Lana was the first person I met who used a garter belt.
At least the first girl close to my own age.
Everyone else at school was so conservative and uptight. Good Catholic girls who stuck to the rules of the uniform–white hose, pleated plaid skirt, white blouse, gray jacket, and a matching plaid necktie. And probably prim, white cotton panties and bra beneath it all.
But the conservative Catholic thing never fit me. As a first generation Hispanic immigrant, that was more my mother’s thing.
I wasn’t exactly a bad girl. But I still never really fit in with the other girls–mostly white girls with money. It made sense that I would gravitate towards Lana. Like me, she didn’t come from money. She was getting financial aid and her parents were working hard to keep her at boarding school.
She wasn’t a bad girl, either. Wicked would be a better word for her. Or sneaky. Or sly.
Lana was the type of straight A, overachieving teacher’s pet that had the faculty wrapped around her finger. They all thought the world of her. It’s hard to imagine that they had any idea what she was really like away from the classroom and the student government meetings and the Honors clubs. Hell–I didn’t even have an idea. Not at first.