All I’ve Never Wanted(2)

No, I’m not joking. One wrong look at any of the Scions and you might as well kiss your social, and sometimes academic, life goodbye. The abuse wrought by the rest of the students on the offender is so notoriously horrible most are forced to transfer schools.



As for me? Well, I've never had a direct run-in with the Scions. It took me all of one class period when I started here last year to realize how things worked, and I had gone out of my way to avoid them. Astonishingly, it had worked. I've never been closer than fifty feet to them, which is definitely a good thing. I mean, it might seem cowardly to some, but I know the Scions had the school faculty eating out of the palms of their hands. I didn't want to risk doing something that might provoke their wrath, or there goes my teacher's recommendations and my dream of attending Stanford goodbye.



Avoiding them was actually quite easy, considering the Scions had their own classroom, where they came and went as they pleased; their own private nook in the dining area, and a mass of students surrounding them whenever they went. It was a wonder they learned anything at school.



Then again, they probably didn’t. Why would they need to, when they were already set to take over their family’s empires?



I took a deep breath as Valesca's perfectly manicured campus came into view. I could do this. Just one more year, and then I would be on my way to college, where I can pretend my experience here was just been a bad dream.



I was annoyed but unsurprised to see the crowd gathered on the flight of stairs that led to the entrance. Everyone was laughing and hugging after an oh-so-taxing summer apart at their parents' villas in the south of France (note the sarcasm) but they were all casting surreptitious glances at the four empty, prime parking spots in the parking lot.



Locate directly in front of the school and slightly separated from the rest of the lot, they were reserved for the Scions. On normal days, the Scions usually carpooled two and two, but on the first day, they each liked to make a grand entrance in their own overly priced sportsmobiles. During the other school days, of course, two of those spots would remain empty, since no one would ever dare park in one of them.



Already in a bad mood, I elbowed my way through the crowd, ignoring my peers' curious glances. Before I could get inside, however, I heard someone scream my name.



"Maya! Mayaaaaaaa! MAYA LINDBERG!"



The last utterance was yelled directly into my ear, and I flinched a bit, waiting for the ringing in my ears to stop before I turned to face the petite, pretty redhead.



"Hi, Venice," I said with a genuine smile.



"Hiiii!" She enveloped me in a crushing hug that had me staggering back a few steps. For someone so small and thin, she sure weighed a lot. "I missed you so much!"



"I missed you too," I laughed, listening patiently as Venice rambled on about her amazing summer eco-tour of Costa Rica.



Venice France (yes, that really is her name. Her parents, apparently blessed with a sick sense of humor, also named her younger sister Kyoto and her older brother Frankfurt; understandably, he goes by Frankie) is one of the few genuinely nice, down-to-earth people in this school. In fact, she might be the only one.



We became close last year when we both had the unfortunate luck of being stuck in fifth-period AP Calculus with Mr. White, who is as albino-complexioned as his name suggests and who is way too pen-happy with his detention pad. Venice is also the only person who is privy to my seething hatred of the Scions and everything they stand for: elitism, superficiality, tyranny.



Suddenly, the entire school, it seemed, erupted into deafening cheers and hoots.



Oh shit.



I was about to slip inside the school when Venice grabbed my arm. "Where are you going?" she hissed.



"The bathroom," I blurted. "I really gotta go."



"No you don't. You just don't want to see them," she observed shrewdly.



"Well, if you know, why'd you ask?"



"Because I'm not going to let you slink away from them anymore!"



"I don't slink away," I protested. "I strategically miss them."



She ignored me and tugged on my arm, forcing me to walk down the steps with her until we were blocked by the crush of students. "I don't care what you call it, it's not healthy."



I eyed her suspiciously. "I bet you only want someone to gush to about how amazingly perfect they are."



She shrugged, not even bothering to deny it. "They are," she insisted somewhat defensively. "Physically speaking, anyway."



"There's more to life than looks," I countered, wincing when I realized how annoyingly preachy I sounded. Gotta work on that.