It’s tempting, so tempting. But… “Are any of the other girls going to be in jeans?”

“Who cares what the other girls are wearing.”

“I take it that’s a no.” I tug on the neckline one more time, then give up and shut the closet door. “Come on, let’s get going before I decide to stay in and binge-watch Netflix for the rest of the evening.”

Macy gives me a hug. “You look really beautiful. So let’s go have fun.”

I roll my eyes at her a second time, because “beautiful” is a bit more than a stretch—with my curly auburn hair, plain brown eyes, and the random groupings of freckles on my nose and cheeks, I’m pretty much the opposite of beautiful.

On a good day, I’m cute. Standing next to Macy, who is freaking gorgeous, I’m wallpaper. The bland, boring kind.

“Come on,” she continues, grabbing my forearm and tugging me toward the door. “If we wait much longer, we’re going to be more than fashionably late to your welcome party.”

“We could just skip it altogether,” I say even as I let her pull me out the door. “Be fashionably absent.”

“Too late,” she answers with a deliberately obnoxious grin. “Everyone’s waiting for us.”

“Oh, yay.” Despite the sarcasm, I head out. The sooner we get there, the sooner I’ll get the hard part over with.

But as I start to weave my way through the crystal beads outside our door, Macy says, “Here, let me hold those for you. Don’t want them to shock you. Sorry I didn’t think about that yesterday.”

“Shock me? What do you mean?”

“They shock everybody.” She tilts her head to the side, gives me a funny look. “Didn’t you feel it when you went downstairs last night?”

“Um, no.” I reach out and close my fist around several strands of beads, trying to figure out what she’s talking about.

“You really don’t feel anything?” Macy asks after a second.

“I really don’t.” I look down at my favorite pair of rose-tattoo Chucks. “Maybe it’s the shoes.”

“Maybe.” She looks doubtful. “Come on, let’s go.”

She closes the door, then brushes her hands through the beads several times, like she’s trying to get shocked. Which, I know, makes absolutely no sense, but that’s definitely what it looks like.

“So,” I ask as she finally gives up on whatever she’s doing. “Why would you deliberately keep a beaded curtain around that builds up static electricity and shocks everyone who comes in contact with it?”

“Not everyone,” she answers with a pointed look. “And because it’s pretty. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

As we make our way down the hall, I can’t help but notice the crown molding on the walls. Decorated with black shot through with thorny gold flowers, it’s elaborate and beautiful and just a little creepy. Not as creepy as the lights that line the ceiling, however, which look a lot like trios of weeping black flowers connected by crooked, thorny stems. Gold light bulbs hang from the center of the flowers, partially obscured by their downturned petals.

The whole effect is eerie but beautiful and, while I definitely wouldn’t choose to decorate my room like this, I have to admit it’s stunning.

So stunning that I almost don’t notice that, by the time we make it to the second floor, my stomach has calmed down. More like the pterodactyls have become butterflies, but I’m not going to complain, considering it’s a definite step up. I’ve still got a low-grade headache from the altitude, but for now the Advil has everything under control.

I just hope it stays that way.

I know Macy says this is supposed to be a welcome party, but I’m kind of hoping the tea just goes on as usual. My goal is to be as invisible as possible this year, and a party where I’m the main attraction kind of messes with that plan. Or, you know, totally obliterates it.

As we approach the door, I grab Macy’s wrist. “You aren’t going to make me stand up in front of everyone, are you? We’re just going to kind of mingle and walk around, right?”

“Totally. I mean, I think Dad is planning on giving a little welcome speech, but it won’t be any big deal.”

Of course he is. I mean, why wouldn’t he? After all, who doesn’t think painting a target on the new girl’s back is a good idea? FML.

“Hey, don’t look so worried.” Macy stops in front of an ornately carved set of double doors and throws her arms around me. “Everything is going to be okay. I swear.”

“I’m willing to settle for not catastrophic,” I tell her, but even as I say it, I’m not holding my breath. Not when it feels like there’s a weight pressing down on me. Making me smaller. Turning me into nothing.

It’s not the school’s fault—I’ve felt like this for the last month. Still, being here in this place—in Alaska—somehow makes it all worse.

“You’ll settle for amazing,” she corrects as she grabs my arm and wraps hers through it. Then she’s leaning forward, sending the double doors flying in both directions as she walks in like she owns the place.

And maybe she does. From the way everyone in the room turns to look at her, I can believe it. At least until I realize my worst nightmares have come true and they’re all looking at me. And none of them seem impressed.

So I decide to focus on the décor instead, which is amazing. I don’t know where to look first, so I look everywhere, taking in the crimson and black velvet baroque wallpaper, the three-tiered iron chandeliers with black crystals dripping from each elaborately carved arm, the fancy red chairs and black cloth-covered tables that take up the back half of the large room.

Every five feet or so, there are dark wall sconces with what look like actual lit candles in them. I step closer to check them out and find myself completely charmed by the fact that each wall sconce is carved into the shape of a different dragon. One with its wings spread wide in front of a fancy Celtic cross, another curled up around the top of a castle, a third obviously in mid-flight. In all the dragons, the candle flame is lined up to flicker in their wide-open mouths, and as I get even closer, I realize that yes, the flame is real.

I can’t imagine how my uncle gets away with that—no fire marshal in the country would be okay with letting a school have unattended candles around students. Then again, this is the middle of nowhere, Alaska, and I also can’t imagine a fire marshal actually paying Katmere an unscheduled visit.

Macy tugs at my arm, and reluctantly I let her pull me away from the dragons and farther into the room. That’s when I glance up and realize the ceiling is also painted red, with more of that black molding lining the top edges of the walls.