69

I opened my mouth to protest. After all, I’d just seen her crunching away on a bag of pistachios, but then her joke landed. “Goodbye, Moira.”

“I hope you come back alive!” she called after me as I left the room. “Also, bring me some more pistachios from the dining hall if you get a chance.”

Shaking my head, I closed the door behind me and headed for the stairs. I caught my reflection in the shiny elevator doors and laughed. Pleated skirt—plaid, of course—white button-up with a Peter Pan collar, even a little tie and headband that matched the skirt. And then there were the stockings. They were navy blue to match my blazer, but instead of coming to my knees, they stopped just above them. The outfit was completed by a pair of heeled Mary Janes—patent leather, shiny, and way too sexy to be acceptable for a uniform.

“Good God, Moira. You need to stop watching Gossip Girl reruns.”