**Synopsis of Skyline Academy**
Skyline Academy is the most prestigious school in New York City, known for its exceptional efficiency and success. Despite having room for more students, the academy only admits 600, rejecting thousands each year with...
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REPORTER'S P.O.V
The sky's clear, blue, and dreamlike.
Being complimented by the clouds.
Beautiful.
I lift my camera, despite the weight on my sore arms. I push through it, just as I push through the many other reporters and photographers in this crowd, all trying to get answers to their and my many questions.
Questions about Skyline Academy.
No one knows anything about the school.
Yet they're still the #1 school in NYC. I curse under my breath when a man behind me violently shoves me out of the way. "Rude," I whisper to myself, but know better than to start anything. The world is cruel. It's better to let it go than to fight it. However, I didn't need to dwell on it because Headmaster Andres Kalonji had finally exited the large, white doors of Skyline Academy. I only got a brief look at the texture of the white, clean floors, which looked as though they were marble.
I snapped a photo of it anyway.
The voices of everyone here got louder, all of them thrusting their mic forward, trying to catch a breath of his syllables and wise words. I realized quickly that I should probably do the same as everyone else; which is trying to get him to notice me and answer some of my questions. Although I had never seen Headmaster Kalonji in real life, it has always been through the internet.
And god, did he look gorgeous for a man in his early forties.
His dark, brown skin was vaguely wrinkled, but he sure took care of it. Eyes that looked like dark brown wood and black hair that matched the night sky. Mysterious and wise-looking, indeed. People knew little of him, but he was a lot of people's role models, and I see why. His small beard was almost tame and elegant, matching and framing his face. He didn't seem real.
And he surely didn't look like a forty-year-old man.
I clear my throat, gulping down my urge to admire him any longer. Along with skipping the action of biting my lip, instead, I forced some words out of my mouth, as all these reporters did.
I'm a rookie reporter, so being given such a big task is a bit nerve-racking.
"Mr. Kalonji, how are you guys doing it?" My voice came out weak, trying to be heard. Though it was overtaken by other voices and the people.
I gritted my teeth, lowering my arm; if I kept it up any longer, I felt like it would've snapped from the weight of the camera.
