Miss Mabel's School for Girls (The Network Series #1)(12)

“Let’s go,” Leda said, motioning towards the hall with her head while I grabbed a matching dark blue ribbon from my desk. “Miss Celia’s porridge tastes like chewy leather when it’s cold.”

The dining room was only half full when we arrived, so I didn’t have to fight for a full seat on the bench. Camille prattled on about a lesson in Herbology while I put the finishing touches on my hair. The skin on the back of my neck prickled. Instantly alert, I looked around without moving my head and tuned into the sounds about me, focusing my attention on what I could hear through the everyday clatter.

Close footfalls. One set, and then another. Three pairs of shoes walking through the dining room. The light talk of the girls at our table died down.

“Uh oh,” Leda muttered, her pale face darkening. “Here they come.”

Someone approached from behind me. I shot to my feet and spun. My quick movement jarred the bench, and a couple girls squawked, almost tumbling backwards.

“Oh, dear. Did I scare you, Bianca?”

An enchanting face with the lightest kiss of freckles met me. Priscilla and I stood eye-to-eye in height, and, I suspected, determination. Up this close, her eyes were a light green color flecked with gold.

Hoping to distract attention from the over-active jump to my feet, I gave her a smile.

“Not at all,” I told her. “Thought I saw a spider.”

She glanced down and danced back a step, her nose twitching with a cringe.

“Yes, well, that’s not entirely unexpected in a school this old, is it? Nasty things. My name is Priscilla.” She spoke with the drawl of someone from Ashleigh, the richest village in the Central Network. The affluence of her family was unquestioned if the pearls in her ears gave any indication. School uniforms supposedly kept everyone on an even standard, but poverty and wealth had their own way of bleeding through uniformity. “It’s nice to meet the bravest first-year in the school.”

Priscilla smiled beatifically, as if she thought she’d done me a favor by introducing herself. The two girls that came with her sniggered behind their hands, privy to an inside joke. One of them had the nose of a pug, turned up and pressed in. Her blonde hair flaunted her jaw in an unflattering line. I recognized her as Jade from last night, the first to volunteer after Priscilla. The other one had to be Stephany. Tall and skinny, a little like a twig with arms. Even her nose was thin and pointy.

Priscilla’s sweet smile never faltered.

“Merry meet,” I said with cool indifference. “I’m Bianca Monroe.”

“Yes,” she said, brushing her hair off her shoulder. “I know. We came to talk to you about the Competition.”

Something in the rise and fall of her tone belied her words. Her speech too measured, her blink too practiced. Priscilla held all the cards and wouldn’t have it any other way. Apparently I’d upset a more delicate balance by volunteering for the Competition than I’d thought, one that these girls wouldn’t stand by and watch.

A controller. Perfect. They were easy enough to deal with.

“Of course,” I said with gracious invitation. “Love to.”

She paused, her eyes flickering. If she expected me to get nervous just because she dropped from the heavens to speak to me, a first-year, she’d be very disappointed.

“We’re worried about you, Bianca. This Competition is very difficult.”

“Yes,” I said, my composure firmly in place. “So I’ve heard.”

Her nostrils flared. She smiled with just the corners of her lips.

“Yes, well, are you sure you know what you’re getting into? There’s no shame in dropping out, you know. You are only a first-year. How much could you do?”

She let out a petite little laugh, and Stephany and Jade joined in a few seconds too late. It didn’t take long for the false amusement to subside.

“I think you’d be surprised,” I said, matching her cool hauteur. Her pupils constricted. She pressed her lips into a line and lifted an eyebrow.

“You certainly are a confident little monster, aren’t you?” she muttered.

“Better than manipulating a sixteen-year-old into quitting because I’m scared to lose, I think.”

Camille gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. Leda sniggered. Priscilla and her friends sucked in a deep breath together, operating from one mind.

Ah, vanity. A most reliable weakness. Papa’s advice stirred from the deep recesses of my mind.

Your first job in every confrontation is to establish your opponent’s weakness. Strategy starts with weak spots.

“Oh really?” Priscilla said, her tone quivering. “I’ll tell you exactly what I–”

“It’s been great to meet you,” I said with exaggerated politeness. The shift of power from her to me was palpable. Taking away her control over the conversation would be the only way to stop her. “I can’t wait to see you around. If you have any questions about the Competition, let me know.”

Her eyes narrowed into spikes. “Don’t get too sure of yourself, first-year,” she whispered. “You don’t know anything yet. The Competition is no game for babies.”

“Then I’m sure you can quit at any time. There’s no shame in backing out, Priscilla.” I parroted her cloying tone.

We stared at each other for a long time. The dining room held its breath. And then she broke into a wreath of smiles. Her voice carried through the dining room with an airy roll.