Necropolis

What Could Have Been

"Welcome Students," Mrs. Winston announced through the classroom TV as the last herd of blue cardigan-clad students scurried into their classrooms. "No doubt you're wondering why you're in your classrooms today and not in the auditorium commencing the school year, as we usually do here at Rosslyn Hall. In light of recent events, we thought that it would be better for the safety of the student body not to gather all the students in one place. Our priority here, at Rosslyn Hall, is your protection." Mrs. Winston assured solemnly.

Laurel stared glassy-eyed at the screen and blinked a few times. Over the years she had heard this type of speech before; safety, recent events, protection, blah-blah-blah. How were "recent events" any different than the events of the past seventeen years? She wondered. Rumors that the shield would fail, and leave the citizens of the Metrodome exposed to their enemies, had been circulating her entire life. Shield status was lumped with the weather and traffic, on every morning and evening news show.

Safety was a very low priority for Laurel this morning. She had other things in mind. In fact, she had been obsessing over this day for the past two weeks. Today was the day she would be presented with her award. A mixture of excitement, pride, vindication, and anxiety churned uneasily in her stomach. She had been working on achieving this one goal in school since she was ten years old. Though she hated to admit it, she hoped that this award would show her classmates that she was somebody of importance outside of school—someone who mattered. Because in school, she didn't feel like she mattered at all.

For some reason that eluded her, Laurel had never fitted in with her classmates, even though she'd been with this same group of kids since grade school. They all had their clicks and groups, even the new kids, the outcasts, and the nerds had their own groups—but Laurel didn't fit into any of them. She didn't think she was shy, but she never knew what to say to them either. She had never figured out what girls could talk and giggle about for hours on end. Nor had she ever discovered why the boys laughed, hit each other then laughed again. Even when she stood among them, their conversations seemed so...so... perplexing to her. She had no idea why they found certain things funny or interesting. Laurel simply did not get it. Socially, she had two left feet. So being presented with this award in front of the whole school meant proof that she had a life. Hopefully, it would result in respect or admiration, maybe even envy.

But now, Mrs. Winston was telling them that she would not get her award in front of everyone. On one hand, this was better, it took some of the pressure off. But on the other hand, she would not get to see the expressions on her classmate's faces when she, Laurel Garner, got rewarded for being a brilliant, talented, professional, ballerina.

When Laurel found Ballet in the third grade, she grabbed hold of it and scarcely did anything else. At the studio, she was the leader, respected and admired by the other girls. Sadly none of these girls attended school with her. The teachers called only on her to show the other girls how to do a pose. She was the "natural" as they called her, the one who could stretch her joints in unnatural ways with grace. Laurel Garner was the Academy's "little prodigy". They nurtured her and planned for her future as if she were their own daughter. And this last summer all the instructors had the satisfaction of seeing their little star perform with the Professional Metrodome Ballet Company. Something no High School student had ever done before.

At Rosslyn Hall, it was all very different. Academically she did okay. Mostly thanks to the fact that she had Eidetic Memory—perfect recall. This was something that her dad told her was a double-edged sword. Her parents were always amazed at Laurel's wondrous ability to remember things she had only seen or heard once. This helped Laurel keep her grades up. However, she never internalized any of the right answers she got. She merely recited all the information she could remember back onto to the tests—hence the double edge. She remembered everything but knew nothing.