She was gorgeous. I couldn't help but stare, taking in the richness of her beauty.
The other girls flock around her, chattering, and she laughs with some, ignoring others. Freya. The meanest girl ever to go to Collaridge Girls High. Oh how I hate her. She made me welcome that very first day with her charming smile and smooth tongue. As soon as I turned my back that very first time I heard the whispers of my name on there lips, followed quickly by names I won't repeat.
Turning my eyes away, I stare at the ground. The teacher comes in, braying out orders to sit down. I find a seat at the end of a row. The girls next to me vacate their desks immediately. I am glad of it. I work better on my own, and always have.
The teacher asks a question. I put up my hand. I always know the answer. Another thing that gets me into trouble with others. Teachers pet. I don't care, or pretend to myself I don't.
The other girls are slumping in their seat, paying no attention whatsoever. I answer the question; correctly as usual. It's not like it's hard. It's only area and perimeter; I could do this in my sleep.
The day blurs itself by, as per usual. Only English class is different. The teacher announces that the class will be entering a State writing competition, short stories and poetry. First prize: A scholarship in the capital. I'm startled. Surely she knows that almost no-one in this class is remotely talented in anything except gossip. A round of groans emanate from the room at the news. "Now girls, it's not all that hard. We will be working on this for the next week, whether you like it or not." Like I need any encouragement! "Now, hands up for those who will be doing poetry." I raise my hand. Anything to get me out of this place! No one else does. "And stories?" Again no hands. Freya is glaring at the teacher as if to force her into submission. "Fine. If you refuse to choose, I will choose for you." The teacher swiftly divides the girls in half. My side of the room is doing poetry, Freya's side stories. The girls with poetry look devastated that they have to work separated from Freya. I take no notice. All through class, and afterwards on the way home, I am ecstatic. Finally my chance to rise above this dreg of a life! All I need to do now is seize this chance..
Flouncing into the room as usual, I laugh and gossip with my "friends". Can I really call them that? I don't think so. "Admirers" is closer to the mark. All those who have set me upon the pedestal. What for? My face? My hair? My ruthlessness in exposing facts people hide? Sometimes I love things this way, and sometimes I feel so caught up in it, like in a spiders' web. I need to cut loose, so I lash out even worse, mostly at Elea. Stupid cow, always sitting in the corner, with perfect grades that I could never achieve, with her parents who encourage her all the way rather than.. No, not that way. I am NOT jealous of that girl.
The teacher comes in and sits down, spitting in our direction to indicate we do the same. I hate maths. I can never understand, and I can't ask. Never ever, no way. I sleep through most of the period, as usual.
At lunch, I sit with my "friends". There are so many they overflow into the table next to mine. I tell them new things about Elea and they hang on my every word, rolling their eyes and adding to the pile of things they hate about ugly little bookworm know-it-all I'm-better-than-everyone- else Elea. "And did you see her answer every single question in Geography? Honestly, she's such a show-off." "Yeah, and she was asking enough questions to get us extra homework!" "Stupid cow." "And always sucking up to the teachers," I add. This always makes me feel better. I am so much better off than her. In every way. ****
English class is always hell for me. My only talent is with words, but I'd be screwed if I showed interest with schoolwork, so as usual I drift off into a half-sleep, only vaguely taking in the words of the teacher up front. Then, I sat up suddenly as the teacher announces "Girls, this class, among others, will be entering the State Writing competition, for both short stories and poetry. First prize is a scholarship in the capital. And," she tries to continue, but is cut off by the resounding groans from everyone except myself and Elea. I quickly groan as well. "Now girls, it's not all that hard. We will be working on this for the next week, whether you like it or not." I am glaring daggers at the woman, anything but this, no way are they going to make me do this."Now hands up for poetry." Elea raises her hand. No one else does. We are all still glaring at the teacher. "Stories?" Again no hands. She begins berating us, but I am not listening. Maybe I could leave here. Leave this place. If I could win, which I doubt. Miss never-pay-attention-and-proud-of-it. But it never hurts to try.
After class, my head is still swimming, and I ignore all the complaints my friends whine about the enforced entry to the competition. I already have ideas forming in my head of a plot, a character, a story..
AN: What do you think? This is my first ever story people, I really need the feedback. r/r? (