Fast-Tracked (10 page)

I glared at her short cropped hair. At least hers was still its natural platinum blond color. Her superior smug tone infuriated me. I snapped, “That’s easy for you to say; your hair looks good. I look like a demented bird is sitting on my head.”

“Well maybe it’s not as bad as it looks right now,” Trisha offered helpfully.

“Thanks. I hope so,” I responded. Maybe the hair wasn’t a total loss if it got Trisha talking to me again. At least hair can grow.

Before bed Trisha helped me brush out my hair. It had so much product added to it that it had formed a helmet against my head. After some time and pain, I got a good look at my new hairstyle. Trisha was right: it wasn’t nearly as short as I feared, but still it landed just above my shoulders. Brushed out, my hair was a simple bob with the ends cut into a hard angular line. It was a flattering cut for my face, and hanging loose the highlights were well hidden, and when a glimpse of the dark blue did show it made the ebony of my hair really shine.

I thanked Trisha for her help. As much as I wanted to know what life would be like for Byron, I decided to wait to ask Trisha about it again. I needed to build her trust first.

The next day I slicked my hair back up, so Mrs.
Glabough
couldn’t tell how long it really was. I didn’t want to
chance
her deciding to give me another haircut. Yet try as I might, I couldn’t duplicate yesterday’s hairstyle for the life of me. So I styled the ends in little pin-curls. Satisfied the length was undetectable, I headed down to breakfast.

After breakfast, Mrs.
Glabough
marched us to several clothing boutiques. The first one was a lingerie store. Again, the store had been closed off just for us and there wasn’t another customer in sight. This time we were brought into the back and placed in front of giant three-sided mirrors and told to undress.

“We’re all girls here,” Mrs.
Glabough
giggled but then glared at me in warning.

I obediently removed the smock-like white top and pants I was wearing and didn’t complain as the sales associate began measuring every inch of me.

Instead of staring at my nearly naked self in the mirror, I watched Mrs.
Glabough’s
reflection hanging just over my shoulder. She pointed at each one of us and barked commands to the associates that I assumed were assigned to individual girls.

I was given an endless supply of skimpy, barely-there lace delicates to try on. Mrs.
Glabough’s
nods determined which ones went into the keep or return pile. In the end, the dominant colors of the day seemed to be pale pink, emerald green and black.

I glanced over at the other girls’ outfits and noticed a varying degree of style. While all my undergarments were lacy nothings, most of the other girls had bikini-style panties and bras that at least appeared like they could support something.
Except Trisha.
She had mostly tan and white granny panties and sport bras.

Next our sleepwear was brought out to us. I shouldn’t have been surprised when all of mine turned out to be over-the-top-sexy, leave-hardly-anything-to-the-imagination nightgowns and teddies. The other girls at least got a cute combination of comfortable pajamas that included boy-short sets and silk men’s pajama tops. Well most of the girls did. Trisha just got flannel grandma nightgowns, antique ivory lace and all.

We were each given a set of undergarments to wear and told to put our white outfits back on. We then spent the rest of the day clothes shopping. In every store we repeated the same thing. It was always closed to the public. We always stripped down to our underwear, and then we would try on an endless amount of clothing while Mrs.
Glabough
stood behind us nodding her final approval.

It became clear after the very first store that Mrs.
Glabough
had a very specific look in mind for each of us. Poor Trisha was given the look of a dowdy librarian.
Haddie
was the sporty girl. Vera was given an
uber
-chic look that matched her short, blond, jagged-edge chopped hair. Myra seemed to have a playful but flirty look and Nola was clearly preppy.

I was the only one I couldn’t quite categorize, and I also seemed to be accumulating the largest amount of clothes.

After a quick lunch, I started to piece together what Mrs.
Glabough
was doing. I finally realized where I had seen these kinds of clothes before. The reason the look had been so hard to place was because she was building me two looks. She was building me the wardrobe of both a Senator’s wife and a businesswoman. On the news I had seen plenty of Senators’ wives wearing the soft classic blouses, sweaters and tops I had been accumulating. Matching scarves, shawls and jewelry were also added to my amassing pile of items. Each top was matched with a pair of trousers or a modest skirt that ended just above the knee. She had even chosen a signature group of colors for me. My bottoms tended to favor dove gray, charcoal, or floral prints, while my tops were a soft mixture of pastels: peaches, mints, lavenders, baby blues and pinks.

My businesswoman look was a completely different story. Dark navy, forest green and black comprised the majority of my power suits and dresses. The most unique color of them all was called black rose. It was a deep red dark enough to blend with almost any color. I had to admit I loved it. I had always loved the color red, but it just never got along with my complexion before now. When I did wear it I ended up looking either blotchy or ghostly pale. I was delighted when I overheard Mrs.
Glabough
direct the store owner to customize several other outfits in the same color.

I was even more excited when I was finally given some jeans to try on, despite the fact that they hardly resembled any of the jeans I ever owned. Instead of faded and worn, the jeans were all bright and solid deep blues, black, red and purple, but at least the ones Mrs.
Glabough
decided to keep all hugged my curves in exactly the right spot. If I closed my eyes I could hardly tell the difference between my new fancy jeans and my old favorite pair.

After the jeans I was finally given an outfit to wear out of the store. A nice short-sleeved mint sweater was paired with a delicate floral dress of the softest material. Of course it had to be topped off with a matching floral scarf, pearl necklace and large accompanying pearl studs.

“Just one more stop,” Mrs.
Glabough
chimed when she noticed we were now all dragging out feet. Unfortunately, that stop entailed jamming our tired feet into shoe after uncomfortable shoe. For once I was jealous of Trisha’s selection. All she was given were flats to try on.

I had to suffer through countless painfully shaped shoes before they finally figured out I could only wear square- or round-toed shoes on my abnormally fan shaped feet. I had to suppress a giggle when I heard Mrs.
Glabough
curse my skinny ankles and wide toes under her breath.

Still, I had to admit I had it easier than some of the girls. They had to wrestle with heels that were easily three inches or more in height. Fortunately for me the preferred height of a Senator’s wife or serious businesswoman was between one to two inches. Occasionally, a stylish flat or two was even allowed. I was relieved when I was handed a pair of mint green flats to wear back to the college.

Chapter 7

As we finally sat down to dinner, it became apparent that I had missed one glaring fact throughout the day. The extra clothes and attention given to me by Mrs.
Glabough
had alienated me from the rest of the girls. We were all seated at the same table, but I would have been better off sitting across the room.

Vera had already made it clear she wasn’t a fan of me, so I was hardly surprised when she ignored me. What I didn’t expect was everyone else to join in. They all turned away from me and continued talking as if I wasn’t even there. I felt like crying, but then I reminded myself that the silent treatment was nothing compared to what Byron must be facing right now.

That just made me feel worse. I realized most of the day had passed without me even thinking of him. I must be the world’s most shallow and petty person. After promising
myself
that I would never forget about Byron and what he meant to me, all it took was a day of shopping for him to slip from my mind.

I had completely lost my appetite. I didn’t care if the other girls thought I was running away from them or not: I pushed myself away from the table and headed outside to the neighboring garden. I wandered around, and when I found a grove of rosebushes, I sank down onto a cement bench in the center of the flowers and finally allowed myself to cry.

By the time I stopped crying it was getting dark. I realized the hour we had been given for dinner was almost up. Mrs.
Glabough
had promised to assign us our rooms after dinner. Quickly I ran back towards the college. I only slowed to a walk when it was finally in sight.

A sudden crashing sound made me jump. I tensed, then looked over and realized it was only a worker emptying a trash bin.

There was something familiar about the way he stood that caught my attention. I started walking towards him so I could get a better look. No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“Byron?” I called out.

For a brief moment the man turned and his pale blue eyes locked onto mine. I thought I saw a spark of recognition – but then I blinked and the man was gone.

My mind was just playing tricks on me, cruelly making me see what was not there. What would
never
be
there.
Byron was forever lost to me. Maybe everyone was right and it would be better to forget about him. Maybe I should at least
try
to forget him.

An unseen clock chimed in the distance and snapped me away from my thoughts. Great, now I was late. As punishment Mrs.
Glabough
would probably assign me the worst room. Quickly I ran inside and jumped on the elevator. Fortunately Mrs.
Glabough
and the girls were just entering the lobby of the dining floor when the elevator doors opened.

“Ah, there you are, Miss
Zandria
. I’m glad to see you didn’t wonder off anywhere and get yourself lost,” she prattled as she led everyone into the elevator with me.

“No, ma’am.
I was just enjoying the scenery of the gardens,” I respectfully replied. The other girls exchanged snide looks. Determined not to let them get to me I continued talking. “I was wondering, are we allowed to take cuttings from the plants in the garden? I’d love to have a fresh arrangement in my room.” I had no idea why I said that, but suddenly I found the idea of wandering through the garden collecting roses very appealing.

Mrs.
Glabough
responded by suddenly wiggling in a way that I had decided showed her excitement. “You’re certainly allowed to take whatever you’d like as long as it’s not in a research greenhouse, but if you like I can arrange to have fresh flowers delivered to your room regularly.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to collect the flowers myself. I find the activity very relaxing – like a meditation of sorts – and I’m rather particular about my flowers.” None of what I said was actually true, but the lie rolled right off my tongue with surprising ease. I wanted to be able to collect them on my own and didn’t want Mrs.
Glabough
ruining it.

“
Ah
. You have a controlling attention to detail,” Mrs.
Glabough
replied. I couldn’t tell whether it was a compliment or a criticism. But the other girls must have decided it was a criticism because they all began to snicker. Mrs.
Glabough
quickly snapped, “It’s a highly desirable quality that you’ll find most
real
fast-trackers possess.
Myself
included
. You girls would do well to follow Miss
Zandria’s
lead.” She gave them each a cold stare that stopped their laughter in its tracks.

Ha! Take that, you ostracizing witches
, I thought. I was still hurt by their behavior and gave them each a snide smile.

Before they had a chance to react the elevator door chimed and glided open to floor eight. Mrs.
Glabough
took the lead and we all obediently followed. One by one we were assigned our rooms.

As Mrs.
Glabough
gave us a brief tour of Vera’s accommodations, we quickly realized that ‘room’ was an inaccurate description. Each one was more like a completely furnished apartment. A large living room opened up to a modest kitchen and laundry room. The bedroom and a large bathroom were on the other side of the living room.

All the girls stayed together as a group as each one of us was shown her room. They all were basically the same and had the same basic décor, but no one minded because it was more than any of us had ever expected.

Finally I was the only one left. But instead of showing me my apartment, Mrs.
Glabough
turned around and headed back down the hall.

“Excuse me, Mrs.
Glabough
?” I called. She turned around. “What about me?” I asked hesitantly.

“That’s where we’re heading right now. You’ll be staying on the ninth floor.” All the girls behind me snickered. We already knew that was the same floor as Mrs.
Glabough’s
living quarters.