"Oh, here she comes again, look everyone, it's Sydney," said Morena as I walked in. "You better all hold your noses! She smells as bad as my gym socks." There was a sparkle in her eye as she bullishly goaded me.
A cackle of laughs followed from all of the girls in attendance, cramped into the small bar that our society had selected for this meet. Socials like this were a regular event for our team, especially after the recent success. We'd destroyed our local rivals in the championship volleyball match, triumphing for the third year running. The team captain, Morena, had delivered the final, victorious spike that had put us over the line. I mean, I say it was our victory, but I spent the whole match watching from the benches, the same as I always did. Why? Was I a terrible player? Not in the least. I simply wasn't allowed to play because Morena was the captain, and whatever she said, pretty much went. Even the coach was willing to adhere to her will, as he wouldn't risk rocking the star player. The fact I was even at this social was at her insistence; I'd have much rather stayed away, knowing once again that I would be victim to her taunts throughout the entire meet.
Yet, here I was, once again, being mocked because of that bitch: Morena. It was bad enough that I wasn't allowed to play, but even that wasn't enough for her, she had to humiliate me further whenever she could. Ever since the first day of college, Morena had taken a disliking to me. Her behaviour was baffling, and flew in the face of all of the unity and comradery that the coach was constantly championing.
"You've got to stick together," he'd say. "Work as a team. Look after each other like you're crouched down in the trenches together."
However, the only person in a trench was me, while Morena was the one tossing grenades my way. The worst part was, once the social meet was over, I knew that I would be summoned by her with a crooked finger away from the eyes of everyone else, then, the real humiliation would begin. She may have been joking to all of the others, but the glint in her eye communicated the unspoken truth between us: my face would later literally smell like her gym socks.
As I was about to take a seat, my phone jingled, a text from my best friend:
Jemma:
am i needed? is it time yet?
I glanced up towards Morena's table, and scowled as she flaunted around without a care in the world. Languidly sat in the booth, her muscular legs crossed with maroon-painted toes twitching in her sandals. I lost myself as I watched her foot kick back and forth, a flood of depraved memories coming to mind. Once I finally managed to peel my eyes away, I looked straight into Morena's, her lips curled in a smirk having caught my staring. She rolled her eyes down to her feet and mockingly wiggled her toes; I blushed in response, then she was once again lost in conversation with her friends. I observed with both envy and revulsion; more than anything I wanted to see that bitch get her comeuppance, a fantasy that I often lost myself in.
I sighed, before firing a text back:
Me:
not yet, i'll let u know when we're alone
While Morena sank drinks and enjoyed being the centre of attention as usual, I watched from the side-lines and lamented my place in all of this. Unfortunately, there was little I could do to stop her by this point and she had me held on a tight leash. The question was: why was I allowing this despicable bitch to have such power over me? Well, it's complicated.
Things hadn't always been this bad. Childhood for me was privileged and comfortable. I had grown up attending strict, private schools with girls who shared a similar upbringing and operated on the same wavelength. Talks consisted of who had the newest gadget or horse. Poverty was just something that was never an issue or up for discussion. Scraping by from day to day was just something other people had to deal with, the kind of broken families that grew up in the suburbs, and as I often overheard my parents contemplating: it was probably their fault in the first place. Poor people just settled and were too quick to blame everyone else for their misfortune. They simply didn't have the drive to excel themselves and climb the ladder out of their mediocracy. Ambition was never in their limited vocabulary.
From a young age, the plan had been to go to one of the prestigious colleges, with Yale, Harvard and Princeton all within my applications. This was just something that had never been up for discussion, with most members of my family having graduated from the best colleges in the country.
Following the tradition, my parents had assured me that I was a shoe-in and that everything had been arranged. My folks were reliable when it came to things like that. Whatever I wanted, I would usually get. On this subject, I would have my choice of whichever institution I selected; that was simply how things worked for those in my family. I would be the one in control, not the universities themselves. My father just knew the right people and had ample resources when it came to assuring my wants were fulfilled. Once I had my degree, this would lead me to a guaranteed position in a notable company within whatever industry I selected, along with the benefits package and salary suited to my station. Therefore, knowing my future was set in stone, I cruised through school without a worry. I mean, who cared about paying attention in class when I was already guaranteed a place in whatever college I wanted?
Then, during the midst of my applications, the college admissions scandal broke, and suddenly, things became a lot more difficult. It appeared my parents weren't the only ones that had this educational institution situation nailed down, and once the corruption and bribery was revealed, things became a lot stricter. No longer could a place be bought, but instead, it had to be achieved via merit, which is where the problem arose.
As I said, school had always been a breeze for me, and I knew with my parent's status and connections that I was going in whatever direction I pleased. As a result, grades weren't so important. After the media furore of the scandal; my grades no longer held up, and that guaranteed place I'd been assured of no longer existed. I naively attended all three admissions interviews, thinking my family name was enough to get me through. However, I flunked each one. The final one at Harvard was the worst, a quick glance at my GPA and the interview ended abruptly. As a final insult, on the way out, the interviewer leant over to his secretary and queried how I'd even got this far through the process.
"Her grades are atrocious," he had said. "Another spoilt child knowing nothing about hard work."
Instead of retorting, I blushed in embarrassment and left a humiliated tomato, my skin glowing and tingling with shame.
After that mortifying day, panic set in, in a way I'd never before experienced. I scrambled for another college to accept me, and with everything being last minute, I was forced to attend the local college in my state, one my family would never have even considered. Even that interview wasn't straight forward, and I was pretty much left begging for a chance by its conclusion.
Despite our wealth, my family had a prideful tradition of receiving scholarships, as some sort of recognition of our supposed academic prowess. So, it only added to our embarrassment that I couldn't even qualify for any funding, such was the pathetic average of my grades. Usually my father would have had a word, noting it beneficial for a member of our family to be one of these institution's ambassadors, however, none wanted to go near us with a bargepole, expecting the obvious questions that would arise. The media salivating at the mouth for the next spoiled rich kid to plaster all over their front pages, a rich kid that had stolen the place of a less privileged student. Therefore, my parents had to pay my fees, to a crappy college that completely shamed them.
I enrolled in an economics degree, figuring I possibly had a future in accountancy since that's where my daddy's interests and business lay. He sat on the board on a prestigious accountancy firm and had considerable pull in the hiring process. Though nepotism was generally accepted, it was an unwritten rule that any new employees had to be recent graduates. So, despite everything, I was pretty much guaranteed a lucrative position in future; I just had to get through my shitty college degree first. My career path had been stunted, but I would get there in the end. Everything was straightforward, right?
As I rolled through the college gates that first day, I looked around and felt so out of place. All of the other students looked rough, a mix of various ethnicities and cultures wearing clothes I'd never be seen in. There was none of the elegance or decorum I was used to, some kids even lighting up a cigarette and tossing the butts aside. Still, despite turning my nose up to such behaviour, I kept to myself and figured I could just suffer the next few years and move on to greater pastures.
All in my strategy was going to plan. I sat at the back of the lectures and took notes without interaction. Then, after a few hours, I headed to lunch. Without really thinking about it, I walked over to the girl behind the counter at the canteen, placed my order and took a seat, the same way I had always done in school. The food on offer wasn't to the usual high standard I was accustomed to, but then, that was to be expected at such a shoddy college. This wasn't a place of coq au vin, but rather burgers and hot dogs.
I was looking around for a waiter, when the chef woman yelled over at me to come and get my food. "This isn't the Ritz, darling," she screeched before impatiently sliding my tray across the counter.
I looked around the hall bemused, and noted that everyone was taking their food as they paid for it, yet here I was, sat awaiting my table service. While blushing, I collected my tray with embarrassment, whispering a muted apology while a few sniggers came from other girls in the vicinity.
"Does she think she's royalty or something?" said a tall and well-built Latina girl. Her hair was tied back into a curly bush, with her abs clearly visible beneath a tight, crop top. Similarly, tight leggings clung to her strong thighs, and there were a dirty pair of sneakers on her feet. She looked me up and down while I awkwardly made my way to the table with my tray. While I picked at my food, I could hear the sniggers coming from her and her friends. "Look at little miss perfect," she said while glaring my way. "Thinks she's better than everyone else."
"Did she seriously think they were going to bring her food to her?" one of the other girls in the group asked.
The Latina was scowling at me by this point, and I shrank under the weight of her frown. "I bet she did. She's one of them uppity bitches with a silver spoon up her ass." As she turned and gossiped with her group, her large, hooped earrings swung from her ears. "Probably has a butler or something."
I continued to pretend I didn't hear, but knew at that point I'd already made an enemy on my first day; All because of a genuine and naïve faux pas on my part. How the hell was I supposed to know that the staff wouldn't bring your meal over to you? That's what always happened at the private schools I attended. We even had a menu we could pick and order from in advance. I recalled my mother had the chef's phone number, so if I was unwell, we could have a meal sent to the house. I didn't think I was in the Ritz, but I certainly wished I had been.
After that day, I avoided the canteen as much as I could, terrified of encountering that girl again and being put through a further humiliation. Not only did she have an acid tongue, but the girl was physically intimidating. I mean, I was in pretty good shape from all of the extra-curricular activities after my private school lessons in my own regard. Volleyball and lacrosse were particular favourites, and I could best be considered athletic. I was also quite tall. However, the Latina in the canteen was truly a physical sight, appearing strong and powerful. Not only that, but she was taller than me too, something I wasn't at all used to. If her light teasing ever turned physical, then I was afraid I would come off second best.
Instead of the canteen, I grabbed food on the way to class and would eat in the library while studying. It was a lot more peaceful, and though there were signs explicitly stating that food wasn't allowed, most of the other students there were happily munching on sandwiches and sipping lattes without any bother from the librarian.
