Viola in Reel Life Read Free Page B

though it’s propped open with a shoe box.
    “Hi, I’m Suzanne.” Suzanne Santry, the fourth girl inour room, walks through the door. She looks around and flips her straight, champagne-blond hair back, securing it with a thin black satin headband. Her eyes are as dark as the satin. She looks like she belongs on a Los Angeles postcard even though she’s actually from Chicago. I can’t believe she’s only fourteen, because she looks seventeen, easy.
    Suzanne is totally beautiful, and for a moment, I imagine she might even be pretty enough for Tag Nachmanoff. She wears white shorts and a big baggy sweatshirt that says MARQUETTE. On her feet are very cool silver glitter flip-flops. My tan has faded already, while hers is still a tawny brown. She must moisturize.
    “Do you mind the bottom bunk?” I ask her, now that I’m filled with guilt for choosing my bed and desk instead of waiting for my new roommates.
    “Not at all.” Suzanne smiles. “This is my mom, Kate,” she says.
    Suzanne’s mom is tall and reedy, with an unfussy ponytail and clothes that say she has a day job in an office somewhere—a navy blazer, wool pants with a skinny black leather belt, and a silky shell under the blazer. Pearls are looped around her neck like she scooped them out of a treasure chest. Mrs. Santry introduces herself to Romy’s parents (no small feat there),and then she makes her way to Marisol and me.
    “Where’s your dad?” Marisol asks. “Parking?”
    “No, he’s home. My brothers leave for Marquette tomorrow,” Suzanne says, which also explains her sweatshirt.
    “I’m solo.” Kate grins, propping her reading glasses on her head like a tiara. “And I like it!”
    Suzanne, of course, has the best bedding: a simple coverlet of navy and white ticking, with matching white sheets. She has a picture of her family in black-and-white in a silver frame, which she places on her desk. Suzanne has two older brothers (both hot and in college). They look like taller versions of two of the three Jonas Brothers (not Nick, the older ones). Suzanne’s mom and dad have their arms around each other in the picture. Suzanne is stretched across on the lawn below them with her face propped in her hand. They look like they belong in the White House or something.
    “I miss them already,” Suzanne says wistfully as she straightens the picture of her family on her desk.
    “Tell me about it,” I agree. There’s something about Suzanne that makes me want to agree with everything she says. She has that born leader thing, I think.
     
    I dump all the footage I shot today into the computer and commence sorting shots to assemble. I plan on sendingAndrew, Caitlin, Mom, Dad, and my grandmother, Grand, regular video updates of my life in the waiting room of hell itself: Prefect Academy.
    Trish finished decorating our doors by getting a good photo of Romy in three tries, and Suzanne in only one try. Trish thinks it’s because she now officially has so much practice, but I say it’s because Suzanne is incapable of taking a bad picture.
    My roommates push through the newly decorated door.
    “We loaded up the last of the parents,” Romy announces. “And sent them home.”
    “Lovely.” I focus on my screen.
    “What are you doing?” Marisol asks breezily.
    “Cutting some video I shot today.”
    “We just came from the welcome tents. They’re setting up the picnic. It’s going to be great!” Romy sounds like a cheerleader for dogs ’n’ kraut. Let’s face it. In her flannel lined jeans, she is a cheerleader for prepster picnic paraphernalia.
    “They’re having barbecue and homemade ice cream.” Marisol sits down on my bed.
    “Scrumptious,” I say.
    The girls look at one another and I see them laugh in the reflection of my chrome desk lamp. “What’s so funny?” I turn around to face them.
    “You. You’re so droll,” Suzanne says.
    I can’t believe they’ve already made a category for me. Droll. What does that mean? I just