The Host of Hyperion

Chapter 2 - Kennedy

I forgot to mention, this is a collab between me and a friend of mine. We will be switching chapters which is why the writing style might be slightly different. I will be doing the odd chapters and she will be doing the evens. Please let me know if I missed any spelling mistakes or if something doesn't make sense. Thank you and please enjoy.

Room Ero,' I thought hurriedly, 'Room Ero...'

All of the hallways look the same: tall, elegant, arched mahogany ceilings and expensive paintings. I could barely find my way back to my dorm, much less the English classroom. Students milled about, checking their silver watches and skipping on their pure leather and wood shoes, at a slow and calm pace. My hands were trembling under my tight white weather leather gloves, given to me as a birthday present. I climbed up yet another flight of velvet stairs, and finally saw the maple door up ahead. I hurried toward it, pulling my uniform skirt another inch down, and modestly pulled the door open. There were only five students in the classroom so far, all in one group like oil on water. I wanted to groan. 

"This is the English room, right?" I called out to the group, "Mr. Wright's class?"

A brown-haired girl seemed to take pity on me. "Yeah," she said. 

Relief flooded into me. I selected a chair on the fair left side, not in the back, but not in the front. I checked my books to ensure they were all in place, and then pulled my assignment notebook to copy down the homework scribbled on the board. Taped into my assignment notebook's first page, however, was a weathered, old note. I recognized it instantly.

To Ms. Kennedy Jane Wyrene,

I regret to inform you that father has indeed passed away by natural causes. I will be relocating you to a reform school in the United States to ensure your safety. This will not be permanent but for how long, I cannot say. In this envelope will be the form and document for you to turn into the headmaster. I will try and visit you, but things are busy. 

For the best of luck,

Charlotte Myra Wyrene

I scowled looking at the letter. Nothing but a tiny letter to tell me what my future was, and by my step sister, no less. Charlotte was a self conceited brat, and she no doubt, had much pleasure to toss me into this stuffy reform school. She had given me the gloves to make sure I didn't weird anyone out with my palm scars, and demanded that I cut off my highlighted sections of my hair. When I refused, she was so angry, she hit me across my face. I kept the letter though, just to have something to keep me going. Should she come,  would make sure I tore her arms off along with her perfect face. I had tons of Charlotte's letters stored up in my suitcase, and I sometimes tear them up or burn them to relinquish my anger. 

It was therapeutic

I drew crying eyes ad monstrous things until the bell rang. It wasn't even a ring, more of a pleasant chime. I closed my notebook and slipped it far into my shoulder bag that held all of my books. The rest of the class filed in. I knew their type instantly. Perfect, porcelain boys and girls that had neatly combed hair and flawless skin that hadn't suffered even a scratch. The girls had clean, painted nails and diamond earrings that were worth more than all of  wardrobe. the boys had solid gold watches and polished leather shoes that gleamed under the room's florescent lights. They all wore their uniforms with great pride, and walked with a poised strut. They even sat down with grace, the girls crossing their legs soo tightly it looked painful. I rolled my eyes.

"Good morning, class!"

Our supposed teacher Mr. Wright stood up to a cherry wood podium that was engraved with strange characters. He had wavy blonde hair that had lines of gray in it. He had a handlebar mustache that matched the headmaster exactly. His eyes were beady and dark, and his teeth were shiny like pearls. He flashed his teeth at us brightly. I noticed the girl form enrollment just the day before...Elisabeth I believed. Her platinum blonde hair was tied up, so it looked like a moonlit broom end sticking out of the sea of heads.