Page 16 of Divine Oaths

All the freshmen gathered together, starry-eyed and brimming with excitement.

Being here now sent my mind racing. Because as much as I liked to pretend otherwise, at one point, I’d dreamed of being enrolled here for so long.

Westfield was one of the oldest academic institutions in the country—a beacon of innovation and the arts. Elite, private, and surrounded by the protection of swamplands, it’s where politicians’ kids, the children of celebrities, and new money elite came to rebrand and be taken seriously. Not an Ivy, but close enough. Yet here I was, searching for its heir, searching for answers from that night.

“Careful where you step, babes,” the RA said as we gathered together. “You don’t want to slip off the dock, especially when the boat arrives. It’s happened to other freshies before.”

The others rushed to line up, and I recoiled from the jostling arms and hands. I was acutely aware that my hands were bare, my fingertips dangerously exposed. But wearing my gloves now would mean standing out or drawing attention to myself.

The roar of an engine sounded in the distance. From the depths of the swamp, a large fan boat weaved through the murky waters and parked at the dock where we’d gathered.

I followed the line of first-years onto the boat. It was nearly full by the time it was my turn to descend the steps into it. Rows of seats lined the front, enough for twelve out of the twenty-four of us waiting. I managed to secure a spot in the middle of the platform, then shoved my book bag under my seat and rested my carry-on next to me.

Our driver, an older gentleman with a mane of silver hair and an enigmatic disposition, whistled for those of us who were standing to take a seat. Of course, when I did, the RA sat beside me.

Her smile was prim and bright.

“I hope that’s not all you’re bringing?” she said, eyeing my suitcase and my carry-on. “How will you survive the semester?”

“Are you supposed to be on the boat?” I asked, ignoring her questions. “Or should you be waiting with the others on the dock?”

The line of freshmen remained restless, some murmuring in annoyance that they’d have to wait even longer to see Westfield.

“Of course I should be here. I’m your RA. Well, not yours. I’m actually the resident assistant for Ivy House, but I’m at Poppy House most of the time now.” She paused, catching herself, as if she’d been about to let something slip that she shouldn’t have. “Since that’s where all the trainings for resident assistants happen.”

The driver spurred the engines to life and we jolted forward.

“It’s Honey, by the way,” the RA said, holding her hand out for me to take. “Honey Garnier.”

Instead of shaking her hand, I crossed my arms, being careful not to let my fingertips touch the fabric of my own clothes. I gestured to one of the students sitting behind me, a girl who was openly gawking at me.

“Should we switch? I think I heard them say they had a few questions for you about Westfield.”

Of course, the girl behind me hadn’t said anything to that effect in the slightest. But she’d been whispering my stage name to one of the other freshmen, and the chain reaction had caused others to recognize me as Baby Mozart. Even with the roar of the fan boat, their whispers curdled against the backs of my ears.

That’s her, isn’t it? Baby Mozart.

I heard she got arrested.

I heard she stabbed some man in an alleyway.

I heard she saved him.

I closed my eyes, tuning it out. After all, this was why I’d come to Westfield. But hearing speculation from strangers—no, future classmates—all of it was suffocating.

After the stabbing, reports that the victim had been a Saint James were everywhere. I’d already been spotted talking to Kasem at Gus’s shop, after all, and given my exceedingly public connection to the fire at Westfield University, I’d been brought in for questioning. Some claimed my motives had been a revenge killing for Westfield not doing more for the families who had died in the fire. Other internet sleuths pointed out how some bloodied bills had been found, while others were missing, and started rumors that I’d worked with the attackers because I was a washed-up star who’d turned to robbery to survive.

For a while, I’d seriously thought I’d go down for it. But then the police questioned the girl on the phone, the one who’d made the actual call to the paramedics. Her testimony had cleared me, and a few stories started cropping up about how Baby Mozart had reported the crime and helped save the victim. I’d been let go and the search for the true suspects had started again.

There were speculations that two men had been arrested in connection with the attack and that they’d been let out on bail, but I couldn’t find anything further.

“Don’t worry,” Honey said. “They’ll get over it. There are tons of famous people at Westfield. Most of the students—at least, most of us upperclassmen—are low-key about celebrities attending classes with us. And there are actually a lot in your year. I think there’s a Hearst, and the usual admits whose parents are senators, and at least one person whose dad starred in another reboot of A Star Is Born. Do they call them reboots? There are, like, a million of them.” Her words trailed off into a sigh as she turned to face me, her eyes shifting to my hands before darting to my third-degree-burned fingertips and the bracelet I wore on my left wrist.

It stood out against my dark brown skin, gleaming bright and iridescent under the emerging sunlight. When the RA didn’t speak and just kept staring, I yanked on my sleeve, hiding the Westfield heir’s bracelet from her view.

Her eyes glanced over the rest of me and I could feel her judgment: the out-of-season jeans and yellow turtleneck that I was sporting, the canvas book bag I’d brought with me—all of it I’d gotten from the decrepit alleys of Center City Mall and the free-ninety-nine aisles of its dumpster diving department. Not exactly the haute couture expected of a former child star.

“None of them have a criminal record, though,” Honey continued. At my expression, she gave me a sheepish look. “Sorry, I overheard. Plus, like I said, a lot of famous people are in your class, and that stabbing was just a few months ago. Did you know he was a Saint James when you tried to rob him?”