Trying to live #Wattys2024

Chapter 1 (Edited)

Heey! 

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Summer before Junior Year

Dear Diary,

I don't even know why I'm bothering to write in you. It's not like I want to, but when you have nothing better to do, what else is there?

Mrs. Denvers, the head of New Haven (the place I am now) said to me that I should write in you. To sort out my thoughts. That's porbably what I'm doing.

You're probably wondering, "What is she going on about now?" Well, let me explain: I'm currently at a home for troubled teens. Yep, that kind of place. A building full of kids with issues like alcohol addiction, drug problems, anger management... you get the picture.

But me? None of those. I'm only here because my mom thought it'd be a great idea for my summer break. Who does that? It's like she completely forgot that I actually have a life outside of her need to control every move I make.

Oh, and don't even get me started on my dad. He's the reason this whole mess started. If he hadn't walked out and left my mom a wreck, maybe she wouldn't be trying to fix me when I'm not even broken. But whatever. I'm here now, not because I want to be, but because I care about her. But when I come back? Things are going to be different. I won't let her control me anymore. When I return, I'll be the new, improved me. Just watch.

Beginning of Junior Year

Dear Diary,

I kind of hate you for holding my deepest thoughts, but you got me through that hell of a summer, so I guess I owe you that.

I wish I could say things are better, but they're not. My relationship with Mom? Pretty much dead. I did everything to fix us, and it was still never enough. But whatever, I'm not dwelling on it. Also, full disclosure, I'm kinda drunk right now, but for once, I don't feel so bad about it.

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Lakewood: You're probably wondering, "Where have I heard that name?" Let me fill you in. Lakewood is one of the richest towns on Earth, and it was founded by Andrew van Lakewood, who used to be part of some royal family in Britain before he moved to the U.S. and became important enough to get a town named after him.

The real kicker? He died alone. No heir to carry on the name, so democracy swooped in and did its thing. Eventually, we got a mayor, a guy who claimed to be related to Andrew. His name was Sebastian Avilla. Super handsome. Long dead now. But not before producing a ton of heirs, of course.

The Avillas are technically "royalty" here, but they're surprisingly down-to-earth. No snobby drama, no "off with their heads" moments. They even let us peasants decide things democratically. Such saints, right? They didn't even rename my school, although that might've been hilarious.

Speaking of school, I go to Lakewood Prep. It's one of those ridiculously prestigious private schools where rich kids and "talented" students like me attend. The problem? It's insanely expensive. And the social hierarchy? It's brutal.

Let me explain the hierarchy:

At the top, we've got the Royals, also known as the Kings and Queens of the school. These are the kids from old money, the type that's inherited through generations. Next, we have the Dukes and Duchesses, whose parents are rich and respected, but not quite royal level. Then there are the Earls, whose parents have good jobs, often working under the parents of the Kings and Queens. And finally, we've got the Barons and Baronesses, the outcasts. Either they've done something to get on the Royals' bad side, or they were never important enough to begin with.

Once you become a Baron or Baroness, there's no climbing back up. It's like a permanent police record—you're branded for life.

"Ms. Vermont, you can go see the principal now," Mrs. Sarrow, the school administrator, said, giving me that I've called you five times already look.

I blinked, still absorbed in my book. "But I'm reading!" I whined, holding up the history book as if it were a shield against responsibility. "Besides, I haven't done anything wrong this time. Pretty sure Principal Richardson has better things to do than call me in."

Mrs. Sarrow rolled her eyes, walked over, and snatched the book from my hands. She glanced at the pages before giving me a confused look. "What on Earth is this?"

I peeked at the page she was pointing to and grinned sheepishly. "Oh, that. I was trying to recreate the history of Lakewood, but I got a little... distracted, and accidentally drew a carrot beating up an onion."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Where? I only see stick figures."

"Exactly. That one's the carrot, that one's the onion, and those are the bystanders watching the fight. It's very symbolic," I explained with a straight face.

She shook her head in disbelief, clearly done with me. "Just go in there."

"But—"

"Now, Ms. Vermont."

With a sigh, I grabbed my things and headed toward the principal's office. Just before I opened the door, I turned back. "Oh, and Mrs. Sarrow, that book you're holding isn't mine. You might want to return it to its rightful owner."

The look of utter horror on her face as she realized I had just casually defaced someone else's book was almost worth the impending doom that awaited me in Principal Richardson's office.