I ARRIVED HERE on a Friday, for better or for worse.
I came to Richmond Park Academy with naught but Grandmother's clothes and a bunch of stationeries. My parents had entrusted into my own hands the purchase of my uniform, along with textbooks according to curricular requirements.
By the time I woke up, it was 10 o'clock on a Saturday morning. The room smelled faintly of vanilla even though the scented candles had long since burnt out. I had stayed up to read about 'methodological and philosophical naturalism' - hopefully this would place me one rung higher on the nerd hierarchy, if there ever was such a thing.
There wasn't much beyond the four walls of Richmond Park Academy. My window overlooked a lush, green forest of pine trees. I slid the glass pane open, and I revelled for several seconds in the taste of cold air against my tongue. Against the backdrop of chirping birds, I dragged myself to the sink so I could wash and banish the remnants of sleep from my system.
This morning was cold for late September. It probably had to do with my lack of clothes. I slept best nude, and best believe being away from home wasn't going to change a thing. My inclination had caused some... difficulties in the past when platonic male friends slept over. But ultimately, there was no joy quite like feeling smooth sheets against your bare skin.
As I dragged a brush through my mouse-brown hair, I couldn't help but note the circles beneath my eyes. I wish Grandmother allowed me to bring foundation. Alas, quote unquote, "Cosmetics are the work of satan".
The prospect of collecting my uniform was an exciting one. It meant that I didn't always have to wear Grandmother's extreme clothes that left EVERYTHING to the imagination (if you know what I mean).
Richmond Park Academy was a Victorian era building that had been touched with enough modernization that rendered the act of climbing down 8 flights of stairs unnecessary. As I waited for the elevator to arrive, I soaked in the interior of the hallway.
I'd see the occasional human rush past, but no one ever says hi in this place. Everyone's a trajectory of their own, purposeful strides and downcast gazes - perhaps this was the recipe to success, since Richmond Park was known for it's notable alumni.
I allowed my eyes to roam the inanimate aspects of this lonely place.
It was an airy hallway, with timber doors adorning the walls on both sides. There was a total of ten rooms on this floor, some catering for two inmates, most catering for one. The top floor rooms, as clarified by my mother, were the most expensive in the block. I resented how my father threw his money around. Albeit, it gave me bragging rights, but it always drew unnecessary attention.
The bad kind. You'll come to understand.
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"You must be Miss Andrea Schaeffler!"
"Yes," I said very warily.
The woman was middle aged, and in a rush to secure her measuring tape. In no time, she was by my side.
"Over here, we custom make the uniforms for our students - don't worry, it's all paid for in your fees. I'm just going to take your measurements. Your uniform should be ready by tomorrow."
I said nothing as she took my measurements, lifted my hands and stood with legs apart when I needed to. I was currently dressed in a long sleeved shirt and sweat pants. If possible, I didn't want to run into a single person (that I knew) today.
It was embarrassing for me to be walking around in what I was wearing. When I left the uniform booth, I made sure to keep my eyes on the ground. My next destination was the cafeteria.
After my encounter with the ghost, the Indian and the ginger yesterday, I resolved never to eat in the cafeteria again. I made up my mind that the next twelve months would strictly be dedicated to academic growth.
I'd had my share of socializing in the past few years. I began listing down the food I would require to stock up on as I neared the cafeteria. This was when I walked into none other than Chelsea from the burning pits of Hell.
"Hi, Andrea!" She greeted too cheerfully. "How are you settling in? How's Faction Five?"
"Uh," I scrunched my features up. "How'd you know I was in Faction Five?"
She flicked her ponytail. "I know things, Andrea. Also," her voice dropped to a whisper. "I heard what happened between you and your Faction Five friends."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You know," Chelsea leaned closer, eyes darting around as though checking for eavesdroppers. Which was considerably ironic because Chelsea didn't seem like the kind of person who could perform without an audience.
"We have a club for students who get rejected by even their own faction members..."
I crossed my arms as I indulged her in the most deadpanned expression I could muster. This made her happy for some reason.
"It's called the Find-A-Friend club. It's for really desperate, lonely outcasts of society," she beamed widely at me. "I run it of course. Feel free to drop by any time! We hold meetings every Monday, 5pm, at the SCroom. Everyone is invited regardless of factions!"
"Okay, I didn't exactly come here to look for friends," I told Chelsea.
Chelsea winked in response, before she skipped over to her lunch table.
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I was like, the last person to arrive to class on Monday morning. It had to do with me sleeping through four alarms.
I found myself trying to tame my hair whilst navigating the school in search of the Calculus classroom, situated at Room 513, Block Augustine, wherever that was. At least my uniform was form fitting. It comprised a silk button down with a red tie, a maroon colored skirt and a black blazer emblazoned with Richmond Park Academy's emblem.
Unluckily for me, I didn't charge my phone, so I was only able to navigate to the classroom with the help of kind passerbys. The very fact that I wasn't dressed in one of Grandmother's ridiculous church clothes helped with the confidence.
I thought I would hate uniforms, but it surprisingly worked to my advantage. It placed everyone on the same pedestal, irregardless of fashion sense and price of clothes.
I was panting when I stumbled into Room 513.
"I am so sorry," I managed to say to the teacher. "I got lost."
The teacher who was mid-speech through a complicated theorem didn't look too impressed. Her jaws snapped shut as she placed her pointer down.
"You're fifteen minutes late. I don't tolerate tardiness in this class."
You're a Calculus teacher, I don't tolerate superiority complexes in adults, I wanted to snarl. But then I remembered that I was a changed student who wanted to learn to respect others. So I began employing an (effective, albeit rusty) ass-kissing approach.
"I'm so sorry, Ma'am... I really lost my way. I didn't have my phone with me so I had to ask around for directions and I have a shitty - I mean a BAD sense of direction."
She pinched the bridge of her nose, jutted her chin out. "I assume you are the Andrea Schaeffler?"
The? Andrea Schaeffler?
"Yes, Ma'am." I replied after a beat of silence, unsure what implications my name had. Is my name a thing amongst the staff?
"I go by Ms. Elliot. Go take a seat, Andrea."
I surveyed the students for the first time. There were approximately 30 in the class. I recognized naught but one face, and that face belonged to Jaxon Ortega, my faction head. Unfortunately, he had a seat mate. Actually everyone had a seat mate. I consigned myself to the back of the class, to sit with no one other than myself. The rest of Calculus passed in an uneventful manner.
It had to do with my very shallow understanding of the topic. I barely passed pre-Calc, and this school is known for pushing their students to their very own limits in terms of academia (if you know what I mean). It took every ounce of strength in my being now to slump my head against the desk and give in to good ol' slumber.
My second class was English Literature. I wasn't late this time. Might or might not have contributed to how pleasant the teacher was this time around.
Mr. Collins was the very opposite of everything the Calculus teacher stood for.
"Welcome, Andrea Schaeffler!" He boomed when I stepped into the classroom.
I was taken aback, and it must have shown in my face.
"Before you step in, I want you to forget anything you may ever have learnt in past Literature classes. I can assure you, my class is VERY different from what you probably have in mind."
"Okay..."
Mr. Collins broke into a wide smile. "Go take a seat anywhere, Andrea Schaeffler."
I was one of the first people to arrive in that class. I took the seat closest to the door, I didn't need to think twice, neither need I be told twice.
I'd taken Literature before, but it was taught by some old woman who never paid attention to our attendance. I, as someone who believed that opportunity never knocks twice, accepted her disregard for the attendance list as a blessing from the Lord and... skipped more classes than I attended. Needless to say, my Literature was shit.
Mr. Collins said that I had come at the right time, because the class was going to watch Antony and Cleopatra today - "a version of the many adaptations of this beautiful play", quote unquote.
I would wish to go into detail about my two other classes, Physics and Chemistry. But really, they were sad. I sat alone in all of my classes, barely paid attention and constantly found my eyes on the clock, urging time to speed up.
I didn't want to admit this to myself, but... okay. I was lonely. I am lonely.
That afternoon, I found myself curled up in my blanket, reading Richmond Park's rulebook. I came to the conclusion that we were allowed to leave on weekends, which was only a mildly interesting piece of information because it wasn't like I had anywhere to go. I then reached the section that covered 'misconduct'.
Apparently, bringing someone of the opposite gender into your dorm would result in immediate suspension. I entertained the notion of having Jaxon in my room, but I dispelled the mental image as soon as it popped into my head.
By evening, I was done with the entire volume of rules. Big feat, considering the length. But then I realized this was no feat at all, because my afternoon spent in solitude was only a testament to how friendless I was at this place.
I couldn't help but laugh, sardonically. Mother had said I would be amidst people of my kind.
Who could have guessed that in the span of a few years, I had strayed so far from my kind that I was now beyond help. Not even 'people of my kind' wanted to be near me.
But really, I couldn't fathom why people at Richmond Park avoided me like plague. I'd been nothing but nice, not a single expletive thus far. I never flaunted my wealth, I never imposed myself on anyone's plans.
I didn't understand.
I dedicated my next hour to YouTube tutorials about Calculus.
And then Marc breached contact. For the first time in five days.
I blinked at first, not daring to believe my own eyes. When I was certain that my eyes weren't playing tricks, I accepted his video call request, ensuring first and foremost that both boobs were obscured by the thick blanket.
I didn't know what to expect when I accepted the video call. I adjusted the position of my laptop to get a better view of myself in the webcam.
For a few heartbeats, neither of us could find out tongues - we couldn't find words. All that was present was an ache to feel Marc, to be in his arms.
"I fucking miss you," I said at the same time he uttered my name.
It brought a smile to my lips. The first genuine smile in five days.
Marc was calling me on his phone, I could tell that he was outside, and he was walking. I watched him - no, the screen wasn't big enough for me to absorb all of him - his hair, the brown mass atop his head swayed to his footsteps. He was walking on the streets, I could hear the whirring of passing cars, I could see momentary flashes of passing streetlights.
"Where are you going?" I asked him.
"To kill that cunt Patrick. I've had enough."
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