Dolores squeezed herself into a stall, the flimsy metal barrier a small comfort against the sudden unease that gripped her. Emerging moments later, she made a beeline for the sink, her mind fixated on banishing the coffee stain. "Oh God," she muttered under her breath, scrubbing furiously at the fabric. Showing up to her first class with a giant brown mark was not the "fresh start" she envisioned.
Lost in her stain-removal mission, Dolores remained blissfully unaware of the audience gathering behind her. Finally, a flicker of movement caught her eye in the mirror. She whipped her head around, heart leaping into her throat. Three figures stood at the far end of the bathroom, their gazes fixed on her
Had they been there all along? Confusion morphed into apprehension as Dolores took them in one by one. The first, perched on the edge of a sink, possessed a kind of effortless cool that made her breath hitch. Next to him, another guy was seemingly entangled in a passionate make-out session with a girl, oblivious to the world around them. Dolores' eyes darted to the third figure leaning against the wall. He held her attention the longest. Disheveled black hair framed sharp features, and a cigarette dangled lazily from his lips. His eyes, a startling blue, were focused intently on her, or were they grey, Dolores wasn't sure. "Breathtakingly handsome," a traitorous voice whispered in her mind. Quickly, she clamped down on the thought. These were delinquents, smoking in the bathroom! Was that even allowed here? And the girl… didn't she have any shame, making out like that during school hours? On top of everything, they were in the girls' restroom!
Dolores slammed the envelope and rule book onto the counter with a force that surprised even her. Taking a deep breath, she mustered her courage and faced the group. "Alright," she started, her voice shaky but firm, "Let's get one thing straight. Why in the world are you guys in the females' restroom?"
A collective snort erupted from the group. The make-out couple finally disengaged, the girl rolling her eyes dramatically. The first guy, the effortlessly cool one, raised an eyebrow at Dolores. "Love," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement, "have you considered the possibility that maybe you're in the wrong restroom?"
Dolores' cheeks flushed crimson. She whirled around and stared at the door. Etched in clear, black lettering was the symbol for the male restroom. A wave of nausea washed over her. This was not how she envisioned her first interaction with Grimstone students.
The blue-eyed guy, leaning against the wall, chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. He flicked his cigarette into the sink, where it sizzled and died. "Rough start, newbie," he said. "This is the boys' bathroom. Might want to check those survival skills before you get lost in class."
Dolores' face turned a crimson red as she stammered out an apology. Grabbing the rulebook and her envelope, she practically bolted out of the bathroom, the sting of her mistake a fresh burn. Glancing down at the envelope, she unfolded the single sheet of paper inside. Literature class. Great, she thought, literature was never her strong suit.
After what seemed like an eternity navigating the never-ending hallways (seriously, did this school have an architect with a spatial fetish?), Dolores finally spotted her destination. A plaque above the door declared it "Junior Literature Class." Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door, wincing at the screech of rusty hinges.
The classroom was larger than expected, bathed in an almost oppressive gloom. Grey walls seemed to absorb any light that dared to enter, while rows of black desks stood regimented and uninviting. The only splash of color came from a vibrant poster on the back wall depicting a raven perched ominously on a skull.
As Dolores entered, the symphony of whispers that had been filling the room died down abruptly. Every head in the class, a motley crew of teenagers with an air of jaded defiance, swiveled towards the door. The teacher, a woman so thin she seemed to fold in on herself, raised a single, ridiculously thin eyebrow.
"Who might you be?" her voice was as sharp as a broken shard of glass.
Dolores, already flustered, felt a blush creep up her neck, staining it the same shade as the coffee on her uniform. "Dolores, Dolores Torres," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm the new scholarship student."
The teacher gave a curt nod, her gaze lingering disapprovingly on the coffee stain. "Scholarship student, is that so?" She scanned Dolores from head to toe, a grimace twisting her lips at the sight of the uniform. "Try not to make a habit of lateness, Miss Torres. Punctuality is a virtue we hold in high esteem here at Grimstone."
Dolores managed a mumbled apology, her cheeks burning with shame. Ms. Hawthorne waved a dismissive hand. "Find a seat, Ms. Torres. And try to blend in. We don't appreciate unnecessary distractions here."
As she shuffled towards the back, she heard snickers erupt like popcorn kernels. Whispers followed her like a malevolent breeze. "New meat." "Looks like someone spilled their breakfast." "Wonder how long she'll last."
Dolores settled into an empty seat at the very back, her back pressed against the back of her chair. This was it, her first day at Grimstone, and so far, it had been a complete disaster. Coffee-stained, lost in the wrong bathroom, and now late for class. Could things possibly get any worse?
As Dolores slumped defeatedly against the back of her chair, a ray of sunshine broke through the gloom. The girl next to her, with a warm brown complexion and a mischievous glint in her hazel eyes, nudged Dolores playfully.
"Ms. Thorn's bark is worse than her bite, believe it or not," she whispered, a barely audible giggle escaping her lips. "Just don't wear that same uniform to her class on Edgar Allan Poe. Woman turns into a banshee when it comes to morbid poetry stains."
Dolores, surprised by the unexpected kindness, found a hesitant smile gracing her lips. A silent giggle echoed the girl's humor, a welcome break from the suffocating tension.
Suddenly, a blonde girl with hair that shimmered like spun gold leaned across Dolores, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"Whoa, new girl," she exclaimed. "Did someone declare open season on your uniform with a coffee pot?"
Dolores winced, self-consciousness returning at the mention of the stain. But something about the blonde's genuine concern made her reply. "Yeah, spilled it on my way here. Had a bit of a... rough first impression, I guess."
The blonde's lips formed a sympathetic "oh." "Well, don't worry," she chirped, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. "This place thrives on chaos. A coffee stain is practically a rookie badge."
"I'm Dolores, by the way," she ventured, finally feeling a semblance of courage.
"I hears. I'm Nadia," the brown-skinned girl winked. " And this fashion disaster over there is called Chloe"
Chloe stuck out her tongue playfully, a dazzling smile revealing a set of braces adorned with tiny silver stars. "Nice to meet you, Dolores. "
A spark of warmth lit up Dolores' face as a genuine smile spread across her lips. Maybe, just maybe, Grimstone wouldn't be the solitary experience she'd anticipated.
Dolores stole a glance at Nadia and Chloe, her smile widening, she thought, the words echoing in her mind like a dare.'What's the worst that could happen?'