CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

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It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkened foyer. I glance up, momentarily confused, because I'm beneath a Redwood canopy. Oh, yeah, 'cause the roof's a clear dome.

It's wide open and airy, and several floors of walkways are visible from here. A few people on the fourth floor have gathered against the wood-carved railings and are staring down toward me. Or at me. I don't know. I can't make out their expressions.

The floors are dark polished wood, but at the center of the foyer, The Atlantis Society's symbol has been etched into a large stone tile. Metatron's Cube. That's what Chloe had said it was.

I press my lips together to banish a grin and look around for the orientation guides.

A young black man and a pale woman with white-blond hair are standing behind a metal and glass table that's covered in papers. They've got strange robes on, and they're both staring at me with weird, judgy expressions...

Is it my clothes? Probably. I'm in tight, ripped jeans, a plaid shirt, and my calf-high farm boots. I have to fight the urge to run away. I should've searched the beach house harder for something else, anything else, to wear today.

Oh, no. What if everyone else has those robes on too? Or a uniform? Does this school have uniforms?

"Are you here for orientation?" The man exchanges an incredulous look with the woman.

I nod, and my cheeks warm as I force myself to walk over to them. The nameplates on the table in front of them say "Jax" and "Arielle." Arielle's wearing a knee-length brown dress, brown flats, and a thin emerald-green hooded robe. Jax is wearing a green-blue dress shirt with dark gray slacks and the same robe, only it's in a deep turquoise shade. And they've each got two pins on. Both are wearing a bronze, not silver, Metatron's Cube pin. Underneath that, they both have a second bronze pin featuring two different geometric symbols that I don't recognize.

Arielle shuffles through the papers and shiny pamphlets in front of her and hands me a thick stack of them. "Sorry. We're all out of folders. Just follow the corridor straight down to the double doors."

"Better hurry up." Jax gives me a disapproving look. "You were instructed to arrive a half hour early. Everyone will already be seated."

I dart a glance at Arielle, but she's not looking at my face anymore. She's too busy staring at my dirty boots like they're equal parts fascinating and disgusting.

"Thanks," I mumble, clutching the papers to my chest, and I high-tail it outta there in the direction Arielle said to go.

Of course I'm gonna be late on my first day! I'm walking as fast as I can, trying not to panic and break into a run.

Once I exit the enormous foyer, I enter a wide corridor. The wood flooring stays the same, but the glass dome roof has been replaced by a ceiling lined with carved wooden tiles. The deep red walls are broken only by an occasional wooden door with bronze numbers on it.

Paintings decorate the walls every few feet. They're of green trees and the ocean, mostly, but there are people too. I want to know more about them, but I don't have time right now to stop and read any of the brass placards.

This building looked big from the outside, but it's huge once you get inside. It takes me several minutes to reach the end of the corridor, but I can hear the chaotic low murmur of the crowd long before that.

My breathing's shallow, and my forehead's damp as I pause just outside the double doors.

Shouldn't they be open if orientation hasn't started yet?

I'm not ready for this. I should've checked my face in the bathroom. Do I have trail mix in my teeth? I wipe my brow with one hand, clutching all the papers in my other arm.

I can still hear the crowd beyond the doors... If orientation was already in progress, it would sound different, right?

Well, I can't just stand out here, even if they have started.

And I can't run away, either, unless I'd like the blood pact to take vengeance on me again.

I grab the bronze tree-branch handle and pull one of the heavy doors open with a grunt.

There's an Asian woman in a light blue robe standing just inside, and she shoots me my second look of disapproval of the day and waves me through.

"You're late," she snaps. "Find a seat."

My throat closes as I glance around. I'm in a gymnasium, and it seems to be partially underground, because I've entered at the top of a set of dark, polished wood bleachers. There's another set of bleachers across the enormous room, and every bench seems to be packed tight with chattering teenagers. They're not in robes or uniforms, so that's good at least. The glass dome roof has reappeared, recreating the illusion that we're all outside under the Redwood canopy.

The wide-open space at the bottom, between the bleachers, has the same light-colored wood my high school used on our gym floor, but the area's much larger, and there are strange markings painted all over it. I have a feeling they don't play basketball here.

It's too loud, there are too many people, I'm too hot, and all my senses are being pummeled. My ADHD's rearing its ugly head, so I clutch the papers to my chest, my eyes darting around for an empty spot on the bleachers.

Where do I go? what do I do?

Someone taps my shoulder, and I turn to find the woman in the light blue robe glaring at me.

"Sit. Now." She points at a spot on the nearest bench.

I swallow hard, nodding, relieved because there's an empty stretch halfway down the bench.

"Excuse me." I start shuffling past all the seated students, wincing every time my backpack bangs into one of them. "Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me. Sorry about that. Excuse me."

I'm trying not to make eye contact with them, but I can feel their annoyance. And their stares.

"What is she wearing?" One of them mumbles.

Wow. The comments are starting already, and I've only been here for five minutes.

"Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me." My cheeks are flaming hot, and I'm so sick to my stomach, I'm afraid I might lose that forbidden apple I ate earlier.

By the time I finally reach the empty stretch of bleacher and slam my butt down on it, my brain's an ADHD hot mess.

I take off my backpack and hurriedly unzip it, but as I do, the zipper rips away from the canvas, making a hole the size of my thumb. Oh, just great. It's not only ugly and tattered and old, but now it's also got a freakin' hole in it. I blush even harder as I shove all the papers into my bag and drop it on the floor between my feet.

Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I glance around, trying to get my bearings.

This school's a lot more diverse than my high school. The vast majority of my town's residents, like me, were the descendants of Scandinavian and Irish immigrants, although I knew of a few people who had moved to Port Ashford from Mexico, like Mateo.

Despite the fact that Chloe said students come from all across the globe, they're all dressed largely the same. And nothing like me. I look—and feel—like a freakin' country bumpkin. All these kids are dressed like rich kids on their way to church. The boys are all in slacks and dress shirts. The girls are mostly in pretty dresses or skirts with high heels.

No one's dressed like me. And no one has a backpack. They're all holding folders that say Atlantis Academy on them. The folder I didn't get.

All the voices... people chattering away. It's making my head spin, so I close my eyes and just try to breathe. I need to imagine a bubble or something to filter all this out. And then I have to stay as quiet as possible and put on my "normal-Lyric" mask. Hopefully no one will talk to me until I can get some medication in me. I'm not about to dig through my embarrassing bag and swallow the pill here, though, in front of everyone.

"Hey, I'm Vivian Woo. What's your name?"

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