lillian
EVERYONE HAS THEIR own thrones.
It was a matter of whether or not you could handle the crown on your head.
Winston Hill’s invitation came with a crown and throne of its own along with the battles and wars that would be fought down the line, but as of now, I’ve found the best way to stay out of the possibility of having your jeweled headpiece snatched was to stay out of the heat.
I’ve managed to do that just fine.
It wasn’t hard to steer clear out of the drama when the only thing that would change around me were the school lunches.
I picked at the corners of my book, my head in my palm, and looked around the study circle I sat in. Some were murmuring to themselves as their eyes mindlessly flicked around on the pages of their books and others were discussing amongst each other.
I waited for someone to bring up the current project we were working on for the class, a project that did indeed require the guide of a textbook, so I could awkwardly nod my head at every sentence or question they would ask, but those who were in ear-shot of me seemed to discuss their other classes regarding applied mathematics. I kept my gaze low but allowed my eyes to shift through the room and figured these people must have really small projects since none were in sight.
Then again, they may have left their pieces at home as I did- but seriously, not one person finished their project the day it was assigned and brought it to boast?
Sighing, I flipped through the pages of my book, my eyes peering at the textbook a few seats down from me to make sure I was on the right page, though I noticed the spines of their textbooks differed from mine- did I have a different version?
I looked to my left and a girl with dark umber skin glanced confusingly at my own textbook and my head shot up, my mind quickly catching on as to what was happening. It clicked that most of these faces weren’t as familiar as they should be. I looked across the large conference table, a boy with perched glasses on his nose with a pen cap in between his teeth was writing notes from a statistics textbook.
I turned to the girl to my left, cringing as the question rolled off my tongue in a voice barely above a whisper, “what, erm- what study group is this for?”
She nodded understandingly, “I think the art history group has the room reserved for tomorrow,” the volume at which she spoke at matched mine as she pointed to the Sphinx on the cover of my art history textbook.
I thanked her silently and looked around the room for an exit, cursing my stupidity.
I could’ve sworn the rotating schedule said that Mr.Flynn’s art history study group would take place now.
I closed my textbook, holding it close to my chest to further prevent any more humiliation, and quickly held my phone to my ear despite no one calling me. My bag that was once on the back of the chair was swept up in a swift movement, a move I’ve practiced for when class is over.
I feigned an apologetic look towards the girl to my left as though I had to rush out due to some incident that was occurring over the phone; it was the best I could come up with to get out without making a huge scene. My index finger pointed to the phone held towards my ear and in return, she held back a small laugh and nodded, once again, understandingly and waved me out.
The steps toward the door leading out of the quiet room couldn’t have been more than six, but felt like sixty as I opened the door with my back, my fingers still on the back of my phone holding it up to my ear, as I quietly threw out fake ‘uh-huh’s’ and whatnot.
I shot the girl one last silent ‘thank you’ before I left, the door quietly clicking closed behind me.
I combed my fingers through my curls, tugging on the tangles, and shoved my phone back into my bag, my cheeks burning up out of mortification. I highly doubted anyone was even aware of what had just happened, their noses stuck in their books, but the idea that they were was more than enough to have my shoulders tensed.
The thing about Winston Hill was being at the “top” of the social ladder was the lowest you can go, since you had to have been somewhat significant to have gotten in, but it was what you did around here that proved the only way to go was even further up.
Exhaling, I made my way down the stairs of the towering library and rounded the corner, the glass doors coming into view.
Perfecting which doors around campus were push and which were pull, my fingers wrapped around the cold handle of the double doors and the doors flew outwards, allowing me to step out.
I welcomed the slight cold of the early night against my heated cheeks, a shiver traveling through my body.
Winston Hill was a school of ‘you supply your own demand’ which meant if you wanted to distinguish yourself among the other equally, if not more, better students, you controlled just how far you’d go before you went too far to be associated with.
