Get Over It

I was at the front of class, listening attentively and concentrating fully as the teacher explained the equations on the board. Whereas some of the other girls were gossiping at the back, playing with their hair or even rudely messing around on their phones, I was skilled at avoiding all distractions. I was only here for one reason, after all, and that was to learn and improve my chances in life.

The other girls were simply ungrateful for the opportunity that they'd been afforded, and they didn't appreciate what a privilege it actually was to go to a school like this. Winslow was a private, boarding institution for privileged and gifted girls, focusing on the high society and those with the strongest ability. As a result, the school was able to demand the most extortionate of fees, due to the weight that its name held. A lot of girls attended here simply for the prestige of being able to name it on your resumé. Even if you flunked out with average grades, the fact you had attended here in the first place was usually enough to get your foot through the door of any college or professional career; as long as you had the family name and connections to back it up. Nepotism and cronyism were rampant, and a lot of the girls here had been accepted due to who their parents were, and how big of a donation they'd made along with the tuition fees.

As a result, this had led to a bit of bad press where the journalists had jumped onto the fact it was basically an exclusive club where nothing was earned on merit, but could rather be bought. Of course, the politicians, some of which had actually attended Winslow in their youth, kept things in order and maintained the status quo so that the school didn't lose its long-standing name and reputation. However, as a response, the school had introduced a scholarship scheme, so that gifted students from less privileged backgrounds were also able to attend and benefit from the high quality of education, as well as the prestige that came along with the school's name. It wasn't so much because they cared, but rather, because the board of governors wanted to look good in the press. Any scholarship student that graduated still had to work extremely hard to go onto college or find a decent job, and, of course, they wouldn't be afforded the same opportunities as the more privileged girls, but, it was a good start on the road to higher education for students that wouldn't have usually stepped foot through the door. It was plainly obvious it was all for the school to look good, but any student offered the chance to attend would be foolish to turn it down.

This is how I was even attending Winslow in the first place. My entire academic life had been a series of scholarships. First, I'd been accepted into a private boarding school as I entered my teens, instead of the regular community school, since my mother had fought tooth and nail for me to get the education my intelligence deserved. I had nothing against the community school system, but my mother had sacrificed everything to raise me in the States. So, as I'd qualified for this particular scholarship, I knew I had to give everything to make sure I would be attending this well-respected junior school.

Although I was made to feel a little like I didn't fit in at first, I began to bond with some of the girls, since we were so young and all, and frankly, didn't know a lot. Sure, I couldn't talk about the kind of things they did, such as the regular vacations they took when they returned to their families or the latest gadgets and games. Thankfully, the school had a specific, mandatory classroom uniform which was provided as part of the fees, so I was never made to feel like I was out of place in regards to my clothes. We had a set wardrobe of clothes we could wear. There was the usual skirt and blazer for the lessons, gym glass just had a plain white t-shirt and black shorts, and then we had school-branded pyjamas for at night. Overall, we spent most of the time in the regular daily uniform, so, though the other girls often bragged about their designer clothes back home, they never got to wear any around the school.

I graduated from that private school top of the class, and as we were all looking to move onto pre-college, I had to put a lot of effort into finding a suitable scholarship that could cover the extortionate fees required for attendance at any reputable private institution. A lot of girls from my private high school automatically moved onto one specific school: Winslow School for Girls. It was a kind of pre-college period of two years, between high school and then going onto college at a university. Though it wasn't necessary, attendance at such an institution was considered beneficial on one's resume and particularly when applying for further scholarships. It added a certain level of prestige to an application, demonstrating that a candidate was able to hold their own in a private, boarding setting and fulfil their potential.

For the other students at my high school, the transition was seamless. They basically went along to the open day, and after being suitably impressed, they begged and pleaded to their parents to be allowed to attend. That was as far as the admission process went for them. They were signed up, fees paid and that was it: they were in. Connections were utilised, strings were pulled, and in the end, money did the talking.

Meanwhile, while I'd tailed along for the open day, I'd spent the whole time feeling like I was somewhere I didn't belong. All of the prestigious history dotted around the estate shared little with my own background and upbringing. Simply walking along the extravagant halls made me feel tiny, and with my mother at my side, she whispered how even the rich houses she cleaned weren't on this level.

However, despite my fears, Mom was determined to see me accepted, mentioning what a great step and prideful achievement this would be for the both of us, especially considering our Mexican heritage. Towards the end of the open day, we were met with the principal, and though he was impressed with my grades and achievements, he offered concern about our ability to pay the fees, kind of insinuating that I didn't really fit the look. My mom had been upfront about her career, and, in all honesty, things didn't look good. However, considering I was top of the class at my high school, the principal had steered me towards a scholarship scheme the Winslow had introduced.

It had been designed to modernise their reputation, while looking good in the press, and was aimed at a minority student who came from a less-privileged single-parent household. Of course, I ticked all of the boxes, and along with my glowing academic record, I had a good chance of winning. I applied for the scholarship, attended and interview, and then crossed my fingers. Months later, and I was enrolled in the school as the successful recipient of the scholarship. Mom had never been so proud, and though I was a bit apprehensive about mingling with all of those rich girls, I wasn't about to miss the opportunity.

I'd entered the school with a real willingness to learn and a drive to excel, and the first few days had been approached with a genuine optimism. I'd been selected for the scholarship, after all, so that was all the confirmation I needed to feel like I deserved to be there. I mean, most of the other girls had bought their way in, hadn't they? Whereas I was actually there on academic merit. If anything, I had more of a right to be there than anyone else.

However, I quickly learned that all of my 'friends' from high school, didn't want to interact with me anymore. Their snootiness had seemed to rise a few levels as soon they'd walked through the impressive gates of Winslow. I found myself ignored and excluded, and it damn well hurt, especially since some of these were girls I'd known for years. Girls who had treated me as a fellow student and not like I was a charity case. I soon realised that in the eyes of a lot of the other girls there: I didn't belong at all. Those from wealthy families apparently looked down on the scholarship students, seeing us as having crept through the backdoor and into a place we didn't deserve to be. I often heard whisperings and murmurings about how I'd clung onto the bottom rung of the ladder and refused to be shaken off. Some even mentioned how my very presence was tarnishing the reputation of the institution itself, and that my face just 'didn't fit in' with the image the school was going for. Of course, I saw straight through this, and recognised it for exactly what it was. It wasn't so much my face that didn't fit in, but rather, my naturally tanned skin was too much of a contrast with the majority of students.

Still, I worked hard, knuckled down and got through the first semesters, finishing in the top three students for the year. I'd mostly been excluded from the more extra-curricular activities, with my scholarship not covering that broad of a scope. A lot of the more fun activities were considered 'extras' and therefore fell outside of what I could afford. Similarly, the day trips weren't accessible to me, and even for the end of year trip abroad I found myself excluded. Still, I didn't care so much, using that extra time to focus on my studies. I was only there for the prestige, after all, not to make friends, and I saw the experience as something I just needed to get through. Despite all of the nasty comments and occasionally horrible behaviour directed my way, I just stayed in the library and focused on my studies. It was only two years, after all, which was but a pinch in my lifetime, whereas the fact I'd attended here would be on my record for decades to come. I mean, attending Winslow wasn't going to guarantee me college, as I'd still need to find a way to pay the tuition fees, however, it was certainly going to be a talking point on my applications.

It was into the second year of Winslow, when I'd reached the age of eighteen and was nearing graduation, when I'd met Meredith Doherty. She was one of the more uppity kind of posh girls that I honestly would never even consider hanging out with; the kind where I'd avoid eye contact and step aside in the halls whenever she passed. From just looking at her, I'd assumed her whole personality was about the things her daddy did and bought her, whether it be her expensive clothes, her top-of-the-range phone or even her pet horse. It had simply been down to fate that we'd even crossed paths, since we'd been randomly allocated as roommates, which was part of the 'whole experience' as the principal had explained. However, I'd later determined that as Meredith had joined half-way through the year; mine was actually the only room available with a spare bed. Despite the principal's insistence that allocation was random, I'd heard on the grapevine that strings could easily be pulled when certain 'donations' were made to the school. That's why a lot of the girls that were obviously friends were rooming together, whereas no one else had actually wanted to room with me; being from a different background and all.

At first, I'd been a bit upset by the exclusion, but then, I'd looked on the bright side. For the first year and a couple of months, I'd had a room all to myself. I'd been able to focus on all of my studies without any distractions from other students, who had proved to be problematic in other areas of the school. During lessons, I had constantly been excluded, with snide gossip being directed my way. I had eaten alone in the cafeteria as no one else would sit with me, and on the one occasion I had actually attempted to sit on a table with others, they had quickly departed amongst a sea of sneers. I was used to the boarding environment during my private high school, but Winslow was way more hostile and a clear hierarchy existed along the lines of power and wealth. Teachers seemed reluctant to intervene, not wanting to risk their high salaries by getting involved and upsetting the 'wrong' girl. The parents could be lethal when they felt like their child was being disrespected, and every teacher was in fear of being fired when certain strings were pulled. Of course, I just had to grit and bear it, as my mom had no connections at all.

Whenever I passed the rich, beautiful girls in the hallways, I'd hear catty remarks and hurtful comments regarding how I didn't belong there. I'd overhear whispers deriding the fact that they let someone so poor attend, and that I should be 'sent back to where I came from'. Of course, all of this stuff would cut me deep, and I had often ended up in a lavatory stall, spluttering tears. However, whenever felt weak, and like I wanted to give up, I'd remember that my mom went through so much worse. I'd think about the arduous journey she'd taken to give me this chance, and suddenly, my own problems seemed trivial at best. I'd just focus on the fact that these girls were ignorant and foolish, and after I had finished in the top of the class after the first year, suddenly, they weren't laughing at me so much. Of course, they had tried to dishevel me by upping the bullying, but since my room was a safe haven, it had been easy for me to escape. There, I could just immerse myself in my studies, which only improved my marks ever more. Once the door was locked, no one could touch me, and for that was I extremely grateful.

As I was a few months into the second year, the end was so close in sight that I pretty much blanked any of the childish, idiotic girls that tried to get under my 'brown' skin, which they apparently hated so much. I spent a lot of time in the library, which none of them seemed particularly interested in. And it was then, when Meredith arrived out of nowhere. Now, Meredith was completely unique in terms of her attitude to being rich and affluent. She wasn't like some of the other girls that came from families where the wealth had been recently acquired. They were more about bragging and showing off. They loved to flaunt their recent designer purchases such as watches and bags, and sometimes class could be rather comical. I mean, there was a uniform, but most of these girls accessorised it, and as far as I could see, the teachers didn't have the energy to get involved.

Meredith's family, however, was actually from abroad, and she'd come over to the States to study at this school simply because she'd wanted to experience something different and figured it would look good being able to say she went here. Some of the other girls would often show me pictures from their personal lives on their phones, just to rub in the material possessions that they had. They'd taunt me with things of which I could never hope to own, and I'd be dazzled by all kinds of brand names, such as Chanel, Prada, Versace, and Yves Saint Laurent. They were the kind of labels I'd often dreamt about while looking beyond graduation, seeing my eventual owning of such things to be the marking of success.

Yet, Meredith didn't flaunt any of those brands. I mean, she wore them, but she wore them like every day items. She didn't brag or show off, because she didn't need to, and often, they were things that she just threw on. Her actual favoured clothes were things I hadn't even heard of before; the kind of brands that didn't appear in fashion magazines. Her shoes were all hand-made Italian leather, bespoke to her tastes. None of her 'smart' clothes had any labels or brands on them, again being bespoke and completely unique. Often, they were custom pieces straight from a specific designer that couldn't be acquired anywhere else. She didn't brag about any of these, she just wore them as if they were normal clothes, and looked damn good while doing so. The other rich girls would look on her with envy, then over-compensate by doubling-down on a scholarship student like myself.

But Meredith exuded a whole new level of wealth that I could barely comprehend. A wealth that traced back generations along her family line. As a result, she just didn't exist in the same world as me. She'd never had to work her fingers to the bone or scrape by from day to day. Things had just always been easier for her, and sometimes, she could lack empathy when it came to understanding how difficult things were for everyone else. If she wanted something, she got it, and that's just how life had always been for her. She simply didn't know any different.

The first time we'd met; one of the most embarrassing instances had occurred. She'd been dropped off at the school by a private chauffeur, who had been in the midst of lugging her many expensive, leather suitcases of possessions through the corridors.

I'd just been returning from the library when I'd noticed the luggage piled up outside my room. As I'd been scratching my head in confusion, Meredith had come around the corner with the school principal, lost in conversation as they'd finished up a walking-tour of the expansive, decadent halls. I'd performed a double-take upon looking at her, as despite all of the beautiful, rich girls that I had to suffer through, she looked like something else. That day, she had been wearing extravagant cream boots two-thirds of the way up her shins, along with a pleated, chequered skirt and a tight-fitting navy blazer, over a blouse tied off with an extravagant bow at the neck. Her hair had been long, flowing and draped over her shoulders, a beautiful shimmering brown. Her skin had jarred me, being ridiculously pale and blemish-free, her make-up subtle yet expertly applied. I had noticed her hands immediately, particularly because of the large, impressive ring on one finger, and the muted, pastel pink polish on her nails. She had walked with a confidence and determination, almost as if it had been her leading the principal around.

As they had approached my room, my lips had quivered, still confused by what had been happening and lacking the confidence to speak-up, considering the total sight stood before me. She hadn't even said a word to me, but as she had looked me up and down with her icy, blue eyes, I had felt ridiculously intimated, even more so than I'd usually felt from all of the girls that had constantly been catty to me. Along with her dark hair and pale skin, her bright, blue eyes had been particularly piercing, seeming to bore straight through me and see into my soul. She had been like the definitive example of Western beauty standards when I'd looked upon her that first day, right there in the flesh, and she'd been everything I'd have chosen to be if given the opportunity. Everything about her: her confidence, her beauty, her wealth and her status, everything had been what I wanted for myself and what left me feeing jealous.

"Meredith, I'd like you to meet Sofia," the principal had said while gesturing a hand towards me. "I'll leave you to settle in and get to know each other."

As he had walked away, Meredith had pursed her lips, then raised both her eyebrows at me as if she had been tired of talking to him; as if the whole affair had been an ordeal for her. As if his welcoming and friendly nature had been a waste of her precious time.

I had hesitantly stuck out my hand to shake hers, but had been taken by surprise when Meredith gave me her handbag. "How long do you think it will take to get everything inside and unpacked?" she had asked in an extremely posh, English voice, while stepping towards the room and opening the door. "My word," she had said while holding both her palms up as if to shield her view. "It is just so quaintly miniscule, isn't it? How am I supposed to fit everything in here?" She had turned back to me bemused. "Have you already polished everything because I certainly don't want to catch anything in here?"

I had still been perplexed while holding her handbag, noting that the leather and detail appeared of a stringent high standard. I had scratched my head again, wondering why she had given it to me in the first place.