Bloodlines and Betrayal

7. 🐺

Mondays are a grueling affair—the dull, unrelenting signal that another week of school is upon us. I loathe these mornings, especially after weekends that feel far too short. The meager two days simply don't suffice for catching up on projects and resting. Our country's educational regulations are merciless: five days a week, at least six hours a day. It's a rigid system, stifling any dreams of an extended weekend. But I know better than to skip school today. The cost would be too high—lower grades and attendance jeopardize my chances of securing a spot at a prestigious Ivy League school. Scholarships to Princeton, Harvard, Yale, or Stanford aren't won by rebels; they're earned through dedication and impeccable records.

Our family has a tradition of attending the top schools, a legacy that began with my grandparents. Each one of them attended an Ivy League institution, a custom I'm expected to uphold. My parents often remind me of this, but in truth, it feels less like a choice and more like a duty—a responsibility I must carry to preserve the family's name. There's a weight to it, one I can't shake.

On Mondays, the rush begins: boys scrambling to finish weekend homework or prepare for school. They're notorious for staying up late, lost in video games or movies, and leaving mornings in chaos. At least us girls have our bathroom. Without it, the morning routine would devolve into chaos, a battleground of hair straighteners and makeup brushes. One of the most infuriating aspects of mornings is when the boys invade our bathroom space. They lack patience, unable to wait a few minutes for someone else to finish. It's maddening, especially when we need extra time for our hair, makeup, and outfits. Today, I woke up early to get ahead. I showered and then roused Hazel and Kaylie, both notoriously slow in the mornings. I always help Hazel, the slowest of the three, to get ready. By twenty minutes past seven, everyone was up, and we headed to the kitchen. I brewed coffee and prepared bagels with cream cheese, while the younger ones got hot chocolate. They're too young for coffee; it would make them hyperactive, especially Hazel, whose energy is already boundless.

At school, the scene is predictable: everyone resembles sleep-deprived zombies, their energy drained by the weekend's fleeting respite. As the first bell rang, signaling the start of homeroom, I grabbed my books and a water bottle, packing some snacks for the day. As I closed my locker, a familiar voice broke the morning monotony.

"Hey Charlie, I'm sorry for startling you," Alex said, peering down at me with an apologetic smile.

"It's fine," I replied, trying to shake off the surprise. "I'm used to being startled by my adorable siblings, who always find new ways to give me heart attacks."

"So, you're easily startled like a kitten, huh? You and those cute YouTube videos," he said, chuckling.

"Not my fault. Try living in a mansion with siblings who scare you at every turn," I said, adjusting my backpack straps.

"You live in a mansion?" Alex's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"It's the largest property in the area, hard to miss," I said, heading towards class. "You might come over sometime. I'd have to check with my parents first, though."

"Cool. Let's work on our project tonight. Are you free?" He asked, his smile broadening.

"Yeah, I'm free. How about six p.m. at Starbucks?" I suggested walking with him down the hall.

"Perfect. I'll see you then," Alex said, his tone full of confidence.

"Wait, I lost my number. Can I borrow yours?" I asked.

Alex blushed slightly. "Sure, here's my phone. Give me yours so we can exchange numbers and take a picture so we'll recognize each other."

"Deal. But can you hold my cupcake while I'm in the bathroom? Don't you dare lick it," I said, handing him the cupcake and taking his phone.