One hundred percent cotton.
I flip the tag over on the shirt at Goodwill and toss it into my shopping basket. If there was anything that my mother taught me about clothes shopping, it was that I always had to know what I was paying for. The hangers are filled with colorful polyester, most of which I avoid unless something about the fabric intrigues me. Good quality clothing was always thick, able to survive many tumbles through the furnace of our neighborhood laundromat’s drying machines. It wasn’t bright and tacky, according to Maya and Ainsley, although they told me there were plenty of occasions for color.
My friends invite me to go shopping every weekend to find cute, trendy clothes for me to wear. Somehow, they don’t pick up on my lack of budget and they’ve convinced themselves that I simply lack fashion sense. They’ve made up a neglectful mother for me to explain away my bad style, one who didn’t teach me how to put on makeup or wear the right clothes. I must come from money because how else could I go to the same school as them?
I shake my head, bringing my clothes to the checkout. In their world, scholarships didn’t exist. When I applied, I was one of four students awarded a full-ride to the academy’s elite education program. It was part of Two Bridge’s philanthropic initiative, a way to give back to the surrounding community so that they could still remain open and collect money from rich families.
None of the students in Two Bridges seem to know about the scholarship kids. For the lives of most of my classmates, the poor have never infiltrated their bubble beyond the homeless people begging for change on a subway ride. And even then, the trains were a last resort. Most students were driven to school, but some preferred to take the trains to escape the clutches of their controlling families. I personally didn’t care about these things, but gossip gets around. And gossip, just like clothes, matters a lot to my friends
I never thought my clothes would be a problem going to school. The whole student body has to wear uniforms. But it was an issue that quickly came up when I walked around Soho with Maya and Ainsley on the weekends, flitting in and out of high-end clothing stores before stopping by Chinatown for cheap food.
It was stupid of me to dress the way I wanted to, putting comfort above looking cute and trendy. The first time I hung out with my friends, I wore a bargain bin blue polyester hoodie and jeans that fit me since elementary school. The looks on their faces were priceless.
“My family doesn’t like it when I show skin,” I said by way of explanation. Just like that, the girls nodded in understanding and gently guided me to better ways of having a modest style.
Of the three of us, Maia has the strongest sense of style and loathed to wear anything that wasn’t designer. Her hijab often sported logos, whether they be Chanel or Louis Vuitton, and her wrists reliably glittered with diamonds. Although Ainsley didn’t have the same strict rules about what she placed on her body, she cared very much about looking put together. Outside of school, what she wore wasn’t very different from our uniforms. She liked her blazers, leather shoes, and dress pants. We teased her for looking motherly and understated, frequently joking that she had a business meeting to go to.
Yesterday I made more of an effort to look cute when I went out with them. I chose a long sleeve fitted cream shirt with roses embroidered near the neckline and paired it with black skinny jeans and sensible boots. I made sure to cut the tags off of all my clothes so they wouldn’t know where I got them. My fake Swarovski necklace hung conspicuously from my neck.
For a brief second before I walked out of the apartment, I thought about taking the necklace off. I’ve searched up countless pictures of the real thing and no one could tell it was a fake unless they placed it under a microscope. Maia wouldn’t notice a thing, but Ainsley might pick up on small details I hadn’t even thought of.
I closed the apartment door, pretending not to care that I kept the necklace on.
My friends greeted me near the entrance of a chic cafe. They were already seated, the table adorned with steaming cups of coffee awaiting pastries. Americano for Ainsley, chai latte with whipped cream for Maia, and milk tea for me. Only Ainsley’s order was technically coffee, a properly caffeinated adult beverage.
Immediately after I sat down, the girls scrutinized me. They didn’t stare in naked appraisal, but they didn’t need to. They saw everything they wanted to in a single glance.
“Swarovski,” Maia said stiffly. “Does your mother even love you?”
“Be nice,” Ainsley warned. She turned toward me. “Don’t listen to her. I like it.”
I smiled begrudgingly. I knew Maia would never approve of my necklace whether she could discern it was fake or real. In her world, why would anyone wear glass when they could have diamonds? What did it matter if Swarovski crystals were technically luxury when she wore gold every day?
I searched Ainsley’s face for some sign that she saw through my ruse. Her eyes betrayed no emotion and her genial demeanor didn’t waver. Relief crept up my shoulders.
Could it be that I successfully fooled her?
Our pastries came, thickly layered and full of butter. Croissants, eclairs, and madeleines were set before us on pretty plates my family could never afford. We dug in, savoring the richness of the sweets.
It was nothing like the bakery my parents’ owned. The closest thing to what they made on the table were the croissants, but even the ones they sold were merely inferior substitutes. I was glad that I never told my friends where the bread I brought came from. They would have felt my shame at that very moment, lurking beneath the idle chatter.
We walked through clothing stores afterward, dazzled by the latest fashion. While Maia gathered bundles of clothes to try on, I walked around taking photos of things I thought were cute.
“Why don’t you wear it?” Ainsley came from behind me, taking the shirt off the rack. “You’ll look good.”
I shook my head. “My allowance–”
She raised a hand to silence me. “I know. But there’s no harm in trying things on, right? You don’t have to buy it.”
“I’m not sure.”
“I get it,” she said. “Believe it or not, I was raised the same way. My parents make me work for the things that I want. They’re not as generous as the Rahmans. Maia gets something new every week. But my family doesn’t believe in rewarding laziness.”
She grabbed my necklace, twirling the star charm between her fingers. I tensed beneath, afraid of what she would see.
“You must have wanted this for a while. I guess your parents must be stricter than mine if they won’t let you wear the real thing in public. They probably wouldn’t give you anything nice if you lost hundreds of dollars.”
She released the charm. “It’s smart. A shame that your parents have you on such a tight leash. It must work since your grades are always higher than mine.”
I laughed nervously with her. “I try my best,” I said lamely.
“But is your best enough?”
Maia walked out of the changing room before I could answer. “I’m buying all of them,” she announced, holding up the hangers.
“Great! Make it quick because we will be hanging out with my brother after,” Ainsley said, her tone switching from secretive to perky with ease.
Maia’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t want to see Andrew. He’s mean.”
“He promised to treat me after my exams. It’ll be fun.”
I never met Ainsely’s family so I wasn’t sure what to expect. But the tall man handing us boxes of Cartier like it was candy was not what I was picturing.
Andrew and Ainsley shared the same slim nose and square shoulders. They had nearly identical cold expressions and could cut glass with the same withering glare. But in front of us, Andrew was friendlier than Maia made him out to be.
“Did you get your exam results yet? I used to be so nervous about them when I attended Two Bridges,” he remarked as we tried on the bracelets.
“Not yet,” Ainsley replied absentmindedly as she cinched the metal tighter over her narrow wrists.
“Yan probably scored higher than the both of us,” Maia said, bragging on my behalf. “She’s ranked first in our class.”
“Third,” I corrected her. “I’m not first.”
“Smart girl,” Andrew nodded. “If Ainsley studied harder, she might be just as good as you.”
Ainsley rolled her eyes. “I would have more time to study if Mummy didn’t force us to attend all of those social events. Not that you should be talking. You never broke into the top ten ranking when you were in high school.”
Andrew bristled at her words. “Clearly Yale didn’t care about that when I got in. Let’s see if you can even make it into an Ivy League school for college.”
They bickered on like that for a while, arguing even over the dinner Andrew treated us to. As I ate food that cost at least half a month’s rent surrounded by bags filled with purchases that definitely exceeded a year’s worth of living expenses for my family, I felt nauseous.
I shake away the memory of that weekend, pulling my Goodwill purchases out of the plastic bag. I take out my phone, looking at pictures of the clothes I took in the boutique. The clothes I thrifted were a good match. I just needed to make a few alterations to create a convincing fake.
When I first entered Two Bridges, I naively thought that being smart was enough for success. But given that my peers have infinite money, I see now that I have to look the part of a rich student if I was going to convince anyone I deserved my seat at the academy.
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