New Ways

ONE

Amery

The car came to a halt. I finished reading the last sentence on the page of the novel I was reading throughout the ride and closed the novel shut before gently placing it on my lap. Turning my gaze to the window on my right, I took in the sight of my fellow schoolmates shuffling into the front gates of Parmont Arts Academy.

Some of them were running. Most of them were just briskly walking into the school. If anything, one thing that us Parmont students shared in common apart from millionaire parents and the navy blue blazers, black ties and white skirts or pants uniform is, well, a proud sense of urgency. We may be the usual horde of spoilt rich kids but we honour the practice of never being late for class.

But I was just not feeling it today.

"Miss Amery? Is something wrong?" Alfred, my chauffeur, said in a slightly worried tone while glancing over his shoulder with his hands still on the steering wheel.

"Yes, your driving skills. You drive too fast, like an F1 racer. I hate it," I rolled my eyes at him, putting my novel into my backpack.

Alfred chuckled and shook his head before turning back to the front. Alfred Montero has been my family's chauffeur for more than two decades now and that dates back to even before I was born. He is a loyal, kind and soft-spoken man in his early 50s. And perhaps also the only person who will never take my insults to heart, which is the reason why I love him. Although I will never admit that.

I stepped out of the silver CLS Coupe Mercedes-Benz and slammed the door shut. Alfred drove off instantaneously. As I strode into the gates, I was greeted by practically the whole male population of the school. When I passed by the lockers in the hallways, a tall boy with combed back ginger hair stood in my way and held out a small folded piece of paper to me.

I groaned and snatched the note from his hand. It read "Will you go out with me?" in bold letters and red ink. Feeling uncomfortable by how threatening it almost looked, I crumpled the paper and threw it onto the floor.

The ginger-haired boy gasped at my reaction and glared as I pushed him out of my way. "I won't go out with you even if you learnt how to speak."

Sigh. Why do I have to face this everyday in school?

I mean, I do know why this is my fate in school everyday. It is because of my blonde hair which falls perfectly on my shoulder with fairly volumed curls at the bottom, my striking blue eyes, my perfectly chiselled jawline, my slim model-like built and my outrageously short skirt that are making everybody go crazy. To add up to that, I am also a straight A student which means that I also have broken the stereotypical perception that all blondes are dumb.

On top of all that, I am also the president of the Student Union in Parmont. I am in charge of maintaining the well-being of the entire student population by reviewing and improving existing school facilities or services up to organising fun events such as parties and carnivals to create bonding in school. Whatever they need or want, you name it, I do it.

Although that's where most of the students misunderstand me.