The Secret Girl In Class

CHAPTER 1: THE COLD KITCHEN Elara's The cold was the first thing I felt every morning. It came through the gaps in the floorboards, slipped beneath the door, and found its way under my blanket no matter how tightly I wrapped myself in it. At 3:58 AM, I opened my eyes and stared at the water stains on the ceiling. My breath fogged in front of my face. For a few seconds, I stayed still. I didn't want to get up. But staying in bed wouldn't make the morning disappear. I pushed the thin wool blanket aside. The cold hit me immediately. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound. In our house, being too loud was dangerous. I sat up on my mattress and rubbed my hands together. The mattress was barely more than a thin layer of foam lying on the damp floorboards, and my whole body ached from sleeping on it. Then my stomach growled. I closed my eyes. Half a slice of stale bread. That was all I'd eaten yesterday. I ignored the hunger. I'd learned a long time ago that thinking about food only made things worse. I slipped my feet into my old leather shoes and reached beneath the bed for my work clothes. My skirt and white shirt were still damp from the washing I'd done the night before. I'd hung them beside the little stove, hoping the heat would dry them. It hadn't. The fabric was cold and stiff in my hands. I pulled the shirt over my head and began buttoning it with fingers that barely seemed to work. “What the hell are you doing?” My father's voice came through the darkness. I held my breath. “It’s four in the morning,” I said quietly. “I have to get ready for work, dad.” “Is that the reason you are making a hell of noise to keep us awake?.” He asked, shouting on top of his voice. The bed springs creaked. A moment later, the curtain separating my sleeping area from theirs was shoved aside. My father stood there. He was tall and thin, wearing a stained singlet. His eyes were red, and I could smell the gin on him from where I stood. My mother stirred beneath the blankets. “Tell her to shut up, Arthur,” she muttered. “I have a terrible headache." She sucked her teeth. “She does this on purpose. Always walking around like she owns the place.” she said in annoyance. I looked down at my shoes. “I’m just getting ready.” I pulled my faded coat around myself. It was missing three buttons. A safety pin held the waist together where the fabric had torn months ago. “I’m leaving now.” “Leaving for what?” Arthur stepped closer. His eyes went straight to my pockets. “Where’s the money from your last shift?” My fingers tightened inside my coat. Two crumpled five-pound notes were hidden there. It was all I had left, for my bus fare and food. “I gave you forty pounds on Tuesday.” My voice came out quieter than I wanted. “That was all of it.” “Forty pounds?” He laughed once, but there was nothing funny about it. “You think forty pounds pays for the roof over your head?” He stepped closer. “You think you live here for free?” “There's nothing else.” It was a lie. A necessary one. I had gotten good at lying to my father. “If I don't get to the hotel by five, Mr. Henderson will cut my hours. If he cuts my hours, I won't have anything to give you next week.” His jaw tightened. For a moment, neither of us moved. Water dripped somewhere outside. Then he shoved me. Hard. My shoulder slammed into the wooden wall. A rusty nail caught my coat and tore the fabric. “You arrogant little brat.” I stared at him. “You think you're better than us because you read your little books?” He pointed at me. “You're nothing.” His voice rose. “You were born in the dirt, and you'll die in the dirt.” He grabbed the chipped mug sitting on the wooden crate beside my mattress. I flinched. He threw it. The mug smashed against the door, and pieces of white ceramic scattered across the floor. “Get out!” My mother didn't even sit up. “Don't come back without food.” I said nothing. I stepped carefully around the broken pieces. I didn't cry. I couldn't. Crying wouldn't change anything. I pulled open the door and walked outside. The cold hit me so hard that my eyes watered. Fog covered the narrow lane, hiding most of the rundown huts and rusted cars scattered along it. I pulled my collar higher and started walking toward the train station. Forty minutes. I'd done this walk enough times to know exactly how long it took. My feet were already numb. But with every step away from that house, I could breathe a little easier. Ravenscroft. I repeated the name silently. Ravenscroft. Just wait. Two weeks ago, I took the scholarship exam in a public library three towns away. I used a stolen pencil. I'd even forged a signature on the application. I didn't care. Ravenscroft College was everything I'd ever wanted. The kind of school I'd only seen in books and on television. Gothic buildings. Private grounds. Students in expensive uniforms. Kids who went home to houses bigger than our entire street. This year, Ravenscroft was offering one full scholarship to an outside applicant. One. That was all. One chance to leave this place. One chance to study somewhere warm. One chance to build a life where I didn't have to count every pound before spending it. If I didn't get it... I stopped myself. I shouldn't think about that, I said to myself. Not yet. By 5:15 AM, I pushed through the service entrance at the back of the Grandview Hotel. Warm air rushed over me. The smell of bleach, coffee, and bacon filled my lungs. It wasn't exactly pleasant. But compared to home, it smelled almost comforting. “You're late, Caldwell.” Mr. Henderson didn't even look up from his clipboard. “Sorry, sir. The bus was delayed.” I hurried toward the staff lockers and hung up my coat. Then I tied my black apron around my waist and pulled my long dark-brown hair into a tight bun. The cracked mirror on the locker door caught my reflection. Pale skin. Hollow cheeks. Dark circles beneath hazel eyes. I looked older than seventeen. I wiped the dirt from my cheek with a damp cloth and straightened my shirt. Then I pulled my shoulders back. For the next seven hours, I had a job to do. I couldn't be tired. I couldn't be hungry. And I definitely couldn't look miserable. At the Grandview, nobody cared about my problems. I spent the morning carrying breakfast trays, scrubbing counters, and moving stacks of hot plates. By eight, my arms were shaking. Every time I cleared a table, the smell of food made my stomach twist. Smoked salmon. Eggs. Fresh bread. Things I couldn't afford. I kept my eyes down and carried on working. At 8:30, I finally got five minutes to myself. I slipped into the narrow alley behind the kitchen. It was cold, but at least nobody was shouting at me. I pulled my worn leather bag from beneath a stack of milk crates and opened the front pocket. Inside was a small piece of paper. My Ravenscroft application tracking receipt. The results were supposed to arrive at my home address today. My stomach sank. If Arthur got to the letter first, he'd destroy it. I knew he would. I shoved the receipt back into my bag. I needed to get home before noon. I needed to intercept the mail before he woke up and checked the box. “Elara!” I jumped. The head chef stood in the kitchen doorway. “Get back in here! Deliveries just arrived. Staff mail needs sorting.” “Coming, sir!” I shoved my bag beneath the crates and hurried inside. A large wooden mail bin sat on the stainless-steel prep table. I started sorting. Letters. Invoices. Packages. My eyes moved over each envelope while my mind kept calculating the time. If I finished quickly, I could catch the bus. If I caught the bus, I could get home before the later would arrive. I stopped. My fingers had found something different. An envelope. Thick cream-colored paper. Expensive. It had a dark navy wax seal stamped with a silver crest. An eagle perched over a shield. I knew that crest. My heart jumped. Ravenscroft. I stared at it. For a second, I couldn't hear anything. Not the chefs. Not the clattering dishes. Not the hiss of steam. Nothing. I turned the envelope over. Then I saw the name. Elara Caldwell. Beneath it: Care of: The Grandview Hotel, Service Entrance. My stomach dropped. No. I had never given Ravenscroft this address. I'd used a post-office box three miles away for exactly this reason. Nobody at the hotel was supposed to know about my application. Nobody at home was supposed to know either. So why was the letter here? My fingers tightened around the envelope. Then I noticed something else. The wax seal wasn't intact. It had been broken. Someone had already opened my letter. My heart began pounding. I glanced around the kitchen. Everyone was busy. Nobody seemed to be watching me. Slowly, I slid my thumb beneath the broken seal. I was just about to pull the letter out when a hand settled on my shoulder. I froze. The grip wasn't hard. A man's voice came from directly behind me. Low. Calm. “Looking for this, Caldwell?” My blood ran cold. I turned my head slightly. And saw a stranger standing behind me. He was holding the letter. The Ravenscroft letter. Already opened.