IN YOUR SHOES

"Don't look at me like that, you don't expect me to say sorry to a wretched scholarship brat, do you?" She scorned as I only stared at her, with my face showing no reaction, but with my head filled with different thoughts as I picked up my books which she had knocked to the ground while she stepped on me. ‎ ‎"I don't like the look on your face, apologize," she added. This finally made me speak. ‎ ‎"For what?" I found myself asking. ‎ ‎"For giving me that snake look when you can't even afford to. You know if I get you expelled from this school, you will end up in the slums," she answered while her friends, which I would rather call minions, laughed in support. ‎ ‎"Sorry." A voice answered from behind. It was Tiana, the only person I relate with in this school, and now she's standing up against my bullies for me. It was a pathetic way to do that though, but I would sometimes like to consider her as a friend. ‎ ‎I tried speaking but couldn't find my words. ‎ ‎"Yeah, another scholarship brat, let's keep it that way," Celine added as she walked away with her minions. ‎ ‎"Why did you do that?" I asked as soon as I found my voice. ‎ ‎"You can't go against Celine, the best way of preventing worse things is to simply avoid them," she said as she walked to her seat. ‎ ‎I was about to respond, saying something, anything — that avoiding it doesn't make it go away, but the bell rang, which ushered the teacher in, commencing the lectures of the day. ‎ ‎*************************************************************************************************************************** ‎ ‎My name is Mara Jill, and I came from the slums of Greymill, a small town that resides on the coast, so you can say I came from the ghetto, unfortunately. I had lived a very hard life with my family, which only consists of my mom and two younger siblings. You can guess my position in the house — I am the first child. My father — that man. He left after my youngest sibling was born. I was only eight when this happened, when my mom was on her knees pleading, trying to prevent him from going, but he didn't listen as he pushed her to the ground. He, alongside a strange woman, took what was left of his luggage and vanished into thin air. ‎ ‎My mom often says he left to get us a better life and that he's going to be back one day, but I know that was a lie, as the only thing nearest to the truth is the delusional fantasies that exist in her head. ‎ ‎Eight years later, with still me, my mom and my siblings, still living in the slums of Greymill with no light at the end of the tunnel, except a sudden beam of hope which came in disguise as a scholarship. Before then, I had gone to a public school, and I knew my chances of making it were slim, very slim. So I forged my age with the aid of an area brother to work part time, as no one would let a 15-year-old girl work with them, and it worked while it lasted, as I was able to assist my mom in taking care of my siblings. But I was eventually discovered and was told to go. After I explained my situation to them, I was even given a golden piece of information on top. ‎ ‎I was told Silverdale Academy, the most prestigious school in Greymill, had scholarship spots open for ten students. I made my research and it was still on. It wasn't easy, but I was able to write the exam along with some students — about a hundred of us. I remembered how hard I fasted and prayed, and when it eventually came out, I was part of the ten who got in. My mom was relieved that I had saved her some finances, and I thought things were only about to get better, but I was wrong, so brutally wrong, as there was extreme classism in the school, and my scholarship identity stuck to me like a leper. ‎ ‎The Elite students, as they often call those without scholarships, talked and interacted with their social class, because even amongst the Elite students, there was an invisible classification that dictated where they belonged, most often ranked by their parents' financial status. The highest class were called Legends, followed by the Sirens, then the Classical, with the lowest of the low — the scholarship students — called the Peasants. ‎ ‎*************************************************************************************************************************** ‎ ‎"Mara." ‎ ‎"Mara." The voice came again. ‎ ‎"Mara." The voice came one more time, jerking me back to reality. It was the teacher. Apparently he had been asking me a question which I wasn't answering. ‎ ‎"Are you sleeping in my class?" he asked, which led to a small uproar among others in the class. ‎ ‎"No, sir," I answered firmly. ‎ ‎"Then answer my question. What's your view on Power?" he asked. ‎ ‎"Who will want a peasant's view of power in this day and age," a student whispered loudly. ‎ ‎"I know righttttt," another student added with a chuckle, leading to a little murmur in the classroom. ‎ ‎"Quiet," the teacher said, as he gave a stern look. ‎ ‎"Let's hear your take, Miss Jill," he added. ‎ ‎"Power?" I asked. ‎ ‎"A desire given, an absolute control in order," I said as I raised my brows. ‎ ‎"Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely," I added. ‎ ‎"There's no one with absolute power," the teacher stated as he was about to move to the next person. ‎ ‎"You're wrong, teacher," a girl with long grey hair said, as she folded her hands, while using a little finger to play with her hair, with a little smirk forming across her lips. ‎ ‎"He has absolute power," she said as an undeniably handsome boy about 6ft walked in, leaving whispers amongst the students with some people screaming, while others checked if he was real. He had long golden hair with light blue eyes in contrast. His piercing blue eyes were intimidating, and for a moment, I knew things were about to change. ‎ ‎