I'm Not Ten Years Old, I'm Fourteen, You Dingus

Chapter Twenty-Two: School Days-Brooklyn

(AN: None of the Selection references are acts of utter plagiarism. I just am borrowing the names. I do not own The Selection or anything of the word. This story takes place in OUR world, not in Ll'ea, as a side note.)

I got the envelope Simon had given me the day before. When I extracted a stapled booklet from it that I didn't notice before, I began to flip through it. I paused on a important-looking page.

Class Schedule- Brooklyn Castor

8:00-9:00: Daily Run-Through
9:00-9:30: Warm-Up and Stretches W/ Yoga
9:30-10:00: Basic Routines
10:00-11:00: Learn Moves & Plan Routines
11:00-12:05: Intermediate Practice
12:05-12:25: Lunch
12:25-12:35: Stretch
12:35-2:00: Hardcore Practice
2:00-2:30: Memorizing Choreography Practice Through Video
2:30-3:00: Hardcore Practice

A frown began to form on my face as I read. I wasn't too nervous about the stretching and the basic review, but it was the classes with the longer, more complicated titles that made me feel as if my bones were turning to mush. I was wondering what in the heck 'Memorizing Choreography Practice Through Video' was, but did anyone know? "Better get to class." I say to Jessica when she looks up from her schedule. Jessica bolts off down the halls, and I rack my brain to see if there was a rule that involved running in the halls. Nothing sucks more than getting in trouble on the first day, so I was going to warn her. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember anything about a rule of the sort, so I just semi-shouted a "Good luck." But she was running so fast and was so far away, I don't think she heard me.

I walked through the halls until I came across room 133, the room I was to have Daily Run-Through in. It had a few tables scattered here and there. Up front was a whiteboard. Some packages were on a desk. Sighing somewhat loudly, I plunked into a chair. Which caused me to fall over. I got up quickly and brushed myself off.

Well. Wasn't that embarrassing?

~Time Skip Because Anna-Chan Here is too Lazy~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The teacher is very cool, calm and collected. I liked the way the teacher spoke so it was easily understandable. I kept my glance on the walls, looking for door 123. I went inside when I found it, I mean, what else would I do? Stand outside the door?

Taking a seat, several other girls came in. A few seconds after, the teacher walked in. "Hello, students. I am Ms. Brisk." She rolled out a yoga mat, and gestured for us to do the same. Well, this teacher certainly gets down to business. She didn't even bother taking attendance.

"Hi." Whispered a girl next to me. I looked over quickly at her when we were led into the first pose. She had strawberry blond hair and green eyes. "I-I"m Opal." "Hey," I began. "I'm Brooklyn." "Th-that's a n-nice name." She smiled as she spoke. "Ditto." I responded.

The rest of the warm-ups were pretty easy, I guess. I wish that they gave us something more difficult, though. "This is your basic routine for today and tomorrow." Ms. Brisk began. She clapped her hands and some fast-paced music began to play. Ms. Brisk leaped into an intricate routine. Immediately I regretted my earlier statement on wanting harder material. My memory was having to work quadruple-time just to get the routine down. When the music stopped, she stopped immediately. "I want that as close as you can get to fine by the end of the hour. Begin." She spoke, before sitting down at her desk and pulling out some paperwork.

"E-excuse me," Said Opal. I looked up at her. "Um, h-how does this look?" She asked before doing the routine. It was fine, but a tad choppy. "It's coming along," I began. "But you need to work on smoothing the moves out."

Almost instantly after I said that, Ms. Brisk spoke up. "Opal! Is your education track culinary?" Opal stayed quiet, not sure if it was rhetorical. "Is it?" She snapped. "N-no, Ma'am." Opal replied. "Then I want you to no longer be choppy. I don't care if you're up until midnight, I expect you to be perfectly smooth with your movements by tomorrow." Her words stung, and even though they weren't for me, they hurt all the same. It made me feel as if she wasn't just talking to her, but all of us.

Apparently some of the others must have thought the same, because everyone was excruciatingly careful to move smoothly. These teachers sure seem to have an effect here..

~~~~~Time Skip Again to After Class Because I Don't Feel Like Writing It~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, it's rather obvious that whatever junk they put in our hair yesterday made it grow. Which is strange, because last time I checked, hair-growth shampoo (Assuming that what they out in our hair was a type of shampoo.) doesn't actually work.

"Well, isn't this just positively dandy." Violet says. "I suppose so." Abi adds. "My feet feel like I was walking on sizzling hot coals all day." I complain. "Complaining doesn't change anything." Jessica remarks. We look over at Rayna to see if she will say anything, but she's on her phone, on this digital magazine app thing. All of us intensely stare at her in an attempt to get her to join the conversation. She doesn't speak. Until promptly two and a half seconds after I thought that. Rayna lets out a dragged-out groan.

"Gosh, can't they put anything else in Time Magazine? I swear-" Rayna gets interrupted by Violet. "Don't swear. It's bad." "I meant that figuratively, Miss Satan. Anyway, they've been putting out the same-oh content for the last two months!" She exclaims, throwing up her hands, which makes her toss her phone, and it lands in her head. "Ow.." She groans, rubbing her forehead.

"What's the repetitive content?" Abi asks. "Just something-or-other about the King and his kids or whatever." Rayna answers nonchalantly somewhat. "What about the King?" Presses Abi. "Does he have more kids?" Jessica pipes up. "No, he does not have more kids. But he is getting married again, soon." "To who?" I ask. "Some lady called Stephenie Gray."

Okay, since you're probably confused, I'll take a moment and explain it to you so you get it.

There has been an international monarchy ever since the French Revolution. That means there is a King and Queen of the whole world, not just a country. Our King, King Clarkson Schreave has had five wives, and all of them didn't last long. He divorced them because his advisors made him. Unfortunately, the princesses went missing, and haven't been found since. Now, back to the present moment.

"Another wife? This is, like, the sixth one!" I exclaim, throwing up my hands. "There's been worse," Violet began. "Henry the Eighth had-oh, wait. He also had six wives. Sorry, sometimes I get the eight and the six mixed up." She finished.

"Fun fact: Henry the Eighth was also the father of Bloody Mary!" Shouted Abi. "Do you guys know the story of why they call her Bloody Mary?" Violet asked in the same way one would ask others if they wanted to hear a ghost story. "Sure!" All of us minus Violet exclaimed in unison. "Alright, here goes." Then she launched into he story.

"THAT'S IT?!" Yelled Abi in shock. "We call her Bloody Mary only because she burned a whack of Protestants at the stake?" Jessica screeched. Rayna and I just looked each other in total complete shock. "Yep." Violet said, crossing her arms. "Well, isn't that just anti-climactic?" Abi said. For some reason, we all seem to this is funny, because we all burst out into hysterical laughter. This is a good way to end a tough first day of school