The Similars (The Similars #1)(12)
“Let’s go,” says Pru, bumping my hip with hers. “Before we catch Jake’s nasty attitude.”
“Too late,” I mumble, following Pru to a table too close to both the Similars and their originals for my liking, and setting down my tray.
“Agreed. I feel fluish,” Pru jokes. “Maybe I’ll have to skip class.” I look up to see her settled across from me. How did she sit down so fast?
Except it isn’t Pru. It’s Pippa.
I watch as Pru—my Pru—slips onto the bench next to her Similar. It takes me a moment to adjust to seeing them together.
“Emma, this is Pippa,” Pru introduces us. “Pippa, Emma.”
I stare at Pippa. I can’t help myself. She is so similar to Pru, and yet so different. While Pru wears her uniform of athletic clothes, Pippa has on a prim gray cardigan, and the gold of her key peeks out from the collar of her trim blouse.
“Hello,” Pippa says, her voice even but guarded.
“Top ten crappiest days of your life so far, Pippa,” I say. “Go.” I feel like a fool as soon as the words have left my mouth. “Sorry,” I mutter, staring down at my tray. “I just wondered if today made your list. You know, because it certainly makes mine…” I know I’ve blown my first impression with Pippa. She probably thinks I mean her and her arrival at Darkwood. How could she know that I’m only doing what I can—anything I can—to forget about the boy across the room?
Pippa picks at her bread, and I take careful note of her fingers: slender, neat cuticles, no nail polish. She’s obviously the kind of person who takes care of herself, but who eschews current fashion.
“I think it might be one of his top ten most distressing and irksome days,” she says.
I almost choke on a spoonful of stew. “I’m sorry. Are you talking about him?” I turn in my seat, gesturing toward the Similars’ table.
“Levi?” Pippa replies. “Yes, I would assume that Levi is feeling anything but happy today. Having your friend Oliver’s face isn’t something he asked for. None of us asked for this—”
“Pippa,” Pru starts.
“It’s okay,” I interrupt. “I think Pippa will understand when I say, diplomatically, of course, that whatever Levi is feeling today, or any other day for that matter, I’m going to reserve the right to respectfully not give a damn.”
“I do understand,” says Pippa, her calm expression never leaving her face. “I wasn’t suggesting that you ought to feel differently. I simply bring it up as a matter of context. Whatever vexing day I might be having, Levi’s day has been far…crappier.”
I’m about to respond when a voice rings out over the dining hall. It belongs to Principal Fleischer. While Ransom, as headmaster, is Darkwood’s strategic leader and liaison to the administration, Principal Fleischer oversees our day-to-day operations. She stands at the opposite end of the room, a microphone clipped to her blazer. Thin, bony, unwavering in her authority, Principal Fleischer lives for the sole purpose of disciplining us. Most of us avoid interacting with her at all costs.
“Attention, Darkwoodians,” Principal Fleischer announces in her gravelly voice that reeks of inflexibility.
She doesn’t have to ask twice. Nearly everyone in the cafeteria drops their conversations. It’s clear the moment has arrived. We will find out our strata.
“Three weeks ago,” Fleischer continues, “as summer vacation was drawing to a close, the members of the incoming junior class completed a test. The results of that test will determine your individual rank, or stratum as we call it here at Darkwood. Your stratum will fall between one and ninety, with one being the highest and most desirable score, and ninety being the lowest and least desirable score.” Principal Fleischer turns to consult with the other teachers who stand in a line behind her, and Pru takes the opportunity to fill in the blanks for Pippa.
“The top five strata are automatically initiated into the Ten,” Pru explains.
“The Ten?” Pippa asks.
“Darkwood’s elite society. Last year’s top five juniors—now seniors—will stay on to mentor this year’s new members. Madison and Tessa were in it last year, so that’s why they’ll be in it again.”
“It’s also why they think they’re God’s greatest gift to humanity,” I add.
“What do the Ten do? What’s it for?” Pippa wonders.
“Good question,” I say. “According to the school, the Ten members are ambassadors of the school. They’re supposed to model the kind of behavior the administration would like to see in the rest of us…blah, blah, blah. But that’s really all I know. Whatever goes on in their meetings is kept hush-hush. Unless you nab a spot in the Ten, you won’t ever really know.”
“You and your friends—should I call them your friends?—took the test, didn’t you?” Pru asks Pippa.
“I think so,” Pippa responds. “There was an exam we had to complete before we left for the States. I guess that’s what it was.”
I look around the dining room, where every junior is either sweating bullets or trying to act cool. But the truth is, not a single one of us isn’t at least a tiny bit curious about the stratum rankings. Even me—though it’s not my own rank I care about. I’m simply curious to see how today will play out. For others, this announcement is a lot more significant. Sarah Baxter, a petite girl perched at Madison’s table, smooths her hair. She’s been vocal about wanting to join the Ten since the day she arrived at Darkwood and looks ready to jump out of her skin. At a table nearby, a junior named Harrison Portwright smiles like he’s getting ready to greet a bunch of fans.