*to be edited
It was hard not to stand out in the sea of black hairs, not especially when your hair shiny platinum blond. Morgan finds it irritating that everywhere she goes, everyone at St. Catherine's seems to be looking at her, gawking but no one has by far dared to talk to her.
She blocks out the teacher who was talking about the quadratic function. Thank God for Mathematics, she thought. This is the only class where people can't afford to look at her and try keeping up with the lectures. Everyone is scribbling angrily trying to keep up with the teacher's hasty words, and with the heavy silence, she can hear when the paper and pencil meets.
Soon enough the bell rings, the heavy set man in front bids everyone a good weekend as he himself scampers out of the hall with such haste.
She sighs deeply, mentally cursing Antoinette's pull on her life.
I hate this school.
St. Catherine Academy is one of the best secondary school around the world. Many students are elite foreigners from the neighbouring asian countries, Russia, and also parts of Europe and America. Although still a minority, the number of foreign students has been on the rise since the Beatrice Solomon has taken over the school.
She has no clue how Ann managed to get her in here with the tight security, but she vaugely explains that she knows someone. Anne sounded stressed when Morgan asked so she did not press on. She has extensive connections on the outside world and so far all of these connections has been nothing else but useful.
St. Catherine's is a huge school. There are a lot of new building specifically alloted for sports, art, and education. Most students have some sort of focus in their studies like film, music theory, art, per se. But Morgan remains as an undecided upon entrance to school. She doesn't really know what would interest her.
To Morgan, it was eerily similar to the facility in a way that multiple discipline of martial arts, a number of sports and fine arts, are cultivated at a young age. It makes her uneasy that she is surrounded by this many people who are quite experienced with hand to hand combat, and that could be as smart as her.
The blond finally rises from her chair as the number of people in the room dwindle down. She sling her leather backpack, and straitens out her grey vest over her white dress shirt, fixes her tie, and pulls the flitted dark blue skirt down.
"This thing is so tacky," she grunts, creasing her forehead in annoyance.
This was another thing she hated about this school. They have to wear uniform. It was the same thing for boys except that the dark blue pants. She hated the way that her bare skin is showing. In her head, she is increasing her vulnerability to malicious people.
She prances out of classroom into the thinning crowd. The narrow hall is lined up with black lockers, that compliments the white walls. To Morgan, this was the perfect vine for gossips. With no avail, people stares at her, boring holes on her back, like she is an apparition that can only be seen. She is in a way untouchable, with her beauty, no one has the courage to talk to the blond. She marches down the hall to the gymnasium for her last class, ignoring the usual whispers and occasional snide comments in foreign tongue they thought she cannot comprehend.
She is an expert linguist. That was her specialty as she often was lost in foreign lands where her targets await. Despite her utter bloodlust to thunder punch everyone on the throat, her calm façade remains unshakable. She glances out the window, just in time to see the brewing storm clouds. She picks up her pace, determined to make it to the gym before the first drop of rain hits the ground.
Upon exiting the building she stumbles upon crowd of people with their backs turned on her in between the two buildings. Angry voices rise exuding such tension, Morgan can almost taste it. All of them are jeering towards particular person she can't see over towering teens.
