"I've had some trouble fitting in, but I've been a stand up, stand up citizen..."
- Green Trees & Red Hearts, Nat Jay
The seniors of the Pierson-Darcy Academy filtered into the small antechamber, murmuring between themselves, in a sleepy, happy daze. Some lingered by the door, some stood regally by the adjourned walls, whilst others simply flitted between the couches, attempting to spot an empty seat. The first formal assembly of the year demanded, at the least, semi-smart attire; something which the senior students clearly had no problem with. The boys wore well-fitting, clearly designer blazers, the girls in perfectly ironed skirts and heels.
The low rumble of chatter crumbled just as quickly as it had began, at the sound of the grand mahogany doors opening before them. All of them stopped to stare, the few sitting in comfort rising in respect.
"Students, if you would like to seat yourselves accordingly, our Principal shall be with us shortly." A perfectly manicured blonde woman told them all softly, moving aside as the crowd began to move, the noise rising in excitement.
The Pierson-Darcy Academy was a small, private boarding school, with only a hundred students to a grade. It was the type of place where everybody knew everybody – families, likes, dislikes, grades. Few things were able to remain a secret in the close-knit community of Pierson-Darcy; and the seniors were no different, having managed the last three years with minimal effort. Some considered this year's senior class to be the best so far – they, as a grade, had the best statistics in all areas; sports, academia and out-of-school honours alike.
Hence the lack of need for grand, cold halls – instead, a small, plush reception room instead. Chairs lined the room, the students comfortably close to one another as they sat on the silken furniture.
Elizabeth – known to her friends as Lizzie – Carmichael surveyed the crowd, as she self-consciously waited for her friends to join her. The seats were filling up quickly and Lizzie wasn't one to stop another, even if the seats beside her were reserved.
She'd been one of the first to slip in past the crowd and sit down, happy to remain unseen. Honestly, she much rather would have spent her first morning back re-familiarizing herself with the enormous library that Elizabeth considered more her dormitory, than her room itself. But, alas... They had a formal address with Principal Sheldon instead.
The people classically considered the punks/skater/Goth kids shuffled in the corner, right to Elizabeth, furthest away from the large, wall-sized windows. Elizabeth glanced quickly once, before darting her eyes away, too afraid to make eye contact.
A young girl named Symphony Banks was among them – known as Honey to only very close friends – her boyfriend's hand resting on the top of her thigh. Symphony, as always, had a guarded, sneering scowl on her face, her long, iron-straight black hair falling past her shoulders. She watched on as Reid Danes was smacked upon the head by James Spencer, as he and his girlfriend, Abigail Smith, shoved past him. Symphony heard somebody beside her mutter "loser" under her breath – and she couldn't agree more. Though which was the bigger loser out of Reid Danes and James Spencer, was debatable. Whereas Reid Danes rarely spoke and often shuffled around with his face facing the floor, James Spencer was the resident sports star and compulsory school jackass. His blonde harlot of a girlfriend, Abigail, was no different, exempt she pretended to be dumber than a rock intellectually, despite being an A-grade student. She fooled no-one, but tried to, regardless.
As it happened, Abigail was judging that slut Symphony and her germ of a boyfriend as he groped her, as she sashayed past, James on her arm. They'd spent the summer together on her family's ranch in Texas and Abigail had returned refreshed and ready for the new year. Although James and her weren't strictly exclusive – between themselves, not publicly, publicly they were a force to be reckoned with – she felt smug to be sauntering down the aisles of chairs on his arm. Whoever had described them as new money clearly had no concept of the phrase – James and Abigail stopped at the front row, saved for the elite, and sat just as happily and comfortably as the others.
Ah, yes, the elite. There were four of them, excluding James and Abigail – they were considered the Divine Powers of Pierson-Darcy, the best of friends, the richest of them all and the most exclusive of all the many cliques Pierson-Darcy had to offer; despite its mission statement preaching equality in its embossed brochure.
There were the Bellemont siblings, Lucinda and Everett. The both of them had sandy blonde hair, large, startlingly hazel eyes and soft, kind features. Their parents were both two of the top cardiac surgeons on the continental US and owned a large chain of private practices across the country. Both were kind, polite, honest and extraordinarily close for twin siblings. They were sitting together at the front, now, Everett calmly murmuring something in his sister's ear, Lucinda nodding in agreement.
Beside Lucinda was Scarlett Pemberley, a young girl with plain brown hair and eyes the colour of ice. Scarlett was politely listening to Abigail bore her with details of her summer in Texas, occasionally pausing to gush over some inconsequential part of Scarlett's outfit. James Spencer sat beside her on the end of the row, looking unimpressed at the podium before him, his grey eyes filled with malice.
The last remaining member of the group sat at the window seat, overlooking the perfect green lawn, as if he'd been there his entire life. He had one knee risen, an untranslated copy of Dante's Inferno resting upon it, his earphones nestled into his ears as he listened to his iPod to drown out the sound of chatter surrounding him. He had messy black hair, eyes that were a deep, forest green and wore a concentrated expression that showed off his high cheekbones and square jaw as he frowned thoughtfully at the piece before him. His name was Alexander – or, as he was more commonly known, Zane - Westchester.
The large doors that the students had entered through closed loudly, the crowd instantly dissenting into silence. Everett Bellemont quickly leant up and whacked at Zane Westchester's knee, causing Zane to quickly pull out his earphones, grab his backpack and slide into the seat beside him, his book in his lap as he tapped at his iPhone. His eyes darted between the device before him and the podium as his fingers flew effortlessly over the screen.
Once the students had settled into utter silence, a door at the side opened and the Principal entered.
Principal Sheldon was fairly young to be managing such a regarded school, in her mid-fifties. Grey streaked through her raven-coloured hair, a severe expression to match the clean-cut of her black skirt suit and dark, almost black eyes.
Zane Westchester slipped his iPhone into his pocket and glanced at Everett beside him, who raised his eyebrows at him in acknowledgement.
"Good morning, seniors." Principal Sheldon's voice was curt, accentuated with an intonation that was indistinguishable to most of the students that sat before her. "I trust I have your full attention?"
The students shrugged and murmured in agreement.
"Excellent." Principal Sheldon smiled stiffly. Her eyes scoured the crowd, missing nothing – the petrified-looking girls at the back, the students at the side glowering at her and exchanging gum underneath their chairs, the quiet, shuffling boy who was beginning to take pictures that would later be published in The Arrow, the school newsletter. "As I'm sure you are all aware, this year's senior class are not only expected to accomplish-"
Only the senior class never quite got to find out what it was that they were expected to accomplish, as the large mahogany doors burst open.
"Sorry I'm late." The girl – who had burst through the doors – said apologetically. The seniors all turned to gape at her as she closed the doors loudly behind her. "I had some trouble finding the place and by then, I was already running late because of the queue at Starbucks and the jam on the I-95..."
At receiving no response, the girl seemed to pause and take a moment to acknowledge her surroundings, an inquisitive, almost childish naivety on her face as she watched them all. Ninety-nine students stared back at her, aghast.
Elizabeth Carmichael covered her mouth, her cheeks flaring in embarrassment for the stranger.
Symphony Banks' jaw dropped and she tried to bite back a laugh.
James Spencer and Abigail Smith glanced at her dismissively, already having decided she wasn't worth looking at for much longer.
Reid Danes silently took a picture, smiling to himself as he thought of the amount of people who would be going crazy, looking for a picture of the stranger to scrutinize later.
Scarlett Pemberley and the Bellemont twins all glanced at each other, before turning in their seats to look at the newcomer in surprise.
And as Zane Westchester's eyes met the girl's eyes as she propped her gold-rim Ray Ban Aviators from her nose to the top of her head, and her expression flashed with recognition, Zane Westchester chuckled lightly to himself, Everett turning and looking at him in confusion.
Even if all of the senior students didn't already know each other's full names by heart, they would have been able to tell that this girl was new to the Academy. Her long, black hair – that looked slightly red in the light – fell in wavy, curling tresses past her shoulders. Now that she'd removed her sunglasses, they could all see her startlingly large and bright blue eyes, as well as full, pink lips, rosy cheeks, high cheekbones and thick, long eyelashes.
The girls in the room sneered at her as they took in her clothes. She was the only female not wearing a skirt – she was in skinny black jeans, black, knee-length Converses and a tight, short-sleeved blouse. The majority of the girls in the room instantly decided she was a slut, for wearing something so revealing, despite their own previous, much worse, indiscretions – it was low at the neck and was small enough to show a strip of toned skin between the waistband of her Levis and her blouse. They didn't know it was one of the few smart blouses she owned.
She had a black, leather jacket flung over the top of the small, leather messenger bag, the strap of which was resting on her shoulder, her grip on it tightening slightly. Her nails were long and back and she wore an assortment of mismatched jewellery; a ring on each hand, decorated with a black or gold rose; a charm bracelet, with the rose and other dark pieces and an assortment of leather bracelets on one arm; a worn, studded silver friendship bracelet with red beads on the other; and, finally, a golden charmed necklace, adjourned with feathers that dropped suggestively into her blouse, the chain covered in small, turquoise beads. She held a Starbucks mocha frappuccino in one hand, it looking slippery with condensation.
It even took Principal Sheldon a few moments to recover.
"Can I help you, Miss-?"
"Oh, it's Libby." The girl told her calmly, flashing her a quick, confident smile. The rest of the students – particularly the female population – scoffed at her disinterest in their judgement of her. "Just Libby. Well, I mean, it's Liberty, but everyone just calls me Libby. No titles."
"Well, Miss Liber-" Principal Sheldon stopped, and only four of the front row managed to notice the almost imperceptible amount of shock that clouded Principal Sheldon's features. "Miss Lysander, please take a seat."
The new girl – Libby – grimaced at the use of her surname, the room bursting into shocked and scandalized chatter at the sound of it. Libby glanced around the room, raising her eyebrows at Principal Sheldon – she couldn't see any seats available, and she was beginning to grow irritated of people staring at her as she stood amidst them all.
"There isn't one." Libby stated obviously, as Principal Sheldon only stared resolutely back at her.
"There's one here, Principal."
The room fell silent again, at the sound of Zane Westchester's deep, velvety-smooth voice. Meeting her own eyes with his, Libby raised her eyebrows, noticing his row at the front turning to gape at him in shock.
"Miss Lysander, if you'd take a seat."
Miss Lysander glared slightly at her supposed saviour, before stalking over and settling down beside him.
"Hello again." Zane murmured, looking amused.
"Goodbye again." Libby muttered, shooting him a look that was nowhere near as menacing as it was meant to be. If anything, she looked just as amused as Zane did.
A girl behind Libby tapped her incessantly on the shoulder.
"Are you really a Lysander?" She demanded rudely, as soon as Libby turned around.
Libby pretended to think for a moment.
"Well..." She said thoughtfully, arranging her expression into a carefully dumb one. "Not unless I'm not."
"Now, where was I?" Principal Sheldon began – only to be interrupted a second time, by a ringtone blaring out the lyrics "kick out the epic motherfucker!" and a heavy dance beat.
Libby blinked guiltily as the Bellemont twins, Zane Westchester, Scarlett Pemberley, James Spencer and Abigail Smith all turned to her.
"It's meant to be emergencies only, for God's sake." Libby muttered to herself, leaning her hips upward as she rummaged in her back pocket for her phone.
"Miss Lysander-" Principal Sheldon said evenly, only for Libby to ignore her. Elizabeth Carmichael gaped at the new girl's audacity.
"Hi, Granddaddy. Yes, Granddaddy. I got here fine, Granddaddy. No, Granddaddy, she's here, giving us a formal address which is why I have to – no, I – but-" Libby sighed and looked at the Principal. "It's for you."
It was the first time any of the student body had ever seen her hesitate.
"Hello?" Principal Sheldon coughed, taking the studded iPhone case. "Marcus Lysander, I pre- why, yes, of course – no, I – yes, sir. Of course. Most definitely." Principal Sheldon's cheeks turned slightly pink. "Of course, sir. Yes, thank you, sir. Yes, goodbye." Principal Sheldon then awkwardly leant down the podium, handing Libby back her phone.
"Thanks." Libby told her, tapping at it for a moment, before slipping it back into her pocket. She then slouched comfortably in her chair, sucking at the green straw of her frappuccino. "You should be able to carry on without any interruptions from me, now. Sorry."
Although Libby's delivery was entirely polite, the rest of her classmates seemed to sense an undercurrent of rebellion in her. It didn't help that she didn't fit in at all – something Libby had become instantly aware of, despite the fact that her surname had caused the room to erupt in gasps, though the reason as to why was truly beyond her.
Principal Sheldon didn't manage to finish her speech – the bell rang by the time she'd managed to recompose herself. Elizabeth Carmichael, who had been aptly watching Liberty Lysander ever since she'd walked in, lost sight of her as the crowd rose out of their seats. She'd barely managed to see her face – even now, she just caught a glimpse of a curtain of perfectly curling brunette hair, as she bent to pick something up.
"I can't believe that's actually Liberty Lysander. She doesn't fit in at all!" A girl beside Elizabeth hissed. Elizabeth didn't know her very well – they were more acquaintances than friends – but all the same, Elizabeth shrugged.
"I don't know." Elizabeth replied thoughtfully, pulling her sleeves past her wrists self-consciously. "Maybe that's the point."
"But she's a Lysander." The girl insisted. "She can't be like that."
"Well, she is." Elizabeth said carelessly. She'd lost sight of the entire first row now. "She'll be one of them by default."
The girl didn't seem to be happy with this response and huffed away, undoubtedly to go and ask somebody else what they thought of the scandalous new addition to Pierson-Darcy.
Elizabeth thought about Liberty, as she made her way out of the reception room; and then later in the antechamber and, even, finally, as she left the building itself. Symphony Banks seemed to be in thought too, despite her boyfriend kissing her neck, whilst Reid Danes was caught in the rare act of smiling as he clicked through his camera, James Spencer barrelling past him.
"A word, Miss Lysander?"
Libby stopped, wincing slightly at the command in Principal Sheldon's voice.
"Sure, Principal." Libby replied, putting her happy face back on.
She hadn't even been there for five minutes, and it was already clear to her how much the Pierson-Darcy Academy was in need of a girl just like Libby.
Feedback would make a sad writer happy.
Libby's ringtone; Kick Out the Epic Motherfucker, Dada Life.
- TPR x