I ended up tearing a hole in my white and pristine school blouse. Great. What a lovely morning already.
Scrambling away from the little table, I ran out of my grandparents’ house and quickly locked the door behind me. I had to catch the bus in two minutes, or else I was going to be mega-late. The next bus wouldn’t be here for another thirty-five minutes.
As I ran to the nearest bus stop, I quickly went over my morning list in my head. Four very important things. Phone – yes. Earphones – yes. Keys – yes. My English assignment – yes.
Everything seemed to be in order. Now, I just had to make it on time for my third period class, so I could submit my English essay on time. Or else…
I shook my head, refusing to even think of the consequences. My heart started to race and beat erratically at the mere thought of getting a zero on this assignment.
No way. It would ruin my perfect record of straight As. My grandma liked to joke and say I was paranoid and a little too OCD about my marks. My grandpa, with a proud little laugh, would say I was a perfectionist. They weren’t exactly wrong.
My perfect GPA, plus my thousand hours of community service and volunteer work, would get me into Harvard. And it was all that mattered. Harvard was my path. It was my destination, and it was where I belonged. Maybe my grandparents were right. Maybe I was obsessed with the idea of “perfection.” But I didn’t care. If perfection would get me everything I wanted, then Miss Perfectionist I’d be.
The bus came on time, and I successfully climbed in without any more bad luck. My favorite seat at the back of the bus was waiting for me. It gave me the perfect view of the whole bus, and it was a window seat. Once my earphones were in, “Hands to Myself” by Selena Gomez started to blast in my ears. I leaned my forehead against the cool window and watched the world move.
This was probably my favorite part of my morning routine. I’d always been an observer, and one could learn a lot in a ten-minute bus ride.
Not long after, the bus came to a stop, and I walked out; I stopped on the pavement for the briefest moment to stare at the large and old, yet hauntingly beautiful and fancy, building in front of me.
The Berkshire Academy of Weston.
The private school for the rich and the corrupted. Kids of infamous judges, senators, government associates, and some of the highest paid lawyers and doctors in the United States.
I wasn’t one of them. My father was a high school teacher. My mother was a nurse. And I was the quiet and poor girl amongst all the famous, wealthy spawns of the devils themselves. I didn’t belong here. But I chose to be here.
48.2% of Berkshire Academy of Weston graduates end up at an Ivy League College – Yale, Princeton, Dartmouth, or Harvard.
That little fact was the reason why I chose to enroll in this school during my junior year. Now, I was a senior at Berkshire. A few more months, and I’d be out of here.
I took in a deep breath and inhaled the fresh September air. It wasn’t too cold yet. The fall season had just begun, and the leaves were just starting to turn red, orange, and yellow. It was a beautiful time of year – the time where the trees end up naked, silently awaiting their rebirth once again. The end of something beautiful, while waiting for a new beginning.
“Lila!”
My thoughts came to a halt, and I turned to see Riley coming my way. She waved animatedly, and I couldn’t help but smile. Riley was a sweet, wild girl, and my only friend at Berkshire.
Her pretty blonde locks bounced as she hopped over to me. “Are you late, too?”
I nodded with a sigh. She perked up cheekily. “No way! Miss Smarty Pants is late? Jesus, I need to write this down. ASAP.”
The urge to roll my eyes was strong, but I refrained from doing so. “You have Advanced Calculus next, right?” I asked, switching the subject.
I usually loved to join in on the teasing, but I wasn’t in the mood today. Waking up late had made me a tad grumpier. My knee was sore and ached every time I took a step – a constant reminder of how amazing my morning had been so far. Grumpy