Chapter 149

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Arry regards me with scrutiny, standing in the street outside the old-fashioned brick building and I blink up at him with a serious frown. Stomach in knots.

“You’re kidding right? What, like you’re my dad and this is kindergarten?” I resist the urge to fan my face for the third time, push down the nausea and nerves and refrain from shoving Arry’s fussing hands off me. He’s fixing my jacket for the second time in five minutes, and even though it’s endearing, it’s making me feel antsy and agitated as he brushes a hair out of my face softly. I’m terrified, anxiety on overdrive and he is being infuriatingly cool about all of this, if not a little anally handsy. He can be so much like his mother at times, a clucking hen fussing around me when we he knows I’m uptight.

“It’s your first day, you’re in a new country, new school… You’re nervous. I just want to be there for you.” He smiles at me, that all American, swoon worthy smile that softens my tight nerves and I smile back with a sigh, a pang of guilt for even getting frustrated with him. He is only trying to do what he always does; take care of me in every way. He can’t help himself.

“I have to be a big girl sometimes, and not make you always hold my hand. I need to do some things alone if I am ever to get anywhere.” I slide my hands into his and squeeze them tight, for strength, for confidence. Unwilling to let go just yet and unable to let him see just how terrified I am of leaving him to walk into that hugely intimidating building that is looming over us.

“I’m really proud of you, baby. You worked so hard to get here and I know you’re going to blow them away. You blow me away every day.” Arry bends quickly and kisses me softly on the mouth. A semi passionate kiss and grazes his nose against mine as he pulls away, the usual eruption of butterflies and tingles at his touch. Sometimes I still can’t believe that I get to kiss him anytime I want, that he’s all mine and the past year hasn’t been one long amazing dream. I take him in longingly, one last draw of what I need from him and pull my hands back as I inhale a deep calming breath. Arming myself with his strength.

“I can do this.” I state confidently, nodding at him. Trying to really convince myself deep down that it’s true.

“Yes, you can.” He smiles back, another grazing of fingers on my cheek as he pushes my hair back and soothes my inner war of emotions. It’s getting long, I’ve been growing it out for a while now and its past my shoulders at a length I can hide behind when I feel vulnerable. I wore it down today for that reason and it keeps sweeping over my face.

I blow out air, look down at my long black jacket and smooth it out. It’s cold here, weather is icy, and my boots and coat are a present from Arry after we arrived. I love the real wool, fitted style, double breasted buttoning and very vintage feel. He has nice taste in clothes. It’s one thing I can never fault him for, and he does love to buy me things. It gives me courage to face this, knowing there is something from him, wrapped around me like a hug that I can keep with me all day.

“Right.” I breathe it out and turn to the building nervously, heart hammering in my chest and hands trembling. Arry kisses me on the cheek and a tiny smile encompasses my face at his last quick reassurance. He knows how to make a great start to my day, and I throw him one last little wary look as I walk up the stair to the building. Waving me off, watching me go.

My strength, my protector, my heart and soul. My best friend, my missing puzzle piece, the one who makes me whole; always.

***

I glance up at the three girls whispering across the room and catch their eyes on me again. Stomach sinking and trying not to make it obvious that I know I’m everyone’s topic of conversation. My palms are clammy, stomach wrung out like a damp rag as I try to carry on reading through the notes I’ve made for a design I’m working on.

I’ve been here three hours, in a room full of students who already spent a year together and I’m the only new incomer. Seems I am also the only American in this class, although I have heard there are others in senior years. So far, I’m getting the huge hint that I am not welcome at all and it’s all because I was head hunted and not just someone who applied to get here.

I guess because I was handpicked, they all see me as some kind of a threat, and I’ve met cold indifference when I tried to be friendly. They looked me up and down like I was trash and one girl ‘Francesca’ made fun of my accent in the first twenty minutes of our first class. Apparently, it was so hilarious that the group of ten girls snorted like pigs and couldn’t stop, while mimicking me and asking me if I come from “New Yaw-ach and eat hawt dawgs!”

Now we’re all in the cutting room, fabrics laid out, drafting patterns for a challenge set for us and no one wants to work with me. Seems I’m the leper of the class as they have all grouped up into three’s or fours and left me over here solo. I don’t care, I do better on my own. No distractions, no one changing my ideas, no one holding me back when I want to try something a bit risky. I lift my chin and try my best to ignore them and focus on the task at hand and not the catty, childish whispers of silly girls.

“You can’t use those.” The snooty tone comes at me from the dark-haired girl, Olivia. She seems to be the class queen, miss popular and all the other students look my way at her raised haughty tone. She’s pointing at scissors on the table that I haven’t even touched. They were here when I came over and I try not to frown at her or her terrible efforts at a dominant stance. Typical bitch mode with a jutted hip and hands on her waist.

Pahlease.

“I’m not. I have my own.” I hold up the rose gold handled scissors in my hand. The ones Arry bought for me that go with all my kit in my sewing bag and the only thing I ever use. All from him and all initialed for me with a pretty ornate logo and an intwined rose in the lettering.

My supportive boy.

“Fancy… Well, in here, you ask before you touch what is not yours. We all have our own way of doing things and you need to learn the pecking order. For example…” She leans over and snatches the roll of fabric from in front of me, scattering my drafts pieces all over the floor and I narrow my eyes at her, trying to hold the temper I know is easy to let loose.

“You ask before you take a fabric that I might want. I’m the golden girl here. I get first dibs on everything.” She smirks as she pulls the bat and tucks it under her arm, glancing me up and down like I’m dirt and I curb the urge to lodge my scissors in her face. I need to play nice; I can’t have my first day ruined by physically assaulting one bitchy shit head with a superiority complex.

Arry has taught me the art of counting to ten and taking a deep breath before losing my temper and I am trying like crazy. I don’t want to disappoint him or myself, by getting into a cat fight on day one. Although he has taught me how to take most anyone down in a fight and I will use it if needs be.

“Sorry, didn’t realize there was such a thing. I assumed we were all in this together.” I try painfully hard to keep my cat tone on the low key, my smile in place, but I just want so badly to throw something at her. I hate these kinds of bullies. I met enough of them through school, always trying to tear me down. Single me out because I was different. I got past this in New York. Christian and Jenny welcomed me lovingly and we were a real team and I ache for both right now, ache for what I left behind to come here.

“You thought wrong. You’re the invader… some Yank who got a free ride because her boyfriends a rich kid. Mr. Someone. We all know who you are, and it means nothing to any of us.” She crosses her arms and sneers at me as girls behind her giggle and smirk my way too and the heat of both rage and anxiety envelopes my face. I try so hard to control my tongue, gut aching with the effort as I stand upright, steel my posture and lift that defiant chin. It’s like being back in high school, except at our age we shouldn’t still be acting like immature little mean girls. None of us are below twenty in age.

“I got here on my own merits. My boyfriend has nothing to do with it, and he would never interfere. I think you feel threatened and that’s fine. Time will tell if I belong here. Have your fabric, I didn’t like it much anyway; it feels cheap, hangs weird and looks like shit draped down you right now.” I lift a little higher, smirk appropriately and show her she is not the only one who is an expert in the art of bitch. I turn on my heel and mightily walk off towards the fabric room with a swish of hair and lack of backward glance, exuding confidence. I know how to deal with skanky spoiled brats and class assholes. I spent my life dealing with the worst kind of bully of them all and he makes her look like a picnic.

I will not let them push me around and corner me. I won’t let them ruin this year for me. I’m better than that and I have standards to upkeep.

I hear her repeat what I said to the other girls and they laugh at me. I don’t care; I walk into the room and move out of sight to sink against the wall and take a moment to cool the fire in my veins and lurching angry rage peeking up, wishing I had my cell right now to call Arry and have him calm me down. My calm voice of reason amid the storm is so needed and I miss him like crazy when I’m this wound up. I count to twenty and take slow even breaths until my limbs stop shaking with rage and my stomach stops churning itself into twisted kinks. My face hot with temper and adrenalin and it’s a real struggle to cool off.

Standing here, catching my breath I inhale slowly, stop my hands from trembling and look at the stacks of fabric bats piled up in front of me of various textiles and colors. I scan the room, its neat rows of organized supplies and remind myself why I’m here. That stubborn set mind of my goal coming in to play.

This is not about making friends and being accepted. I came here to get further with my career. To learn from the best, to find my feet and gain skills. They can hate me if they want, I’m capable of handling nasty mouthed little girls. Capable of standing up for myself and I won’t let them get to me. I aim to show everyone of my worth and I won’t let a few bumps in the road stop me from doing that.

I came here for me, to be proud of what I can achieve, and I don’t have anything to prove to anyone but myself anymore. If I can remind myself of that anytime they get to me, I know I’ll be okay.