Goldilocks and the British Accent

01 | A Classic Idiot.

Goldilocks🚺

"I tell you everything that is really nothing, and nothing of what is everything, do not be fooled by what I am saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I am not saying,By Charles C. Finn." the brunette beside me says.

The Skittles in my palm are starting to get clammy. I have been holding them for a while now, waiting for the right moment - when no one is looking - to plop them into my mouth. I have also decided that being spotted eating Skittles in class is not in my best interest as a sophisticated new student.

I had walked into the school building, looking like Emma Watson in all her posh, petite, prim and proper glory, head held high and left hand holding a chanel handbag. The hallway had been silent as I passed, except for the sound of my flats on the tiled floor and the whispers from students as they realized who exactly had just walked into their school.

"Well said Katherine." The teacher says to the brunette. She is a fat (possibly old) woman with dark skin and rimless glasses framing her round face. It is another thing I have noticed about this school. Everyone wears glasses; students, teachers, janitors even. The fact that I am wearing glasses now is simply coincidence. These yellow ray-bans have been with me since I was seven, never seeming to grow out of size.

"Today, we shall be moving to a new topic." The woman starts pacing the classroom."One of the most famous arguments in the history of philosophy: Descartes' cogito. Does anyone know what it says?"

A short boy at the back raises his hand.

"Yes, you." She motions for him to answer.

"I think, therefore I am."

"Right, I think, therefore I am." she repeats, scanning the room until her gaze rests on me.

"Soph-. Oh, how clumsy of me. I haven't even introduced you to the class." She chuckles while walking over to my desk, her long skirt sweeping the floor.

Rotten luck, father would have called it for he never believed in such a thing as bad luck. Of all the times she could have called me, she chooses now, when my hand is full and slick with oily Skittles. I rise from my seat, tucking away the lone strand of gold hair in my face with my Skittle-less hand and brushing off the invisible dirt on my plaid skirt.

"Class, meet Sophia Lockes." she begins when she reaches my table. "Daughter of prime minister candidate, Mrs Victoria Lockes."

I feel a sudden urge to roll my eyes, but I refrain because you know...it wouldn't be in my best interest.

"I'd like us all to help her as she accustoms herself to the rather... odd ways of our school." She pushes the glasses further up her nose, her smile never faltering.

"So tell us Sophia, what do you think about Descartes' cogito?" One of the Skittles threatens to slip through the hole in my fist and I immediately ram my fist to my thigh.

I clear my throat.

"Um, I think Descartes is arguing that doubt itself can be an absolutely firm foundation for knowledge. That is, knowledge itself is hereby founded on the very paranoia-about-knowing-anything-whatsoever." The stray Skittle finally slips through after I finish my answer, bouncing on the floor and plunging the entire room into silence.

I gasp.

"Brilliant!" the plump woman exclaims, beaming proudly and clapping. The class follows suit in a calm applause.

No one seems to notice my little Skittle mishap except the brunette beside me. Her eyes trail slowly to where the orange Skittle is now resting and a smile creeps onto her face.