This was Rosebourg Institute, the school my parents were so proud to send me to. The school that, from the outside seemed to be the Harvard of boarding schools. And from the inside was, something else.
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There was no sound in the empty hallway, the silence broken only by my own low heartbeat. There were no shouts of joy, no voices, no life. I tried to convince myself that this was what was to be expected of a school with such high standards, but deep down, something felt– off.
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The collar was stiff against my neck. The cuffs of the full sleeved blouse coming exactly to my wrists. It was completely white, the buttons, cuffs, even the collar being no exception. It was neat, proper– perfect.
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My locker was in Corridor C, I had seen it a week before on Orientation Day. My first lesson was History, classroom E14 on the 2nd floor. The corridor stretched on, each singular tile cleaned and polished till it was perfect. In my hands I had 2 things other than the backpack slung over my shoulder; a map of the school with my schedule on the back of it, and a book, The Hawthorne Legacy, by Jennifer Lynn Barnes.
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I glanced at the map. I didn't need it though. I had already memorized each corridor, each path, each turn leading somewhere. Turning at a corner, I found myself in Corridor C. It looked the same honestly, polished tiles, lockers, classrooms, but then what more would a school have I guess. Turning my head, I saw the classroom plates. C13, C14, Science lab, C15. The lockers were opposite the classrooms, and on one of them there was a neon pink sticky note– mine.
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Elise Horroway
New Admission
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The writing was neat and slightly slanted. I took it off and put my books and notebooks into the locker, organizing them into neat piles. My bags would arrive in my dormitory at around evening.
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Getting to the classroom, my suspicions doubled down. 28 students, ironed uniforms, perfect posture, top buttons all done perfectly, all– working. A girl with long blond hair tied up in a braid was sketching diagrams, the girl behind her with glasses and a short bob was writing something in a pink notebook. Most of them flipped through classics, their expressions bare. No one laughed, no one spoke, all of them perfect bodies of productivity. I went over to one of the empty seats, next a girl solving math problems.
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"Hi," I waved to the neat girl who I had sat next to. She contined solving for x, not saying a word. She had bangs that reached just above her eyes and round black glasses that adorned her face. Then, she wrote something down on a sticky note, her long brown hair covering part of her face as she wrote. After a bit she passed it to me.
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"Don't. You'll ruin the record for Class of the Year–Elizabeth"
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I had just slipped it into my pocket when the door opened.
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High heels, hawk-eyes, stern expression, spectacles perched on a nose as sharp as knives, the teacher who had walked in looked like a Disney villain sealing the fate of humanity to her bidding.
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All the students rose to greet her,
"Good morning, Ms. Agatha Johnson!"
Each voice perfectly in sinc.
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She nodded slightly and went straight to her table to begin her lesson, no small talk, no 'how-was-your-summer break?', nor any 'we-have-a-new-student-today'. Just her entry and the beginning of the lesson.
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The desks were clear by now, as if the things had demateralized at her entry. Reaching her table she put her stuff down, an orange, partially see-through folder, probably containing lesson plans, and a leather bag. It looked fake.
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"Wait, before I start the lesson, everyone please take out your assignments, I'm coming to collect them." Her voice was stern.
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"Your assignment? " She inquired, when she came to my desk.
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"Miss, I didn't know we had an assignment, it's my first day here."
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"Well, you should’ve checked it on the school app." Before I could argue, she had gone to the next person. I hadn't even gotten my ID for the school app yet. After collecting, she began the topic. As if she hadn't just set unrealistic goals for me just now.
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The room was, nice, I guess.
It was neat, the kind of neat that made you wonder if anyone had even lived there–normally. Like a person that wasn't a facade.
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The door was on the right wall from birds eye view, I think. Next to the doorframe there was a closet, leaving a bit of walking space there was a bedside table and bed.
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There was also a closed door next to the wardrobe, probably a bathroom. At the foot of the bed there was a carpet and a desk with a shelf above it against the wall.
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This same setup was mirrored on the left, except for the bathroom. Coming inside, I noticed the desk closer to the door had some notebooks on it. They were arranged neatly in a stack, labeled and color-coded. The pencil holder was filled with blue and black pens.
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As I opened my closet, I saw that all my clothes were ironed and folded neatly. My coats and jackets were hung alongside the piles. As I closed the door, I heard someone enter the room. As I turned to see who it was, I saw that it was the same girl from history. She seemed surprised to see me too.
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"Hi, Elizabeth, right?" I said, trying to cut short the silence.
"Yeah," She said, placing her sketchbook on her desk.
"Do they organize all your stuff when you get here?"
She nodded, assessing me through her bangs, ''Standered procedure. You'll get used to it."
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and then Add to home screen.