THE DISCARDED LUNA‘S REVENGE

Chapter Four

The morning of orientation, the sun rose over the valley like a dull brass coin, baking the concrete stairwell of our apartment building before seven o’clock. I stood in front of the small, spotted mirror in our bathroom, my breath catching in my throat as I stared at my reflection.

The navy blue skirt sat neatly at my waist, the hem perfectly straight thanks to my mother’s final, successful effort before the machine died. But the blazer was a disaster. The padded shoulders sat a full two inches past my natural frame, making me look boxy and deformed, like a small child trying on a soldier’s armor. The sleeves completely swallowed my hands, requiring me to fold the stiff cuffs back twice just so my fingers could clear the fabric. When I let my arms hang naturally, the waist of the jacket ballooned outward, entirely erasing my silhouette.

"Lyra, sweetheart?" My mother’s soft voice came from the other side of the door, accompanied by a gentle knock. "The bus leaves the valley terminal in twenty minutes. Are you ready?"

I took a deep, steadying breath, smoothed down the front of the oversized jacket, and unlocked the door.

My mother was standing in the narrow hallway, holding a small plastic hair clip. When her eyes fell on the bulky, ill-fitting blazer, a look of profound, localized pain flashed across her features. Her hand automatically rose to her mouth, her fingers trembling slightly. "Oh, Lyra... it’s... it’s so large on you. Maybe we can try to safety-pin the back? Just to give it some shape?"

"If we pin it, the fabric will bunch up and look even more obvious, Mom," I said gently, taking the hair clip from her hand and using it to pull the top section of my dark hair back from my face. I forced my expression into something bright, something completely unfazed. "It’s fine. It’s clean, it’s ironed, and it’s the official uniform. That’s all that matters."

"But the other girls..." she whispered, her eyes shining with an old, familiar guilt. "The ones from the ridge. They’re going to be so polished."

"Let them be polished," I said, leaning forward to press a quick kiss against her lined cheek. "Polished brass still gets dented. I’m going to be fine, Mom. I promise."

The transition from the valley transit bus to the private, gated perimeter of Garrison Heights Academy felt like crossing an international border. As the bus ground its gears and turned back down the mountain, I was left standing at the foot of the massive stone arches.

The morning air up here was crisp, smelling faintly of manicured lawns and expensive fertilizer. Sleek, polished luxury cars—porcelains, smooth black sedans, and European sports cars purred up the winding cobblestone driveway, dropping off groups of seniors who immediately broke into loud, familiar laughter.

I took a deep breath, gripped the strap of my canvas backpack, and began the long walk up the driveway.

The whispering began the moment I cleared the grand iron gates.

"Is that a joke?" a sharp, nasal voice cut through the low hum of the crowd. I didn't turn my head, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw a group of three girls standing near a pristine marble fountain. They were all wearing tailored, form-fitting blazers that nipped in perfectly at their waists, their skirts hitting the exact millimeter required by high-society modesty.

"Did she borrow that from her older brother? Or a linebacker?" another girl giggled, her manicured fingers hovering over her mouth. "Look at the shoulders. She looks like a moving cardboard box."

"It has the Level 4 tag on the lining," the third one whispered, her voice dripping with a casual, devastating realization. "She’s one of the stipend transfers. I didn't think they actually let them walk through the front gates on orientation day."

As I continued up the path, a tall boy with a pristine leather satchel deliberately veered into my lane. He didn't slow down, his shoulder slamming hard against mine. The force of the impact rattled my teeth and nearly knocked my backpack loose.

"Watch where you're walking, valley," he scoffed, not even bothering to stop as his friends laughed. "Take up any more space with those shoulders and you’ll block the whole driveway."

I kept my spine perfectly rigid, my eyes fixed straight ahead on the heavy oak doors of the main building, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me rub my bruised shoulder.

But the sheer weight of the class divide hit me like a physical wall when I stepped inside the grand rotunda. The floors were polished terrazzo, reflecting the massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Hundreds of students stood in shifting, elegant clusters, their uniforms a sea of perfectly tailored navy blue and white. And there I was shuffling through the crowd like a scarecrow stuffed with cheap wool.

The mocking didn't stop at the entrance. As I tried to navigate toward the registration tables, a group of sophomore boys huddled near the pillars began to point and mock openly.

"Hey, transfer!" one called out, tossing a crumpled piece of paper toward my feet. "Did the charity department run out of your size, or did you eat the girl who was supposed to wear that?"

"Maybe she's hiding her food stamps in the sleeves!" another shouted, drawing a wave of loud snickers from a group of nearby seniors.

"Oh, look, Janella," a familiar, drawling voice called out from the center of the rotunda, cutting through the general chatter. "The administrative office must have mixed up the sizing charts this year. Or did the valley suddenly run out of fabric parameters?"

I stopped. Standing near the grand staircase was Janella Jakes, surrounded by her usual court of admirers. Beside her stood Benny, her hands tucked casually into the pockets of her flawlessly tailored blazer, a faint, unreadable smirk playing on her lips. And leaning against the dark mahogany banister, his pale amber eyes already locked onto me with a cold, predatory intensity, was Gabriel Jakes.

Janella stepped forward, her expensive leather loafers clicking sharply against the terrazzo. She looked me up and down, her eyes lingering on the rolled-back cuffs of my sleeves and the bulky, sagging shoulders of my jacket.

"It’s almost tragic," Janella said, her voice carrying easily across the sudden, cruel silence that fell over the immediate area. "Garrison Heights spends millions on its appearance, and then they let this walk through the rotunda. Did your family find that in a dumpster, transfer?"

The circle around her erupted into snickers. My throat tightened, a hot, suffocating wave of humiliation rushing up my neck. I wanted to snap back. I wanted to tell her that my father was an honest man, that my mother had stayed up until midnight trying to sew this piece of garbage until the machine literally smoked itself to death. I wanted to scream that my brain was worth more than her entire designer wardrobe.

But I couldn't. The scholarship guidelines I had memorized line by line were explicit: Any conduct unbecoming of a Garrison Heights representative, including verbal altercations, will result in immediate suspension and review of financial assistance.

They had all the power. They had the names, the legacy, and the money to erase me with a single phone call to the dean. Class wasn't just about clothes here, it was an invisible shield that allowed them to strike without ever being punished, while I had to stand there and take it.

"I asked you a question, valley girl," Janella said, stepping closer, her perfume—something heavy and sickeningly sweet like white lilies filling my space. "Does your mouth not work? Or are you just drowning under all that extra fabric?"

"The uniform is standard issue, Janella," I said, my voice coming out remarkably level, completely polite, though my nails were digging so deeply into the straps of my backpack that my palms stung. "The administrative office handled the allocation."

"Standard issue for a garbage bag, maybe," a boy behind her chimed in, causing another wave of laughter.

Benny shifted her weight, her eyes darting from my oversized cuffs to Janella’s triumphant smile. She didn't join in the laughter this time, but her voice was cool and dismissive when she spoke. "Leave it alone, Janella. The dean is coming down the hall anyway. We don't need to waste time on the scenery."

"It’s not scenery, Benny, it’s an eyesore," Janella sniffed, crossing her arms. "Gabriel, tell her. Doesn't she look absolutely ridiculous?"

The entire crowd shifted their attention to Gabriel. He hadn't said a word since I entered the rotunda. He slowly straightened up from the banister, his tall, imposing frame casting a long shadow over the steps. He walked down the first three stairs, his movements deliberate, like a wolf moving through tall grass.

He stopped a foot away from me. Up close, I could see the immaculate stitching on his blazer, the silver crest on his breast pocket gleaming under the chandelier light. He looked down at me, his amber eyes scanning the boxy, ridiculous lines of my jacket. There was absolutely no warmth, no hidden sympathy, and no amusement in his face— just a terrifying, analytical coldness. He viewed me as an unwelcome parasite infecting his pristine hallways.

He reached out, his long fingers moving toward my shoulder. My instinct was to flinch away, but I forced myself to stand completely still. He grabbed a handful of the loose, excess fabric on my left shoulder, pulling it taut with a harsh, aggressive jerk.

"It's three sizes too big," Gabriel said, his deep voice slicing through the quiet room. He didn't yell, but the sheer authority in his tone made everyone stop breathing. His amber eyes dropped to mine, holding my gaze with a suffocating, hostile weight. "You look pathetic, transfer. Like a child trying to play a part she isn't built for."

He let go of the fabric, wiping his hand against his trousers as if the cheap wool had left a residue on his skin.

"Learn your place this trimester," he whispered, his voice dangerously low, a promise of the torment to come. "Because the walls in this place are very narrow. And if you keep bumping into things with that extra baggage, we will crush you."

"Gabriel, let’s go," Janella said, reaching out to wrap her arm through his, her face glowing with satisfaction. "The orientation schedules are being handed out in the auditorium."

Gabriel didn't look back at Janella. He kept his eyes on me for one more lingering, freezing second, his expression completely devoid of mercy, before he turned and led his circle up the grand staircase, their laughter echoing off the high stone walls.

The surrounding students slowly dispersed, throwing lingering, mocking glances over their shoulders and muttering insults about the "valley trash" as they followed the Jakes family.

I stood alone in the center of the massive rotunda, the heavy silence of the room rushing back in to fill the space where their laughter had been. The air felt colder now. The weight of the school pressed down on me from all sides, a physical reminder that I was completely unprotected in their world.

My hands were trembling inside the oversized sleeves. I waited for the tremor to pass, staring down at my folded cuffs until my fingers were completely still.

Slowly, I reached up, adjusted the heavy, boxy shoulders of the blazer, and gripped the straps of my canvas backpack. I didn't look at the stairs, and I didn't look back at the front doors.

I just turned toward the auditorium and walked into the crowd.