Southern Belle

Ch. 21 Cadet Belle Wilkes

"Do it again!"

"Yes, m'am!"

And so, I did. In four hours, I somewhat mastered the runway walk. Of course, it only took about forty falls, six bruises, and a large cut on the back of my foot, but I almost walked in a straight line without falling flat on my face. The only reason I was successful, unfortunately, was because I moved only about an inch a minute.

After we accomplished that, we began working on my speech. Apparently, my slight accent was unattractive and annoying, so it had to be fixed. Personally, I felt that the way I talked was fine, but Cara felt otherwise.

"You sound like a moron. Try again," she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her with a whip. The little bitch had a load of torture devices in her bag along with her beauty supplies.

"Hello, I am Belle Wilkes. How do ya do." The words came out prominent and awkward, and the general shook her head before smacking my hand with her weapon. Cringing, I pulled my hand back before she could hit again.

"Try again. Is your name really Belle? Are you sure that's not a nickname for something prettier?"

"No, it's Belle."

"Really?" Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and her lips pursed. I nodded once again. "Well, when you introduce yourself, your name will be Isabelle. Isabelle could be a queen's name, and Belle is the name of that ugly princess who banged the beast."

I inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to regain my composure. I had to remember that this was a little girl, and it would be extremely wrong to hit her.

A little girl that was probably the spawn of the Devil and Kristen Stewart.

"Anyhow, say the phrase again," she commanded, tapping her hand away at the marble table top. Her nostrils flared as she spoke, and she almost looked constipated.

"Hello, my name is Isabelle Wilkes," I paused as the correct accent left my mouth. My grin stretched from ear-to-ear, and the anxiety seemed to flow out of my body. "How do ya do?"

There went my perfect greeting.

"You were so close!" she screamed, her blue orbs glowering at me. Instantly, she plopped out of her chair, with the whip waving back and forth. "Give me ten sit-ups!"

Groaning, I went onto my back and prayed to God that I would just die already. This was worse than the time Mel accidentally burned my entire leg when she waxed it. I was a hopeless cause, and this girl just had to understand that.

"One!"

My back propelled forward, and I could already feel my muscles straining.

"Two!"

"How much are you getting paid to do tihs?" I spat while moving back down onto the floor. Sweat began pooling on my forehead; the heat rose to my cheeks.

"Not enough," she grumbled, jamming her hands into the pockets of her army shirt. "This is a waste of my day. I have to get ready for the ball, too, you know."

Rolling my eyes, I hoisted myself up and down, and the counting continued. After about fifteen minutes of sweat and blood, I had managed to do ten sit-ups. Hooray for me.

Cara, quite frankly, was done with me. Her face drooped with exhaustion, her eyes were so squinted that I couldn't see her irises, and her shoulders hunched over. This phrase was the only thing she wanted me to say, and I couldn't do it perfectly.

"Okay," she huffed out, running a hand through her knotty hair, "just say the phrase, and I'll go on my merry way. I already got your dress and makeup plans, so  we don't need to go over that. There would've been more to the lesson, but you're just a crappy student, and I'm not capable of teaching you anymore."

The skin on my face transformed from a pale tone to a bright red. Shaking, I moved my clenched fists in the air. "Fine, I'll say the phrase! Oh my fucking God, I am Belle Wilkes! I don't care how the fuck you are doing, so bow down to your master!"

Mumbling to herself, she snatched her tote off of the floor and stomped out of the room. I followed her out with a victorious smile. I had broken the bitch, and I could finally go up to my room and sleep. When we left the room, a new pair of icy blue eyes bore into mine, stopping me in my tracks.

Nick, leaning against the wall of the hallway, was dressed in a pair of red athletic shorts and white sneakers. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face, and his chest rapidly pulsed with each breath. He grinned at me and chuckled, "Nice outfit, Care. I told you to whip her into shape, but I didn't mean the literally."

She pouted and stuck out her left hand towards him. "Whatever," she sighed, "just give me the fifty bucks you promised. She's a hopeless cause."

He cocked his head to the side and flicked his hair across his forehead. "Well, I said I would give you fifty if she came out as elegant as the Queen of England. Since she still has the elegance of a confused giraffe, I'll give you twenty." His hand yanked a green bill from his leather wallet.

"Deal. I'm too tired to fight." She accepted his money and ran off down the spiral staircase, leaving the boy and I in silence.

Rubbing my aching shoulders, I inhaled and exhaled slowly. That was about six hours of misery, and eighty percent of my body was throbbing. "I'm going to my room."

"You go do that," he chuckled. "I'm going to go to my suit fitting for the ball. By the way, I hope you listened to her. She was your life-line for winning the bet."

My eyebrows furrowed in concentration as the memories of the lesson zipped through my mind. What had she said? I was too busy sulking to actually pay attention. Did I remember how to move in heels? Curtsy? I barely learned anything because I was so unteachable. 

My mouth dropped open, but only air came out. Smirking, the brat winked at me before disappearing into the darkness of the nearby room.

How was I going to survive this event?

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