CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALICE
The gates of Oakhaven swing shut behind me with a heavy, metallic clang that sounds far too much like a prison door.
I had said goodbye to Mio before exchanging our numbers.
For a moment, I stand on the sidewalk, breathing in the air that doesn't smell like sandalwood or expensive floor wax. My body is a roadmap of exhaustion. My feet are throbbing, and the weight of the hoodie is starting to chafe against my neck.
But I don't have time to be tired. Not yet.
I check the crumpled coupon in my pocket—the one, Mr.King handed me with that look of pure disdain.
The Gilded Needle.
Even the name of the tailor shop sounds like it wants to stab me. I pull up the address on my phone, my heart sinking as I see the location. It's in the Diamond District, a place where the sidewalks are probably polished with champagne.
I catch the bus, leaning my head against the vibrating glass window. I look at the world moving so fast and I think it's me who's stuck because the world is moving with it's pace.
When I finally stand in front of The Gilded Needle, I hesitate. The storefront isn't a shop; it's a gallery. There are no Sale signs here.
Just two mannequins wearing the girl's and boys uniform of the Oakhaven Oxblood blazer, standing behind a sheet of glass so clean it looks invisible. I take a deep breath, adjust my glasses, and push open the door.
A bell chimes—a soft, melodic sound that makes me feel like I've walked into a cathedral. The air is cool and smells of cedar and expensive silk.
"May I help you?"
A woman appears from behind a velvet curtain. She's wearing a measuring tape around her neck like a piece of high-end jewelry. Her eyes swept over my muddy hem of the jeans , my worn-out sneakers, and my messy hair. The transformation in her expression is instant. It's the Oakhaven Look: a mixture of confusion and you're in the wrong zip code.
"I have a scholarship coupon," I say, my voice sounding raspy. I hold it out like a shield. "For the Oakhaven first-year uniform."
She takes the paper with two fingers, as if it might be contagious. She glares at it, then back at me.
"Ah. The scholarship fit. Usually, these take two weeks to process."
"I need it tomorrow," I say, my jaw tightening. "Mr. King said it was mandatory."
She sighs, a long, theatrical sound. "To rush a custom-tailored set in four hours? That will be an additional surcharge of two thousand dollars, even with the coupon coverage."
The number hits me like a physical blow. Two thousand dollars.
My mind flashes to my bank app. $4,000. That's everything. That's my entire salary from the grueling double shifts I worked last 5 month at the diner.
That's the saving of my five months of hard work and the sleepless nights I spent writing blogs for few small investors....
"Do it," I say. My voice doesn't tremble, though my insides are screaming.
She leads me to a pedestal. For the next thirty minutes, I am poked and prodded. She wraps the tape around my waist, my shoulders, my bust, her face twisted in a permanent scowl. I stand there like a statue, staring at my reflection in the three-way mirror.
"Payment upfront for rush orders," she says as I step down.
I hand her my debit card. When the machine beeps Approved, I feel a part of me wither. Half of my life's savings, gone in a single 'blip' of a card reader.
"Come back in four hours," she says, already turning away.
I don't go home. I can't. I have three back-to-back part-time shifts today.
The next six hours are a blur of sensory overload. I run to the library for my first shift—filing books for four dollars an hour. Then, I sprint to the diner, swapping the hoodie for a grease-stained apron. I balance trays, take insults from customers who think I'm invisible, and scrub tables until my fingers are raw. Finally, a two-hour stint at a late-night call center, answering phones until my voice is a ghost of itself.
By the time I make it back to The Gilded Needle, the sun has set. My legs feel like they're made of lead. Every muscle in my back is screaming for mercy. I feel like a old Alice again, only this time, I'm Alice that's been through a paper shredder.
The woman is waiting. She holds a garment bag out to me.
"Try it on," she says, her voice slightly less sharp.
I take the bag into the changing room. I peel off the scratchy hoodie and the stained shirt beneath it. I unzip the bag.
The fabric is incredible. It's a heavy, high-quality wool in that deep Oxblood red. The white blouse is crisp, made of a cotton so soft it feels like a second skin. I slide into the skirt—it fits perfectly, hugging my hips and falling just above the knee. I pull on the blazer. The gold crest of Oakhaven sits over my heart, glittering under the fluorescent lights.
I look in the mirror.
The girl staring back isn't the tired waitress from the diner. She isn't the scholarship charity case. She looks... powerful.
The tiredness doesn't just fade—it withers away.
I stand taller. I adjust my glasses. For two thousand dollars, I didn't just buy clothes. I bought armor. I bought the right to walk through those gates tomorrow
I zip the bag back up, clutching it to my chest like it's made of solid gold. I walk out of the shop and into the night air. I have exactly two thousand dollars left in my bank account and a body that's ready to collapse, but as I head for the bus stop, I'm smiling.