Chapter 3
659 Words
Beverly Elite Private School catered exclusively to old-money heirs and social elites.
Every student arrived in luxury vehicles, dressed in bespoke designer pieces, decked out in high-end accessories from head to toe.
My father enforced strict identity concealment rules to shield me from our family's enemies.
No luxury brands, no fancy rides, no hints of wealth were allowed on campus.
I commuted daily in a beat-up ten-year-old Volvo with chipped paint all over the body.
A plain gray canvas backpack held all my textbooks, and my wardrobe consisted entirely of basic Uniqlo solids—zero logos, zero status symbols.
Groups of classmates whispered behind my back, thinking their comments were out of earshot.
"How'd she even get into this school? Must be on a full need-based scholarship."
"Showing up in that busted Volvo is so embarrassing. Doesn't she feel out of place here?"
Mia happened to walk past mid-conversation, quickly cutting in with a fake soothing tone as if defending me. "Guys, be nice. It's actually super impressive that she worked this hard to get in. Regular people struggle so much for opportunities like this—we should be more understanding."
The crowd instantly praised her for her kindness and empathy.
Only seconds later, her tone turned sharp and condescending, a mocking edge slipping into her voice. "Still, that obvious poor vibe is impossible to hide. Nothing beats my custom-made Kérastase fits and real designer pieces, right?"
I heard every cutting word crystal clear, yet didn't bother lifting my gaze or responding. Arguing with her petty antics wasn't worth my time.
I tuned out her mocking and listened as she gossiped with her group of admirers about the upcoming freshman gala.
She bragged endlessly about her custom haute couture gown and matching luxury jewelry, planning to steal the entire spotlight. Her audience erupted in constant gasps and envious compliments.
A faint smirk tugged at my lips. I'd wait and see what shoddy knockoff she'd parade as high-end fashion.
*****
Formal events required strict adherence to the dress code per my father's rules, leaving no room for my usual casual simplicity.
For the gala, I picked a minimalist matte black Loro Piana floor-length gown, paired with plain Hermès leather flats—clean, elegant, and entirely unbranded to avoid attention.
I stood alone in the corner of the event tent, sipping cold fruit juice from a clear glass. I watched the crowd buzz with anticipation for Mia's grand entrance, fully prepared to witness her inevitable downfall.
A sudden, sharp gasp rippled through the venue, quickly exploding into universal murmurs of awe.
The crowd split down the middle, craning their necks towards the entrance in unison.
Mia made her dramatic debut. Draped in a gold sequined trailing gown and sky-high stilettos, she wore full ruby stud earrings and a dazzling diamond necklace. Two followers scurried beside her, holding the lengthy train of her dress to keep it off the floor.
She scanned the room slowly, drinking in every ounce of admiration and envy directed her way.
Her gaze faltered only when it landed on me in the corner—my calm, unimpressed expression lacking even a flicker of awe.
Irritation flashed across her face. She sauntered over with deliberate arrogance, fixing her eyes on me mockingly.
"Hey, Elaine," she called out loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
All heads swiveled in my direction.
She raked her eyes up and down my outfit disdainfully. "Is that dress from Uniqlo? I swear I saw it on sale for nineteen ninety-nine last week."
Loud snickers broke out across the crowd.
I smiled faintly to myself, thoroughly amused. My premium Loro Piana designer gown had just been mistaken for fast fashion.
"If you can't afford proper gala attire, you could've just asked me. My walk-in closet's full of fancy dresses. I would've let you borrow one." She sneered, chin tilted high.
She waited expectantly for me to flush with embarrassment, confident in her own superiority.
- Writer
