The FYP

Chapter Fourth

Chapter Fourth

Sharron

 My brother had always told me that BISA accepted the craziest but most talented bunch of students out there in the world. It’s diversity in the population in terms of culture and personality would be mind-blowing at first. There would be the egos and the workaholics, the lax ones and the weird ones. But when it came to the foundation of it all, they were kids who wanted to make it big and do what they love to do.

 I didn’t believe him of course.

 BISA was notoriously known for its’ high expectations and its’ even higher standard of education. Hidden beneath the published front of a prestigious school that has top notched graduates out in the world now, there was this competitive system in the school. Since the introduction of the Classics, a name for students who had achieved top results in their respective division, it's been nothing but a contest at the school. I could see the jealous glances, the cold demeanours and the inflated cockiness all over at the Square. There wasn't a passion for them to do what they love. There was only the drive to come up as top dog.

 This competitiveness is further fuelled by BISA’s intake of 30 students per year, a mere small percentage of the thousands all over the world applying for a spot here. Some got in for the talent and potential. Others were allowed to enter due to appeals and achievements. Only those that met the high criteria were allowed in through these methods. So you'd either have to be very talented or very persuasive, coupled with the potential to succeed to get in.

 I was one of the rare lucky ones: I got in because of my brother, a former Classic.

 I sighed at the thought, shoes squeaking slightly as I broke into them. Spying a nearby stone bench, I walked over to it, placing my handbag and camera aside as I sat down. Leaning back, I looked up at the sky. It was bright but cloudy today. Nice weather. Calm. Cool. France was nice too. The week before moving into the dorms yesterday was amazing. I sat up to take my camera in hand, switching it on and going through the saved photos.

 They were horrible. Every shot taken ended up as a disaster. The lighting here was off, the angle shot from was misjudged and the focus was just not there; the list of whatever went wrong in all the pictures went on. They were shots I took at the Square, shots of the students my brother had said to have wonderful talents. I muttered curses and comments under my breath, scrolling through the picture, getting frustrated and angrier by the second.

 In the back of my mind, something told me that all I could see was that I wasn’t nearly as good as any of them.

 That I wasn’t even good enough to be like my brother.

 “You know, you've only got five minutes left before Registration.” A familiar voice scolded me albeit jokingly.

 I scoffed exasperatedly, slightly annoyed. “Hey Adam.”

 Adam slid up next to me, peering over my shoulder at the photos on my DSLR. I hid it away from him, glaring. He responded with a pout, his thin bottom lip quivering while his chocolate brown eyes shone in fake sadness. I groaned. I hated it when he did that.

 “What Adam?” I put my camera away beside me. He pouted still. “Ugh, no I’m not letting you see the photos! You know how I feel about letting you see them; you always comment on them.”

 No he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I do not-” The glare I gave him had him rethink what he wanted to say. “I do but it’s only to give you tips. And I don’t always comment on every single picture you take. Just the shots that might need improvement.”