Prejudice

Chapter 1

“Are you ready” mother said as she popped her head in the door. I turned away from my half-packed suitcase, “um, almost”. “Alright, well, hurry up. Don’t want you to miss the train”. I nodded and turned back to my case. The house was a bit tense today, my leaving for college and all. My dad had been a bundle of tears all day, my mother pretty cold, quite the opposite of her character. After about a half hour more of packing I had finished. I grabbed my mug of tea and walked around the room for a bit, reminiscing, and then plopped down on my bed. I held my acceptance letter in one hand, my tea in the other, feeling the words move around in my mouth between sips.

Dear Ms. Alice, we appreciate your interest in our school, and offer our congratulations in your acceptance here at Cambridge University. Due to your financial situation and excellent academic achievement, we wish to inform you of financial aid that is available to you, in your studies of Literature and English Language…you need not worry about accommodation, for you will be lodged here on campus…we hope to see you in October…yours sincerely, Tutor of Admissions.

Honestly, it still seemed surreal to me. My acceptance to Cambridge. The scholarships. All of it was just… a lot. I wasn’t sure if I was ready, but I didn’t have time to figure it out. So I accepted. And my future is now set. To be honest, I assume the acceptance to the school was the easy part. Now it’s acceptance to the social flow that is my new challenge. My family, well…we’re not rich. We’re not poor either. We’re just…middle class. Always had enough for what I needed, and plenty for what I wanted, but I wasn’t rich. Not like them. Those people who pay full tuition to the school. I know about the prejudices they hold against public schoolers. I’ve heard people like them say those words, “public schoolers”. They say those words as if they were saying “prostitute” or “vagrant”. They say it as if it were dirty, foul, disgusting. They say it as if we were criminals. But we’re not.

They also think we’re stupid…but we’re not. Well, some of us are not. I’m not. I was a part of the International Bachelorette program at my old school, a public school. It was challenging. Rigorous. Many nights spent studying, but I suppose it was worth it, after getting into a school like this. My teachers had always told me it would help me in the long run, and to be honest I didn’t believe them. Not until now. I took a final swig of my tea, finishing the cup, and looked around my room a final time. Most of my clothes were packed, all of my favourite books. A set of bedding, shoes, my computer, and a few other necessities were already in the car. I just had my final suitcase, along with my letter, a brochure, a letter from a teacher whom I adored and a book. I stood up off my mattress and lugged my case off my bed. I put my letters and brochure into the book, picked it up, and made my way out of my room. I walked down the hall of the flat, from my room into the living room where my mother and father were sitting. They were having a conversation, their voices hushed, probably intending so I couldn’t hear it. As my father saw me walk into the room, he stopped talking, stood up, and came over to help me with my case. I gladly handed it to him, my mother coming over to hug me. I realized it was the first time she did it today. I hugged her back, realizing how much my leaving must have been affecting her. I felt a shudder on my shoulder and heard a sob relieve my mother. My eyes began to tear, and she pulled away from the hug, her eyes wet and red. She grabbed my hand and led me out of the flat, down the stairs, and onto the sidewalk. My father had already packed my things into the car, and was just finishing squeezing my final trunk into the Honda. When he shut the trunk of the car, he then walked up to me and gave me a large hug. I felt his tears seep through my tee shirt onto my back, and I hugged him tighter. He then stood tall and walked to the driver seat of the car. I slid into the back seat, my mother in the passenger side, and my father stared the engines, and soon enough we were off to the train station. I took one last look at the old flat. I’d miss London. It had always been a good home. But it’s a new start now, and we head to the train station. The station that began my future.