Exception

une.

"Choose your words 'cause there's no antidote. For this curse"  

"This is repulsive."

"It's just a skirt..."

"Where exactly does it say that I have to wear this?"

Cierra spun around to face her mother who was positioned, leaning against Cierra's old decaying door frame. In one hand a mug of fresh coffee, the steam off it rolling into clouds and eventually disappearing into the crisp morning air. The scent of it left a distinct bitter smell drifting through her room. She scrunched her nose in distaste. She had never been one for coffee. It never ceased to amaze Cierra how her mother remained looking so unbothered by most things, her glossy dark hair that fell just past her shoulders, obviously slicked back by natural oils and the essential oils that were dabbed onto almost everything she owned. In the sunlight, the thick black strands glowed into a crimson, and a sprinkling of just enough freckles sat on her nose bridge, her mothers a face had always been one she resented not inheriting.

"Don't snatch Cierra,"
Cierra frowned, raising an eyebrow before grabbing the paper her mother had been holding in a not-so-discrete way. She faced away from her and began scouring over the printed words compiled in clean order on the list.,' Plaid skirts are expected to be worn below the knee- Black stockings are to be worn, kept untorn and clean at all times. School jumpers, worn over white collared shirts'

"Why didn't you tell me you knew about this, sooner," She said running her hands down the plaid material of the skirt against her thighs. 

"I knew you would make a big deal out of something that simply isn't that bad"

"It's sexist mum." Her lips turned downwards as she stared at her mother

" I agree that them not allowing you to wear pants is..' her mother hesitated 'questionable but, skirts are not the enemy. However, feel free to continue your uprising against the patriarchy at the school... AFTER you get to the top of your class"

Cierra's breath shallowed before she let the silence sit In the room for long enough that her frustration passed

"I just look... Odd" She said quietly

"You don't look odd. "
"Mum, I look like...like not like me."
"You can't look not like you, you are you. No matter what you wear."

Cierra softened, it wasn't that she hated the skirt or the new change that was speeding towards her, it was something else... maybe a feeling she couldn't shake.

'Stop frowning you'll get wrinkles" Her mum pointed towards the crease in between Cierra's eyebrows with a smirk playing on her lips
Cierra smiled, "What?...like you?" 

Her facial expression quickly changed from content to impatient as she rolled her eyes grabbing back the piece of paper from Cierra's hands.

"At least I don't have to wear a preppy uniform" Her mother commented

Cierra scowled "I thought you said I was being dramatic about it" 

"You are, doesn't mean I can't make fun" She gave a sly smile before walking over to her side, she kissed her cheek tenderly "You are going to do great"

With a long sigh, she let out a tired nod. Her mother didn't have to say anything else to know Cierra needed alone time. She walked out, coffee still in hand. The scent of it still lingering.

Her chest rose and fell, eyes examining her face. She looked at the small acne scars from pimples that battled with her impatience to pop them and her pale skin which always contrasted against the dark brown hair she'd gotten from her father. Each little split-end was more obvious than she would like to have admitted. 

She tilted her head slightly staring at her hands in the reflection. 'Piano players hands' enough people had commented, which she had always taken as a compliment, they were long and slim but spoilt by her consistent picking of the skin that lay around the beds of them. A habit she was yet to break. Her eyes were one of the only features she simultaneously hated and loved. They changed from green to gold-laced hazel depending on the day. 

She glanced over to the bag which she had packed for the drive to the school she would be making tomorrow, in it was one of her favourite poetry books, she reached towards it, the feeling of the book's familiar weight and hardcover was a touch that always had relieved her fears. Her fingertips grazed each worn page before landing on the quote she was looking for 

"Perhaps it requires of you precisely this existential anxiety in order to begin. Precisely these days of transition are perhaps the period when everything in you is working.."

The recollection of receiving the letter which encompassed her invite to attend Bridgeton was a memory she had thought over enough times to now be able to believe it had even happened at all. It was widely known that scouts for the school never came forward with who they really were, they simply watched, analysed and then reported back to the school board on whether they wanted to invite the student to the school. All of the scouts were elite alumni of the school and even now Cierra still did not know the identity of the scout who had found her, in fact she couldn't even recall an event where one would have been present.

She had racked her memory of people who attended her piano concerts, school assemblies and even substitute teachers. The one true thing Cierra couldn't understand was why they even wanted her in the first place, while she enjoyed school and generally got high grades, her only real skill of any value was piano and she was far from the skill and talent of past piano players who had been known to attend Bridgeton. She had thoroughly considered writing an email or calling to see if it had been a mistake or mix-up in her invitation but her mother's bright smile and prideful comments to family friends had convinced her not to even risk the loss of this opportunity. 

Her past school, St Agathas had been one where she never had many aversions, she had few friends who even then she perceived as mere acquaintances. People who she shared recitals with through the years or sat with at lunch, generally her main goal had always been to be invisible enough that she could get through her sandwich and apple before rushing to the bathroom where she hid in one of the stalls. It was gross, she was aware that choosing to sit where people quite literally took shits was questionable. But she found it to be the only quiet enough place to re-read the latest book or to escape the sounds and conversation that always overstimulated her.

One of the biggest ironies at her school was the posters covering each wall with anti-bullying posters. Traditional cartoons of men bullying archetype 'nerds' with stupid slogans over the top. It was ironic because she and everyone in that school knew the real bullies were the ones who had found their way around the classic examples of bullying were the girls spritzed in perfumes which reminded Cierra of the vanilla toilet sprays you could buy at any local supermarket. Those girls prided themselves on their ability to make others feel small with a single look. They used backhanded compliments as a weapon of mass destruction. Cierra remembered the many times she'd been told she was 'pretty- but not traditionally', 'pale- but high fashion pale'. Cierra was very aware she was in fact not in high fashion.

However through the entirety of her time there she knew at least at Bridgerton the education would excel far enough to challenge her and allow her to meet the next group of political, musical and artistic leaders. Whether she was good enough to fit in with them was a question she would have to find out herself.