Chapter two
xX The Stereotype Sea and the Trinity Elite Xx
Wow your still here. I must say, I’m totally impressed, by now, most people turn away from the tragedy and nestle themselves in some lies about sparkling vampires or some other nonsense. Well either way I’m glad you’re still here, I must have managed to pique your curiosity? Either that or you’re a complete sadist who hungers to see a seventeen year old girl endure some kind of tragic pain that only happens at school. You know what they say of course, high school is hell.
My high school is no different of course. It may be dressed in glitz and glamour and everyone is forced to wear the same uniform, but that doesn’t stop it from having the same old breakdown. You know . . . what the word I’m looking for is: oh yeah cliques. You know the typical stereotypes right, well we have them all. It’s like an- all- you-can-eat-buffet-of- stereotypes. On a typical day at Trinity Academy you’d find all of our groups on display, separated from reality and each other, especially each other.
Let’s start with the metal-heads, these guys and occasionally girls are some scary bunches of people. Lovely, I’m sure, but there is something about big, broad shouldered guys with excessively long and dirty hair whipping it around like a whirlwind, that just screams “murder.” And when you see the look in their eye . . . yikes that just scares me the most. But hey, each to their own, they stand in their circles, wearing the darkest blacks they can find—the darker the better—playing air guitar, and pretending like they are the next James Hetfield.
So what kind of music do I like, I hear you ask. Well a smart and educated person would guess based on my description of Trinity’s own metalest metal-heads that metal is not really my scene, well it’s not, but I’ll let you figure out my tastes a little later. For now let’s plunge back into the stereotype sea.
Across from them, the next species of “individuals” can be found in the library, or avoiding the sunlight, and no I’m not talking about sparkling vampires, I’m talking about the tech-lords. These lads’ and strangely lasses’ are obsessed with everything with circuits. They usually sit in a line in front of the school computers, headsets on as they indulge in a little fantasy world known only as WoW, don’t know what it is, me either. Again each to their own, you know, I’m not here to say that their way of life is worst than mine, but I do find it a little silly that they talk to each other through their headsets even though they sit just a few seats away from each other, but again I digress. If they are happy, let’s leave them at it.
Our next group would be the preppies. Never heard of them before, well I’m sure you’ve seen them before. They march around school, wearing designer brands that only the biggest dollar signs can buy—usually mommy’s or daddy’s—they have the latest iPhone and talk like snobs. The most common thing for them to say is “oh my god your clothes are so povo,” yeah these peeps believe the world owes them, and in turn they believe they own the world. Yeah, these people I can’t stand. They remind me of vultures circling around our school, ripping to shreds anyone they think doesn’t deserve to be here—and believe me they have a very strong opinion of that. But of course they do it in style. Screw them, who gives them the right to judge others based on their appearance, I mean who declared them the modern god—I might just stop there before we watch my language become a lot more . . . let’s say colorful.
Who’s next? Who’s next? Hmmm of course: the jocks. Dressed in sweat, wearing their pants around their ankles, the jocks are great specimens to study because this group of muscle headed meatheads and steroided-up bunch of babbling baboons” think that they too are god’s gift to the world. Yeah that’s just what we need, more people who like tackling each other whilst chasing after a weirdly shaped ball. Look, just because you’re good at sports does not make you gods. But not that they’d understand that, the only language our jock brethren listen to is cavemen speak the language of “grunts” and “urghs.” You almost need a translator to translate what the hell these . . . primordial masculine beings are on about; even then it’s usually something stupid like getting slizard like a G6, or something obscene like that.
So let’s get back into the sea, after that and usually they sit around in their circles, twirling their peroxide blonde hair around their fingers, giggling mindlessly at something that only those . . . “individuals” understand. These people are the polar opposite of the metalheads, in color, opinion and in everything. Where the metalheads would take black, black and more black, the plastic Barbie dolls take the hottest and brightest shades of pink in existence.
The last one, of course is one of the newest and shiniest of stereotypes, these kids wear clothes that make them look at least half their age. They wear their hair like those old school Troll dolls. The brighter the better, they talk like absolute morons and strut around the school. They basically own MySpace and Facebook, adding everyone and everything. Only problem with that is that they never actually meet any of these “friends.”
So that’s the stereotype sea, but there is one more group that I have overlooked. Not that they need any introduction. Well this is the mythical group known only as Trinity Elite. And as the name suggests they are the Elite of the elite. They are the Kings and Queens of glitz and glamour. These people are the real royalty; they control the entire academy with impossible grace and impeccable style.
So you may be wondering what this tight nit group of teenage royalty has to do with me and more importantly with my story. Yeah well the Trinity Elite are a huge part in my story . . . but more on that later.
First, let me just explain to you what Trinity College is. It’s the Yale of high schools. It has the most sophisticated and advanced writing courses in existence. Some of the greatest authors of all time once swept those halls, oh how I would adore just a tour around the college.
Sadly a college with such prestigious history and high caliber student faculty also has a price tag to match, too much for me, the daughter of a humble ER nurse and part time teacher.
Ever since I first learned about Trinity College, I found it haunting my dreams, taking me to a place of wonder and excellence. But then, I’d wake up and watch it just drift away. It seemed I would never make it to Trinity, to the Promised Land.
So just imagine how amazed I was when I received a letter, emblazoned with the majestic Trinity seal? It was like a fairy tale for me.
Well now it is time to skip to that chapter, the chapter when this story truly began.
