Double Trouble [Watty Awards 2011]

Chapter 1

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            When I applied for this school, let me tell you one thing: I didn’t plan on making friends. Not that I’m antisocial, or don’t want any friends, but just because it’s so much easier. That was about the only thing I learned from my previous school. But I wasn’t at that school anymore. This new school seemed to be a stricter, richer version of my old school. One thing I already hated: the uniform. Oh God, it was ugly. It was as if they were intent on making sure we couldn’t possibly look good, while suppressing our freedom in yet another way.

            The school handbook listed hundreds of rules I hadn’t even bothered to finish reading. It wasn’t like I was going to follow them, so why even bother? To me, a uniform was yet another way to make sure we had as little individuality as possible. As soon as we graduate high school, we’re supposed to be ourselves, stand out in this world of millions. In high school, we blend into one big, uniformed clump.

            A blue, knee-length, pleated skirt, a matching jacket covering a white blouse, white socks, and some lace-up ankle boots didn’t sound too bad on the forms, but when I stood in front of the mirror at home, I glared in horror at the sight in front of me. The jacket seems like it was tailored specifically to make you look fat, the blouse is non-stretch, stiff, and just a bit too long. And the skirt? Oh boy, don’t even get me started! That ugly thing makes your legs look short and fat, because it’s suddenly cut off at the knee, and an added side-effect is that it makes sure that one couldn’t possibly see your hips, or God forbid; your butt.

            It all looked so ugly, I would have spent my own money to get that crap tailored. Freaking school probably realized they couldn’t keep us ugly, so guess what the first rule is: “No alterations to the school uniform are allowed to be made.” Next rule made sure to ruin my plan B; which was to wear the guys version of the ugly ensemble. Just switch the skirt for some pants, and add a tie. Oh, and I forgot to mention the school-issued bag. A leather-imitation briefcase, which empty already weighed a hundred pounds.

            Usually I don’t complain so much, but this was out of the regular strict school boundaries; but whatever, school is school, and I was going to stand here every morning (on weekdays) in this ugly uniform to learn. Hooray. Thank God it was my last semester of high school. I was already accepted into some college, all I needed to do now was to not get expelled. With a sigh, I entered the building and blended into the uniformed mass. I didn’t stand out too much, with my black hair, eyes I like to see as hazel, and extremely (and a little below) average body.

            Christmas break was just over, and judging by the tans, you knew who was rich, and who was working-class. Looking at my map, I noted where my homeroom was, and made my way to it. I’d get all the other stuff I needed to there. The school books made my bag so heavy it nearly made me topple over.  I need to get a locker, pronto! Suddenly, a guy knocked against me, causing me to fall flat on my face. Stupid loafers.

            “Bloody hell!” I heard the guy say with a British accent. Not that it was anything special here, in Herfordshire.

            I peeled my face off the floor, and looked at the guy. He was holding out his hand, and I took it and got up. He then started gathering up my stuff, not even leaving me a chance to do anything.

            “No – That’s okay, seriously. All you did was make me face plant.” I muttered, knowing it was a lost cause. As he bended over, I noticed one thing: the guy’s butt was cute! He turned around and handed me my crap, when I then noticed that not only was his butt cute, this guy was cute! He had shaggy, dirty blonde hair, and almond-shaped blue eyes.