Life is hard for Victoria Walker. Her family is composed of geniuses, she lives in a boarding school for prodigies, and she only has a 99 average.
She can't wait to get away to college, until she meets Lizzi and Thomas, two of the Prodigies who als...
I have a confession to make: I'm pretty much normal.
I know, I know. It's hard to believe. I mean, you look at my brother - sixteen years old and already a full-time tech genius at some fancy-sounding company- and my older sis who, at five, had already mastered two instruments and you think "Wow Victoria, what fantastic things can you do?"
Well guess what you over-expecting under achievers, I can't do shit! Actually that's not true, I can balance a spoon on my nose for a total of 7 minutes which, personally, I consider a fabulous achievement.
So that's that. In reality, my life's pretty dull at the moment. It starts at 6 am with the much dreaded BBBLLLLLAAAAAAA BLLAAAA BLLLAAAAAAA.
Hearing it for the first time, one might assume the house is on fire. Nope! That's my alarm. Now that I think about it though, some smoke and burning gas might force me to get up a little sooner. I'd have to weigh the disadvantages....
Right! So 6 AM alarm goes off and you can pretty much count on me laying in bed with mouth open and drool falling out for another ugly ten minutes at least. But then I hop up and, like the amazing supernatural being I am, my hair is not knotty at all and I'm full of energy with makeup all done- yeah right.
Let it suffice to say a Zombie would be terrified of morning me and we can just skip the horrific details of getting ready. I'm willing to bet you do it all everyday anyway. So let's fast forward a bit. Shower-teeth-hair-makeup-hair again because it wasn't perfect the first time-clothes- oh right! Clothes. That's the only blessed aspect of my wretched mornings: I have a uniform.
Its a hideous affair, mind, with a green and yellowskirt (who on this beautiful Earth was so demented to believe green and yellow were an okay mix, I have no idea) and a white shirt that's only relatively ugly. And the great thing about private school? Everyone wears the same shitty outfit, so no one could care less about my shitty outfit.
Now lets jump from my typical morning to this morning. Boring routine done, I check my clock. It's 6:55 and the yellow vehicle that kidnaps children comes at 7:05. One would think that, with ten minutes to spare, I would have time for a quick little breakfast. Maybe a bagel or a quick snack on the way out. Ha! Well this is my life so NOPE. The problem with 10 minutes left to get to my bus? See below:
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A 30 freaking minute walk!!! Does society not understand that they cannot expect teenagers to function at such an ungodly time, let alone walk half-an-hour!? Preserve the young of society is, after all, a rule of nature. And if it isn't it most definitely should be!
That said, you might be wondering why this walk is even necessary. After all, according to that beautiful map above I live at an academy. So why would I go to school "somewhere that way"? Well I don't feel like explaining just now, so you'll just have to wait to find out.
What I do feel like explaining is how I manage it.
I believe its fairly self-explanatory to say its difficult to fit a 30 minute walk into 10 minutes. Its possible, sure, but to do so requires a little word called effort. You may not of heard of it. Pronounced efert (the foolish internet insists the second e is upside down, but life is simply too short to care)it is one of those uniquely useless words that proud people use to be proud of themselves and lazy people use to scorn non-lazy people.
I am (ironically) proud to say that I belong in the former category and, therefore, I prevent extending such "efert" to avoid the scorn of my fellow lazy people. I am a victim of my people!
Luckily I have Elvis. What would I do without him?
In all honesty I've never met the man- he might not even be a man- but I imagine him with the sleek 60s hair and a white bedazzled jumpsuit. The point is, Elvis is about the only person on campus who does two very important things.
1) He leaves his rusty blue bike- adorned with "I Love Elvis" stickers- outside the dorms completely unlocked.
2) He never realizes its been stolen. At least , he's never reported it. It's not really stealing, anyway, because I return it everyday at 3 PM when I get home from school... or six PM if I'm out with friends... or...yep, Its stealing.
Anyways, the best thing about Elvis? He never fails in these two things.
So it comes to be that at 6:55 I fly down the stairs in my hideous puke-skirt , manage to have time to pop my head into my father's office, mutter some unintelligible phrase which sometimes might even sound like "I love you," and make it to Elvis's bike in under a minute.
If it wasn't for the required efert, I think I would be a pretty good sprinter. As it happens, I'd also make a pretty good cyclist. In an instant I am grabbing the trusty Elvis-mobile from the bike rack, ready to do the final sprint to the bus when Jolt!
The bike doesn't budge. Startled, I yank it again, but then I see the unbelievable. Elvis has betrayed me! The one man who I thought I could trust had broken the first rule of our relationship. A shiny new bike lock attached the Elvis-mobile to the rack.
Well shit. Shitshitshit.
Have you ever had one of those moments? When you thought you found that one person you could trust, then they go and break your heart with ruthless cruelty. Well this wasn't that moment, because Elvis wasn't that man (not even the real Elvis, sorry Presley). But it was pretty darn close to such a betrayal.
And then Elv- no, he no longer deserves that name- Bikeman broke rule number two of our ex-relationship. Taped to the bike seat that, on any other day, my butt would be firmly placed upon was a note.
Sorry Bike thief,
Ineed it today. You can have it tomorrow.
He knew.
How dare you Elvis!!! I was not being at all overdramatic when I ripped the letter apart and shoved the pieces into my pocket (I might be a bike thief but I'm not a litterer!)
Its 6:57 according to my phone and I am left with only two options. I could sit down in defeat or I could go back inside and whine to my father to give me a ride. Option number one was sounding pretty appealing. I could do some baking, catch up on my homework- which I was hopelessly behind on- and sleep a little longer.
No, you are never defeated Victoria Rose Walter!
And, of course, my inner voice was 100% correct. I am no defeatist, I am a whiner! And whiners are winners. So I turn around and march with purpose back to my father's office and, with a proud chin up and an eloquence that astounded even me, I say "Dad, could you pleeaasse give me a ride to school?" Who could say no to that? Mission accomplished, right?
Wrong.
**** Hey yall! Hows it going? I'd like to remind you to vote and comment if you liked the story. I'll try to update at least once a week! Hit me up with a follow and don't be afraid to send me some messages. -TFA
