, and, as St. Xavier’s is a small school, we shared every single class our freshman year. I say she is interesting because she was so easy for me to get along with. It’s unusual for me to easily make friends with other girls. I mean, I have a lot of female acquaintances, but they’re acquaintances only. I try to avoid back stabbing when at all possible.

As to why else she is a highly interesting person, you’ll find out.

So fast forward to one week ago.

I can’t believe it all began just seven days ago. 168 hours is all it’s taken for me to not only question who I am, but to question reality in general.

But before I dive in, I must give you a disclaimer. Graphic things have happened to me. I’m not talking about abuse, or even violence. But they have been graphic all the same. I will be forced to go into particular details that might make you uncomfortable. Just think how it makes me feel. As you read, please don’t judge me. Try and put yourself in my shoes, or you won’t understand why I did what I did—made the decisions I had to make. And above all, please don’t try and find out who I am. If you’re anything like me, then you’ve got itchy little fingers hovering over your keyboard, primed to Google St. Xavier’s or bing Silvergrove, Virginia. You won’t find anything relating to my story. Those were the first names to pop into my sorely confused, insanity-laced mind, and if there really are places like that, it’s pure coincidence...

It was the Sunday before the first day of classes would begin. I was highly excited to begin my sophomore year, and to room with Alice. We both were fulltime boarders, or “lodgers,” as we’re known in student lingo.

I swung open the door to my new dorm room, which had taken me a considerable amount of time to find, and threw my duffel bag onto the bed, rolling my larger suitcase next to the chest-of-drawers. It was easy to see that Alice had already been here. On the bed were several little hand-stitched pillows that declared sugary clichés like Hallmark cards. On the cork board above it were a number of pinned pictures—quite a few of them portraying the two of us in various poses, each framed with a different colorful paper border, probably from one of her scrapbooking kits. A glance at her tiny closet, its door slightly opened, revealed a myriad of shoes, neatly piled beneath perfectly hung white sweaters and shirts.

At St. Xavier’s, any shoes are fine as long as they are closed toed, anything but shorts are allowed, and any shirt is acceptable as long as it has sleeves, is modest, and is white.

I don’t think the administration is racist, but you never know. Maybe they think white symbolizes the purity they are trying to instill in their elite student body.

Pulling open one of the drawers, I began to dump in my plethora of white tops. I try not to think about style, though I have my preferences. I know if I get too into fashion, then going to a private school where I am daily forced—even on the weekends—to wear uniforms would only piss me off.

I opened another drawer, and stuffed my socks and colorful underwear inside. They can’t make us wear underclothing of a single color, so I try and get the most interesting, strange panties I can find. Of course, socks have to be all-white, though. I shoved the drawer shut, the toe of a single sock sticking out.

I am not a neat person. I don’t begrudge Alice her tidiness, and she doesn’t harp on me about my slob tendencies.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Alice walked into the room, humming some melody with her soprano voice. Alice is a musician. She’s a fairly decent singer, who has to constantly hum or whistle. Fortunately, I’m good at ignoring most things that annoy me. When she does sing, though, she sounds like the chick who sang Zombie.

As soon as she saw me, her eyes lit up and she stopped humming. “Fiona!” she exclaimed as she hugged me tightly. I returned the gesture as best I could, some of my pajamas still in one hand, waiting to be thrown in another drawer.

So my name is Fiona Lane. Don’t waste your money paying for those creepy internet companies to search for my information, because it won’t be me.

Hell, people don’t even call me by my real name anymore anyway.

The moniker change wasn’t by choice.

“How was your summer?” Alice’s hands gripped my own tightly, and she gave an excited girly jump. It warmed my heart that she was so happy to see me and so I giggled a little with her.

“Oh, you know,” I said noncommittally once we had calmed down. “We travelled some; Miami, Boston, New York.” I shrugged. I hated it when my parents dragged me around. Wherever we went, it was only for their jobs so I was always left alone in a hotel room. Room service and HBO only go so far, even when you’re in Miami.

I know I sound like a spoiled brat. Maybe I am.

But whatever I’ve become totally fucked that up. And I’m not just talking about the spoiled thing. Right now I can’t even talk to my parents.

Anyway, I suppose you want to know what their jobs are. We’ll say they’re motivational speakers. Go ahead. Laugh at the irony there.

Alice shook her head as if she could tell what I was thinking. “You are so lucky, Fiona.”

I shook my head in disagreement. “What about you?”

Alice smiled brightly and then launched into a complicated story about a yacht, three different boys, and a wayward beach ball. Since none of it has to do with my story, I’ll leave it at that.

After she had finished telling me about her summer, and I had finished laughing, she looked at the alarm clock already set up on her nightstand, then at my partially unpacked luggage. “You’d better hurry. We have the welcoming ceremony in an hour. Then it’s on to lunch—couscous!”

Couscous, in all known forms, is guaranteed taste bud heaven for Alice. She’s kind of obsessed with the stuff.

You may be making a face about couscous, as I am just looking at the word, but don’t make hasty judgments. Let me explain. St. Xavier’s has two chefs. That’s right; chefs. One prepares breakfast and lunch, while the other spends all day getting dinner ready. They also have a virtual army of staff to help them. So naturally, the food here is fantastic. As long as you steer clear of the couscous.

Alongside all that culinary fluff, they also have plain food for those from planet America. Any given day, you can find “healthy” hamburgers, pizza or hot dogs at lunch and dinner. Mainly for all the people like me, who are pickier than Koala Bears and have several pages worth of food allergies listed in their student profiles. In other words, Americans.

I yawned, somewhat theatrically. “I’m bushed. It was a long flight. I think I’m going to take a nap and finish unpacking later.” To prove my point, I tossed the pajamas back in the open suitcase, shoved my duffel bag off my bed and flopped down. But I was just saying that so I could complete my alone time. I loved Alice and all, but I’m kind of a loner after flying. I’d blame it on my parents, who always left me alone right after every hotel check in, but that’s probably a cop out. Maybe I’m just selfish like that and I like my privacy as I unpack.

Whatever the reason, Alice understood, though she shook her head in disapproval. “You’ll regret it later,” she said in a sing-song voice. But true to her accommodating nature, Alice stepped back out into the hallway and shut the door.

Sometimes her people pleasing prowess really impressed me.

As I was sitting on the bed, I realized that shockingly, I actually was tired. I yawned again, this time for real. It felt like I was crashing after having an energy drink. Or like my eyelids suddenly had weights attached to them.

Almost without volition, I curled up on my new bed, not even bothering with the covers. I blearily set three alarms on my phone, and fell asleep almost immediately.

That was the last totally sane moment I remember. Everything that followed was pretty much royally fucked up.

I slept fitfully, falling in and out of strange dreams.

When I finally woke up, I peeled my eyes open, feeling extremely disoriented. For just a moment, my vision was slightly blurry around the edges, but then I blinked and it was gone. That pressure that comes with sleeping too long or at odd times was crouching menacingly in my head, threatening me with a massive headache.

My phone was blinking. I picked it up. Apparently, I had slept through all three of my alarms, and had missed one call and four texts from Alice. According to the digital clock display on my phone, I had been asleep for nearly two hours. I had already missed the welcoming ceremony, and if I didn’t hurry, I’d miss lunch as well.

Crap.


Entire Novel
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six