"𝕾𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖆𝖉𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖑"

X

Morana point of view:

The first day of school. A day most people either dreaded or eagerly anticipated. For me? It was a day to prove a point: that I belonged anywhere I chose to be, no matter how many posh brats thought otherwise.

I woke up early, not because I was excited, but because I knew Sister Maria would probably stage an intervention if I didn't show up looking "presentable." Not that she needed to worry—I had this.

I sat in front of the mirror, applying a light layer of makeup. Just enough to make my skin glow and enhance the natural drama of my eyes. My long, curly brown hair cascaded over my shoulders like I'd stepped out of some hair commercial, and I left it loose because, frankly, it deserved to shine. My uniform—navy blue with crisp white accents—fit like a glove. The pleated skirt and blazer looked surprisingly good on me, the deep blue making my brown eyes seem even darker.

I slipped on my cross necklace, the one I never took off, and tucked my trusty Zippo into my blazer pocket. I didn't need much else; confidence was my best accessory.

With my backpack slung over one shoulder, I left the orphanage, walking to the bus stop with steady, purposeful strides. The morning air was crisp, the sun not yet fully awake. My heart was beating a little faster than usual, but I ignored it. Nerves weren't my thing.

The bus ride was uneventful—mostly filled with younger kids chattering about their first days at public schools. I stayed quiet, staring out the window as the streets of the town gave way to the sprawling estate that was Liceo Sant'Agata.

When the school came into view, I had to fight the urge to gape. The place was enormous. The main building was a work of art, with towering columns, manicured lawns, and ivy climbing the stone walls like something out of a movie. Lavish cars—Porsches, Mercedes, and a few I couldn't name—lined the circular driveway. A group of students stood near the steps, all polished and poised, their laughter sounding like champagne glasses clinking.

They noticed me almost immediately, their eyes flicking to my uniform, then to my face. The girls gave me quick, assessing glances, their expressions carefully neutral. The boys? Their stares lingered a little too long.

I didn't react. I wasn't here to blend in or to stand out—I was here to finish school and move on with my life. Whatever these rich kids thought of me didn't matter. I was Morana. I knew exactly who I was, and no one—not some entitled teenager, not some "prestigious" school—was going to change that.

I walked up the steps with the same steady confidence that had carried me through every challenge in my life. My necklace caught the sunlight, and my Zippo felt solid in my pocket, a small reminder that I was untouchable.

Inside, the school was just as extravagant as the outside. Polished marble floors, vaulted ceilings, and hallways so wide you could drive a small car through them. Everything about the place screamed money, from the expensive artwork on the walls to the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceilings.

I was supposed to head straight to the secretary's office to pick up my schedule, but the layout of the school was a maze. After wandering for a few minutes, I spotted a girl leaning against a locker, scrolling through her phone.

"Excuse me," I said, my tone polite but firm. "Can you tell me where the secretary's office is?"

The girl looked up, her perfectly shaped eyebrows arching in disdain. She had that polished, expensive look—sleek blonde hair, flawless makeup, and an air of entitlement so thick you could choke on it.

"Why?" she asked, her tone dripping with condescension. "You lost, or something?"

I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes. "No, I just thought you might be helpful. Clearly, I was mistaken."

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't back down. "The office is down the hall, to the left. Try not to get lost again, new girl."

"Thanks for the directions," I said, my smile sharpening. "Next time, try saying it without the attitude. Might make you seem less insecure."

Her mouth opened, then closed, and for a moment, I thought she might actually combust. I didn't wait to see—just walked away, leaving her staring after me, speechless.

The secretary's office was as polished as the rest of the school. The woman behind the desk handed me my schedule and a small map of the building, rattling off instructions about where to find my locker and my first class.

Literature.

By the time I found the classroom, students were already filing in, their conversations blending into a low hum of voices. I walked in without hesitation, scanning the room as I made my way to the teacher's desk.

The boys noticed me first. Their eyes flicked to my face, then lingered, some of them whispering to each other. The girls weren't as subtle. They stared openly, their expressions ranging from curiosity to thinly veiled irritation.

The teacher, a severe-looking woman with glasses perched on the tip of her nose, glanced up at me. "You must be the new student. Introduce yourself."

I turned to face the class, my expression calm and unbothered. "I'm Morana. Just transferred. That's all you need to know."

Some of the students snickered. Others just stared.

"Take your seat," the teacher said, her tone clipped. "And try to take this class seriously. This isn't some... casual school."

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at the question written on the board. It was about analyzing a passage from Pride and Prejudice.

With a small smirk, I stepped closer to the board. "The passage highlights Elizabeth Bennet's independence and sharp wit, contrasting with the societal expectations placed on women of her time. It's a commentary on the constraints of class and gender, and how Elizabeth refuses to conform to them."

The room went silent. The teacher blinked, clearly not expecting such a detailed answer.

"Don't misunderstand," I added, meeting her gaze. "I take literature very seriously. It's the condescension I have no patience for."

Without waiting for her response, I walked to an empty seat near the back and sat down.

The whispers started almost immediately.

By the end of class, I'd made three friends and one very obvious enemy.

Gemma—blonde, cocky, and dripping with privilege—had taken an instant dislike to me. She spent most of the class throwing snide comments my way, which I responded to with equal snark. By the time the bell rang, the tension between us could've been cut with a knife.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" she sneered as we left the classroom.

"No," I said with a smirk. "I know I am. There's a difference."

My new friends, Clara, Sofia, and Marco, laughed quietly behind me. They'd introduced themselves after class, and I'd liked them immediately.

"You might want to be careful around Gemma," Clara whispered as we walked to our next class. "She's best friends with one of the Lombardi girls. And she's dating one of the brothers."

"Good for her," I said, unfazed. "I'm not here to impress anyone, mafia or not."

"Still," Marco said, his tone cautious. "The Lombardis... they kind of own this school. Just... be careful."

I smiled faintly, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. "I'm always careful. But thanks for the warning."

As we walked down the hall, I felt the weight of their stares—Gemma's, the boys', the girls'. Let them look.

This was just the beginning. And I had no intention of backing down.

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-M