Second Chances, Second Lives

A Discussion on Morals

"And then he told me I was grounded. Can you believe it?" Emily flicked her hair ever so casually while giving an exaggerated sigh. I felt eyes on us from the neighbouring table - all boys - and fought an eye roll. "I mean, it was only like 10 miles over the speed limit. Take a chill pill, right?"

Her voice which was ordered, cultured, and immediately brought to mind images of mansions, fleets of cars and private jets, was ruined by the accent of the classic teenager. Emily called it her 'poor teen' phase.

We were in the cafeteria, crowding round a ridiculously small table. I was half-way through my cheese sandwich and Emily was picking at her lasagne.

She glanced over at me to check I was paying attention and for the confirmation of her innocence in the matter. I nodded like a trained dog, lettuce hanging out of my mouth. Maybe she'd leave me alone now.

"I mean, he's so unreasonable most of the time but this is, like, waay too far. Do you know what he told me when I got the fine?"

She didn't even wait for my answer, not that I'd have offered it, she just barrelled on ahead, a steam train with one purpose.

"He said, no, he ordered, not said, ordered," her voice was a little shrill at this moment, not enough to draw attention but the words still pierced my ears like a thousand needles. "he ordered me to hand over my car keys. I mean, was he out of his mind? As if I would give my Ollie to anyone."

She shook her head in annoyance and took a few deep breaths. Picking up her fork she speared her lasagne but made no move to eat it. Tapping her long, gaudy, fake nails on her folder she turned to face me. Uh-oh. She wanted my opinion.

"What do you think? I mean you haven't said, like, a word the whole time." She raised her eyebrows while waiting for my answer.

"Mffl-grrl-chkf!" I tried talking around the mass of wheat, cheese and lettuce in my mouth but it was impossible. I tried swallowing it all at once and nearly choked. Flying debris spewed out of my mouth and sprayed the table.

I don't need to tell you how disgusting it was. Emily just waited expressionless, all the while tap, tap, tapping out an ominous rhythm.

Have you ever seen one of those animal documentaries? You know the one, there's a wounded gazelle and hungry predator, a lion or whatever, but the point is the predator knows the gazelle is hurt and cannot run away so it toys with it. It moves slowly as the gazelle, pitifully, tries to drag itself to safety while knowing that it was hopeless.

It felt a little like that.

In order to feel my pain you must first know the full and unedited story. Emiline Elizabeth Coast comes from old money. Very old and very prestigious money. Her family has a histroy of Lords, Ladies, Earls and Duchess'. I even heard she was distantly, very, very distantly related to the Queen of England.

But that's probably a rumour.

My point is her family have always had expectations of her regarding her schoolwork, activities, and behaviour. And Emily hates it. So she rebeled in the only way that could hurt the upper class - by mixing with the lower class, ie me. She changed schools, pulling out of the elite Whitewood Academy to slum with me at Seya Lake. The only school within a 30 mile radius of Seya Lake City.

She swapped her latest model of the Range Rover for her beat up, egg blue, volkswagon beetle that broke down after every mile but she loved it dearly and hence the name - Ollie. She changed her accent from posh socialite to airheaded-addicted-to-makeup teenager.

This was all to distance herself from her family, but the Coasts don't give up easily. So the latest in the line of crazy make-the-Coast-family-give-up-on-Emily plans was to spend the night in jail. Emily assured me the shame would be too great for her relatives.