Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 11.

by Melissa

Part 11. Discovering Elmwood Academy as a privileged student.

The morning sun peeked through the luxurious drapes, casting warm light across my room. I stirred, the weight of the previous night's realization still heavy on my chest. Was it all a dream? Would the other Melissa Jones - the redhead - arrive and shatter the illusion? But then, a knock on the door jolted me back to reality.

Opening the door, I was greeted by three girls, their faces alight with friendly smiles. Their polished uniforms and confident demeanours screamed "Elmwood Academy royalty." Yet, their voices held a warmth that surprised me. They introduced themselves as my next-door neighbours, privileged Elmwood students named Jessica, Emma and Olivia. Their voices held a warmth that surprised me. Used as I was to averted gazes and hushed whispers, this open friendliness felt surreal.

"Good morning, Melissa!" Jessica's voice rang out, bubbly and enthusiastic. "We saw you weren't out and about yet, so we thought we'd invite you to join us for breakfast in the lounge."

Emma, the quiet observer of the group, chimed in, "It's the most incredible spread, with everything you could imagine. And the company's pretty good too," she added with a wink.

Olivia, the fashionista of the trio, flashed a dazzling smile. "Come on, we wouldn't want you to miss out! Put on your uniform, and we'll show you the way."

The invitation hung in the air, laced with genuine kindness. I hesitated, the weight of my secret pressing down on me. Normally, the very idea of rich entitled girls would have made me bristle. But something about their genuine smiles and the warmth in their eyes disarmed me, and the thought of sharing a meal with these seemingly friendly girls, of experiencing another slice of this privileged world, was too tempting to resist. Taking a deep breath, I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Sure, thank you."

Hesitantly, I donned the unfamiliar schoolgirl uniform again, the soft fabric still unfamiliar against my skin but whispering promises of a different life. Joining my new neighbours, I followed them through the corridors, their laughter echoing in the grand halls. As I walked alongside them, their chatter filled the hallway, a symphony of excitement and plans for the day. I listened, absorbing their world, their language, feeling like an outsider peering into a secret club. But their casual acceptance, their lack of judgment, offered a sliver of comfort.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 10.

by Melissa

Part 10. Welcomed as a privileged student at Elmwood Academy.

The cacophony of announcements, hurried footsteps, and rolling luggage painted a vivid portrait of bustling life as I waded through the human current of the train station, on my way to the platform where my second-class carriage was waiting for me. Suddenly, I collided with a red-haired girl, the impact sharp and unexpected. I stumbled back, surprised, and my eyes met hers. She was the epitome of preppy perfection, designer labels adorning her like polished armour. Her outfit screamed wealth and privilege, a stark contrast to my own worn and somewhat trashy clothes that bear the quiet scars of a life less fortunate.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over me. The air thrummed with an awkward silence, thick with the unspoken difference between our worlds. Not wanting to give that rich bitch any opportunity to humiliate me, I decided to take the initiative and to have a little fun at her expense.

"You clumsy oaf!" I exploded in her face, my voice dripping with accusation and disdain. "Look what you've done!"

Taken aback by my words, the loser girl meekly apologized. As she began to gather her scattered belongings, I noticed that our train tickets had both fluttered to the ground. I quickly went down and retrieved her first class ticket.

"My ticket!" she exclaimed, her eyes glinting with surprise. "That's mine!"

"Oh, please," I scoffed at her with amusement. "Look at you, all dressed up like you're going to a debutante ball. You don't deserve a seat in first class."

Then I turned around and, before that dumb redhead could react, I hurried away in the crowd with her first-class ticket tightly clutched in my hand, leaving my own ticket on the ground.

Shortly afterwards, the train conductor materialized in front of me. A wave of apprehension washed over me as I faced him, fearing he'd confiscate the first-class ticket. Instead, to my surprise, he only offered a warm smile after examining it. "This way, Miss," he gestured forward, ushering me into the opulent first-class cabin. Without asking, he effortlessly lifted my luggage, making me feel instantly pampered. With a reassuring smile, he made sure I was comfortably seated before turning his attention to other first-class passengers.