The School for the Elite

Chapter 1: Monday

"Are you good, Vesper?"

I flick my eyes to the girl whose desk is across from mine and give a candid smile.

"Yes, I'm all good," I reply, "Why do you ask?"

She looks at the floor, then back up at me.

"Your face just seemed, well. Never mind."

She smiles quickly before turning around to face the teacher again, who is too absorbed in her description of the powerful message of the importance of intellectual freedom in "When One Flew Over the Cukoos Nest" to notice the little conversation my classmate and I had.

I stare down at my notes, which span over three pages, and place my pencil down on my desk. I know all too well why that girl asked if I was alright.

I have been told a multitude of times I have what is called a "Resting Bitch Face" and no matter how hard I try to make my complexion seem somewhat lighthearted and calm, I always come off as either very angry or very serious. It's not a very large issue, but it can be troublesome when trying to seem carefree or when meeting new people.

I pass my eyes over my notes once again, then tilt my head to face the teacher, who is still going on about the themes of our assigned novel.

I look at the clock. There are still ten minutes left of class.

"Class," the teacher suddenly says from the whiteboard. Ms. Helden is not one for calling on students often to share their ideas, so everyone becomes attentive.

Even Lawrence Jackson, who was asleep just moments before,  sat upright as if connected to a puppeteers string that was swiftly yanked and peered at the board with rapt attention. Ms. Helden continues.

"You all are going to have an assignment due in one week's time. The theme I just discussed moments before and since the beginning of class will be the core of a four-page essay you are to write. I assume all of you read the novel already." She tightens her lips, her cold gray eyes surveying the room for any guilty shifts in chairs or broken eye contact.

Everyone begins scribbling down her words, becoming skilled scribes as their pens dance across their papers. Many seem to be trying to recall her words from earlier on in class, beads of sweat forming on their brows.

I sit in my chair, staring at the clock, twirling my long black hair between my fingers. I already figured she was going to give an assignment like this, so I had already written down everything she had said in class, plus some.

As the clock struck 3:00, I slowly rise from my seat and grab my book and notebook. I take a brief look at my skirt, straighten the wrinkles in the navy cloth, and begin walking toward the door and through the school hallway.

My shift at the cafe begins in less than thirty minutes, and under no circumstance will I be late. I have never been late, not even when I had the flu, and don't intend to start now.

I grab my backpack from my locker, turning around only to be startled by the vice president, Xavier Splinman. He crosses his arms and pushes his glasses higher up his nose, his sandy hair falling over his eyes.

I reach into my bag, remembering why he was here, and hand him a yellow folder, its contents a thick mass of papers neatly stapled together.

"Xavier, hello. I have a few documents for you relating to the school festival that should be occurring soon, as in, within the next two weeks." I pause to see his reaction. He pushed his glasses up his nose again, his expression monotone, so I proceed.

"There are some ideas within these pages, and the treasurer has so kindly included price ranges and where we can and cannot be flexible with budgets. Please review the highlighted pages by Friday, and report to me which ideas seem more suitable for our grade."

Xavier takes the folder, coughing after beholding the sheer number of sheets of paper. He runs a hand through his hair and looks up to meet my eyes.

"How am I supposed to read all this in three days? It's impossible."

I roll my eyes, "I was able to create this folder in a span of two days. You should be fine."

He gawks at me, then regains his composure, mumbling under his breath "Fine, fine, I'll get to it. See you tomorrow". He then stalks off, mumbling about work overloads and school and god knows what.

I make a mental note as he leaves to check in with the rest of the council tomorrow since that was what an adequate and ample student council president, such as myself, always does to make sure everyone is being efficient.

I sigh and zip my bag back up, hoist it onto my shoulders, and tread out of the school doors towards the cafe.

My shift begins soon, and I won't be late.