The Trapped

                                                                                       - B L A I R E - 11.04.16 // 5:48 p.m. I STARE AT MY reflection in the mirror for at least ten minutes, as if looking at myself for a long time would somehow make my outfit change. I sigh, again, as I tug on the flimsy material of my dress for the thousandth time today. It is a nice dress, for a six-year-old maybe or someone who has no desire to look good in public. I got it from my grandma for Christmas two years ago and I couldn't believe my mom is really making me wear it to the country club tonight. It is tight around my waist and itchy whenever I rub my legs against the black linen. It has a red rose pattern, something my grandma loved so much that I am surprised she didn't keep the dress for herself. My hair is frizzy and tangled from the sticky, humid air that was outside earlier today when I was at the pool. I run a hand through my thick curls, messing them up even more before I leave the comfort of my room to go face the beast, otherwise known as my mother. I saunter down the large spiral staircase in my house, my hand trailing along with the softwood of the handrail, admiring the precision and hard work put in to build this place for my family. My heels click loudly against the marble floor, the only sound echoing throughout the silent house. When I enter the great room, my mom is sitting on the couch with her usual perfect posture and crossed legs. It is always the right leg over the left leg. God forbid if you ever did it vice versa. Such a sin. I roll my eyes at myself before joining my mom on the couch. Her thin brown hair is placed on her head in a perfect bun, not one hair out of place. Her thick eyebrows look as if they are glued to her forehead due to the shiny eyebrow gel she got from our European exchange student. She sips hot tea from her favorite Royal Antoinette teacup collection. Her slender fingers wrap delicately around the handle, one pinkie perfectly raised as she blows on her steaming drink. Her bright green eyes flicked up to mine when I stand in front of her. She gives me one of her warm smiles, the corner of her perfect thin lips curving up.     "Blaire, honey, you look beautiful. Straighten up though," she tells me and I automatically raise my shoulders and tilt my head up. "Are you ready for tonight?" She asks.     "Yes, ma'am, I am very excited," I respond politely, plastering a smile on my lips. She sets her tea down on the Benetti's Italian Sicily Coffee table, the cup making a small clinking sound as it makes contact with the table. She stands up and brushes the invisible crumbs off of her Satin and Sleeveless black cocktail dress. She gives me a tight smile as she smoothes down my hair with clear disapproval etched onto her face. When she is done, she makes her way over to the door, walking gracefully with perfect precision.  I follow after her, not quite matching her perfect step, but I try nonetheless. Our Chauffeur, Luke, gives us a small bow and opens the front door for us, welcoming us in the chilly fall weather. Autumn is strange here in this part of Beverly Hills. The trees remained green from summer until the middle of October and then there was a riot of colors after that. The air is cooler in the evening with only a tincture of earthiness - just a hint that brought to the mind that it is time to bring out the sweaters and hot chocolate. A single golden leaf pirouettes down - from one of our many trees - spinning lightly through the air as it shakes slightly, landing on my shoulder. I flick it off with my nails and take a glance at my mom, hoping she didn't see that unlawful act. Mom walks along our perfectly molded cobblestone driveway. Her four-inch stilettos clicking loudly against the rocky pathway to our car garage. I stumble a little bit and she turns sharply, glaring at me and I give her a shy, apologetic smile.     "If the people saw you walking like that at the country club, they will never nominate you for anything. You have to remember, Blaire,  everyone is going to be watching you. You have to be presentable," she scolds harshly as we come to a stop at the parking garage that opens as soon as we step on the curb, the sensor recognizing our bodies. Luke waits patiently as Mom decides which car she wants to take to the Country Club. Luke is a young man, around the age of twenty-five, and has worked for my family for at least three years. His blonde hair blows gently from the breeze and he taps his foot impatiently, checking his watch every now and then. If we are late tonight, Mom would blame it on him, even though she is the one taking centurions to choose a car.     "Here we are!" Mom says as she finds the perfect match. She chooses the Ferrari Aperta, the most expensive car we own, but I know Mom wants to show off tonight like she always does. She hands Luke the keys who nods at her and swoops around to the car, opening the back door for me. I slide in effortlessly, placing my purse on the seat. Mom takes her place in the front seat and Luke takes his place in the driver seat. He cruises into the open street and begins his journey to the Country Club. Mom stares out onto the road, looking at all the houses and deciding what she needs to do to make ours look a little bit better, even though it already is. This is the part of Beverly Hills everyone thinks of, with its giant mansions and stuck up rich people. Sprouting palm trees wave at the by-goers as the sun starts to set. The pink skies look like cotton candy with a blue swirling.      "Are you sure this is the right way?" Mom questions Luke, who looks like he wants to yell at her.         "Yes, ma'am, we go this way every time," He responds nonchalantly, pushing his black sunglasses further up his face to hide the annoyed look in his eyes. Mom settles back in her seat and begins her judging on houses again. Ten minutes later, we are pulling into the Hawthorn's Family Country Club and Golfing. Cars have already filled the parking lot and people in expensive dresses and tuxedos walk elegantly to the door, happy smiles painted on their faces as they take in the feeling that they are about to attend the biggest social event of the year. Our reserved park is located near the entrance, the word Hawthorn spray-painted in white on the empty space. Luke eases into the park and gets out to open the door for us. When I get out, I can already feel the stares directed towards us. Why wouldn't they stare though? Generations of the Hawthorns have put the Hawthorn family name on such a high pedestal that everyone thinks we are Gods sent straight from heaven. People move out of the way as Mom and I walk towards the entrance. Whispers and awes are surely heard, but it doesn't surprise me, it is like this every single year. The big event is held in Conference Room twenty, the largest room here. People mingle in the lobby, each sharing a drink and the fancy hors d'oeuvres being passed around by the waiters. One of the servers, who went by the name Jon, rushes over to Mom and me as soon as we enter. He wears the formal black tux and pants, the dress code for all servers, and proudly wears his gold name tag with the words Hawthorn's Family County Club carved in.     "Mrs. Hawthorn. Ms. Hawthorn," he greets, bowing before us and taking my Mom's hand, placing a light kiss on it. I bite my lip to keep from gagging. He holds out the platter of fancy Mouna bread to us and I take one happily, having not eaten since breakfast I was internally grateful for the appetizer. I bite into the bread and flavor burst into my mouth from the rich, creamy filling on the inside. I moan in delight, earning a glare from Mom for the second time tonight.     "Thank you, Jon," Mom says and he bows once again before turning on his heel and leaving. "Come on now, we must get our seats," Mom whispers in my ear, placing a hand on my elbow and leading me to the Conference Room. Room twenty is surely decked out for tonight's event. The walls, which were pink last week for my cousin's sixteenth birthday party, are now a creme color, with dark brown stripes that are evenly spaced out. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, shining brightly due to the fact it is the only light source here. Hundreds of roundtables are scattered around the space, each with a white cloth draped over it and a vase of dark yellow flowers planted directly in the middle. Where people got flowers around this time of year is beyond me but, leave it to my Mom to get the best of the best. A few violinists, a pianist, and a cellist sit on the stage, playing an old elegant tune, something nice for ballroom dancing. Around six-thirty, people start filling the room, evacuating the lobby, and gladly taking their seats.      "I didn't see you come in," a voice says from beside me. Sutter Canton, my boyfriend of two years now, has taken his assigned seat next to me and has an arm wrapped loosely around the back of my chair. His hair is floppy, but in that bed-head sexy kind of way, and he wears my favorite blue button-up shirt I got him for his birthday.        "I kind of had to snake through the crowd unnoticed. You know how famous I am," I joke and Sutter chuckles lightly under his breath, being careful to not be too loud. His mother is much like mine, strict and uptight with very little patience for people. Mrs. Canton sits across from me, her eyes twinkling as she greets my mom with a fake smile because she really doesn't like her very much. Her hair is black, almost as dark as midnight, and she has it straight down. It shines brightly with hair gel, probably expensive hair gel. Mr. Canton, who sits next to her, but not by choice, looks like he would rather be anywhere else but here. The smug look of disgust on his face is enough to tell anyone he doesn't belong here. Mr. and Mrs. Canton divorced years ago, but they still pretend to be married because 1) they must keep their family name on top of the social hierarchy and 2) for the sake of Sutter who they felt needed to grow up with two parents instead of one.   Mr. Rodgers, party manager and Co-CEO of our Country Club, also a longtime family friend of ours, takes a place at the podium on the stage. He wears a fitted gray suit and black tie, his manager name tag glaring in my eyes from the bright lights.      "Good evening everyone and thank you for joining us tonight for this gracious occasion," his voice booms with the use of the microphone. Everyone applause before he speaks again,"tonight we will recognize our youth with prestigious awards. Only the best of the best have been nominated to receive these awards, this is the creme of the crop." Everyone cheers again, the loud applause bouncing off of the thin walls.      "We have over twenty nominees, all under the age of eighteen, who have been chosen from the renowned Crestwood Preparatory Academy, a school that mainly focuses on academics and visual performing arts. You have to be insanely talented and smart to even be considered getting picked to go to that school and that alone is something to be celebrated," Mr. Rodgers says, raising his glass of champagne high in the air. Everyone else does the same as Mr. Rodgers as if this is a game of Simon Says. Sutter nudges me in the side with his pointer finger, gaining my attention as Mr. Rodgers begins to ramble about the standards of Crestwood Preparatory Academy.     "I like how he brags so much about the school but he never even went there. I don't even think he has been on the campus before," Sutter whispers in my ear, making me laugh quietly, bowing my head down so no one could see me.     "Don't say that he's a cool guy," I whisper back, making Sutter scoff and roll his eyes before returning his attention back to Mr. Rodgers.     "Now each nominee will receive a nomination award, but that is mainly for a people that didn't win one of the major awards," Mr. Rodgers says as the servers come out with plaques. A young woman hands one to Sutter and me. It's a golden plaque with the words NOMINATION AWARD IS HEREBY PRESENTED TO BLAIRE HAWTHORN.       "The first awards go to kids who have maintained a four-point zero GPA this year and who stand out by going above and beyond with their work," Mr. Rodgers opens up a silver envelope and reads the names, "There are four kids: Sutter Canton, Robin Lope, Karen Robles, and Victoria Reynolds." Sutter gets up from beside me and makes his way to the stage as loud applause and whistles erupted from the audience like a volcano. My best friend, Victoria, who is forced to sit at a different table, also makes her way to the stage. She gives me a thumbs up on the sly before regaining her perfect stance. Her long blonde hair cascades down her back as if she is Rapunzel waiting to be saved from her castle. They receive their golden plaques and medals before taking a seat again.     "This next award goes to one kid who stood out throughout the years she has been at the academy. All her teachers brag about how amazing she is and how much she strives to be the perfect student. For having a four-point three GPA it gives me great honor to give this award to Blaire Hawthorn." Mr. Rodgers points a finger in my direction as I get up from my seat.     "That's my girl," Sutter says, making me smile. I climb the three stairs it takes to get to the stage and receive the plaque and medal.     "Congrats," Mr. Rodgers smiles and shakes my hand. I glance at my Mom who isn't standing up like most people but instead is clapping in her chair with a dull look on her face. I wasn't expecting her to do anything, I mean this is what I am supposed to do. I sit back down as Mr. Rodgers reads the Nature and Kindness award. "The winner of the Most Books Read in a Year award goes to Victoria Reynolds." Victoria smiles tightly as she makes her way to the stage for the second time that night.     "Now, moving on from academic awards, it is time for visual and performing arts and sports awards. First, I will read the overall winner of those two awards then read the smaller ones." He opens the silver envelope before continuing,         "Winner of the Sports Award is a guy that has been the captain of the basketball team, football team, and swim team. His main sport is baseball and he led the team to the Division one championships two years in a row. Receiving MVP last season, this award goes to Sutter Canton." Many people, mainly girls, stand up to cheer on Sutter as he goes to get his plaque. I grin like a foolish i***t as Sutter strides to the stage, his steps long and graceful. Yes, girls, he's mine. He smiles proudly at the photographer who snaps a photo of him before coming back.     "The visual and performing arts award goes to a girl who has done over ten VAPA courses this year such as photography, art, music, orchestra and band, theater, and many more. She found her passion for dance three years ago and is now one of the best dancers at the academy, having winning several out-standing dance awards. This award goes to the one and only Blaire Hawthorn." I go up, get the award, and sit back down. That is how it went the rest of the night, all of us know what to do as if we have practiced a thousand times. When it comes to the final and biggest awards, I am tired and weary, ready for the night to be over so I could go home.     "The final award is the highest honor award you could get here. This award has been chosen by the mayor of the city and the principal at Crestwood Preparatory Academy. There was also a survey handed out at the academy so the students could choose who should get the Golden Prodigy award. To qualify for this award, there are five standards you have to meet; out-standing academics, perfect attendance at school, hard work in some kind of performing arts, some form of community service, and participation in school activities. It gives me great honor to give this award to a child I have known for almost ten years. The winner is none other than Blaire Hawthorn!" I smile brightly at everyone, even though it didn't surprise me that I won this award. Of course, everyone voted for me, it was inevitable. I slowly make my way up the stage, savoring these final moments before I get to leave. This plaque is bigger than the other ones and I take it gratefully before going back to my seat.     "That is all for tonight. You are free to leave but we encourage you to stay for dinner and dessert, and a little partying of course," Mr. Rodgers closes before making his way off of the stage, limping slightly due to the fact that he has been standing for almost two hours.     "I'll see you soon, baby. I love you," Sutter tells me before pecking my lips and heading off with his parents. Public Display of Affection is something strictly prohibited in our families. Mom says her goodbyes to everyone and I earn lots of congratulations before we finally get to leave the Country Club. It is almost eight-thirty and the darkness has now taken over the city. The ride home is long, boring, and silent. Mom doesn't speak once about my accomplishments, but instead scrolls through her emails, squinting to read the words since she didn't have her glasses. I look out the window at the pitch-black curtain that is draped over the once blue sky and the twisted shapes the stars make against the black veil. The stars twirl and dance across the sky, as if it is a choreographed ballet performance. Something inside me tugs at the corner of my lips, making me grin. The stars burn with a brilliant pallidness of electric light, burning and burning and never going out. We arrive at home moments later. The ride felt quicker than going there, maybe because I dreaded tonight so much. Luke opens the door for us, as usual, and says goodnight before going home, only to return here early in the morning. Mom is still staring at her phone, somehow avoiding stepping on the roses that are on our porch. She unlocks the door and leaves it open- a sign that shows she knew I still exist. I sigh and pick up the roses that have a small envelope attached. I remove the tape and stare profoundly at the creme colored envelope. It has a sticker with a single rose on it that kept it closed. I rip it open and pull out a piece of paper with perfect cursive writing on it. Blaire Hawthorn, You wore roses today on that pretty little dress of yours at the Country Club. It reminded me of better times, happier times to be more precise. You didn't see me there, I was invisible as usual. I was like a ghost But much like a ghost, just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there. I choose you my beautiful one. For you are the Rose I have searched for -T I thought it was some kind of joke then. I didn't believe anything when I first read the letter. Now I do.