The Forgotten

Soaking Wet and Shirtless

By the time the Bristills' driver comes to get me at three in the afternoon, I am so ready to ditch this place. The classes themselves are alright. The students though? They're intoxicatingly stupid and cocky. The worst combination, in my opinion.

I'm glad for the silence on the ride back to the Bristills' It gives me time to plot my rebellion against them. It can't be too horrible, or they might reconsider letting me stay here. It does have to be good though. I've learned that a revolt doesn't have to be big to be affective.

The driver opens my door for me after he parks. My hand was already on the handle, so I am yanked, arm first, out of the Mercedes. Having servants doing everything for me will take some getting used to. I'm not sure I will be able to get used to this.

I am about to open the front door when a maid opens it for me. She looks surprised that my hand is on the doorknob.

"I got used to doing it myself at school," I lie. I walk past her into the house.

"Miss Raven!" another servant calls. I turn around.

"Yes," I reply.

"Mrs. Bristill has requested you dress for tea," she informs me. I give her a warm smile before turning around again, rolling my eyes. A tea! At school at least I didn't have to act prim and proper and ugh...sophisticated. At a tea I'll be expected to display proper etiquette. My idea of "proper etiquette" is not insulting the person I'm talking to.

"Sure, whatever," I say.

The maid continues, "She wants to meet you there."

"Of course," I say sarcastically. I know I have to come, but that doesn't mean I'll be civil about it. And just because I'm going to have to talk to all of Mrs. Bristill's elegant friends doesn't mean I'll talk nicely.

I head up to Raven's room, I mean, my room. I shut the door behind me and head over to the closet. Opening the door, I begin to plot my first step of revenge against the Bristills. I'm going to begin with this wretched tea party.

My first impulse for my attire is to wear the second most awful gaudy pink dress. Before that disaster begins, I get a better idea. I pull out a pair of fancy pink gloves, a tulle skirt, and a white shirt with French words on it.

I walk over to Raven's white desk and fish around in the drawer. Finally I find what I'm looking for.

Scissors.

I cut the fingers off the gloves. I cut up the tulle skirt until I'm satisfied with it. I put on my new outfit and admire myself in the mirror. I have a feeling this isn't what Mrs. Bristill is expecting.

I finish off my design with a pair of flat pink high tops I find in the recesses of Raven's closet. I don't think she ever wore them. They're still and not as comfortable as I'd prefer. More comfortable than heels though, I guarantee that.

I strut downstairs and head outside. The driver is waiting for me. I get my door open before he can. He looks taken aback.

Flashing him a smile, I say, "I can handle myself. Not every aristocrat is incapable of doing such a simple task." He looks impressed as he gets back into his seat. I fasten my seat belt and kick the seat back. I'm beginning to find loopholes in my death sentence. Well, pink sentence more like.