Prologue:
When you’re moving into a new town, there are always a few things to take care of first, such as driving through the city to find out where stores and restaurants are, to unpack all you things and to make friends. The toughest thing was to make friends. Real friends. People that liked you for who you were, not for your looks. People that were interested in your hobbies, not in the zip code you came from and how much money you spent there on clothes. Friends that you could trust and confide in, friends you could rely on. Those were hard to find when you were new in town. But she had a plan.
Meet Samantha Abrams. The new girl.
Chapter 1:
Women dress alike all over the world: they dress to be annoying to other women.
When you’re a teenager, you don’t have many responsibilities. You’re not an adult, your parents usually pay for everything, you have a home and food. Everything for a normal life. But there are people who are a lot more than normal. They are rich.
People of wealth reside in better places than the less fortunate. Sure, the rich work a lot to ensure their money, but there are some who gain it from inheritance or the lottery. However, the kids in these families don’t have to work for nothing. They have money, which means they usually have friends. Not really close friends, but people who hang out with them, even if it’s just for the free stuff. Having friends and money, they spend the cash mommy and daddy give them on God knows what to have fun.
These kind of people could be found in the neighbourhood Sam had just moved in to. Flashy cars, Prada bags and Rolex watches were a few of the improvements people had updated themselves with.
Driving through the empty streets lined with perfectly mowed lawns and huge houses, Sam was impressed. Her new neighbourhood was way nicer than the one she had previously lived in. The houses were bigger, the people were more stuck-up than normal average and the mail was delivered on time.
Once she pulled in into the school’s parking lot, she saw the houses weren’t the only things up-class and expensive. Looking around from inside her Blue Volkswagen Beetle she felt little compared to all the Range Rovers and flashy S Class Mercedes that were parked all around her car. The school building was huge and so was the lawn that covered the distance between her and the entrance.
But what stunned her the most were the students. Everyone looked impeccable. Not one stain on their clothes. Like dolls. In unopened boxes. ‘Wow! What a life..’ she though. The second thing that went through her mind was the fact that she was never going to integrate there. Not with all those girls in mini skirts and definitely not with the boys, who were too busy to stare at the exposed skin.
Yep! She was doomed to have a social life near zero on a scale from 1 to a million.
It wasn’t about how smart you were, what you had achieved. No. It was about now much money mommy and daddy gave you and how many credit cards you owned.
In a world where image was everything, every aspect counted, whether it was your shoes, handbag or earings. Everything had to perfect. Not even a shred of hair could be out-of-place, damaging your perfect look. But those who cared about those things were the “cool” crowed of James C. Highschool. There were other, normal people in the school, but no one gave a shit about them. They were students with great results, extracurricular activities and contemplative looks on their faces.
Let’s face it, why else would you come to James if not to be popular or to get a great education? Well, it was just a commodity for her. She lived ten streets away, money wasn’t the problem, so why go through all the trouble of a pubic school, 15 miles away? Wasn’t it better to go with the most convenient solution?
Well, that she did. And that’s how she found herself on the pavement in front of James Creston’s building, taking in the scene before her. Tens of students dressed to be in tow with the newest trend, girls carrying fashion magazines and the guys dangling keys of shiny sport cars in their hands. All walking on that perfectly cut lawn she was afraid to step on.
To say she looked underdressed would be the understatement of the century. Baggy sweatpants, at least three sized too large hoodie, with the hood on her head, postman bag on her left shoulder, ear pads in, though no music. She wanted to hear what people were saying about her. The only normal thing on her (according to the ‘cool people, anyway) were her Nike shoes, white and simple, but perfect in any other way. Custom made.
Nobody noticed her. Not yet, anyway. She took the first step on the grass and then the second and the third and she was walking towards the main office, to gether schedule and locker. Nobody had noticed her, not yet. She wasn’t in the school building, so she could pass as someone who was lost. She got to the doors. She stepped in. Then, all eyes were on her.
She ignored them. Still giving the impression that she was listening to music and not hearing anything people were saying, not that they cared if she heard, though, she made her way through the hallways, listening.
“What the hell?”
“Is she for real?”
“Omg! Can you see that?”
“How could I miss it, she’s huge!”
“What is the doing here?”
“Is she even a girl?”
Wow, they really did care that much about appearances. Well that was just sad. It would be an interesting year, that was for sure.
