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.

Following their lead, I entered the lounge, a haven of gleaming marble and crystal chandeliers. The air buzzed with lively chatter and the aroma of freshly baked pastries. As I approached the entrance scanner, a wave of nervousness washed over me. But with a practised ease, my companions placed their fingers on the pad, the green light flashing in recognition. I followed suit, my heart pounding in my chest. To my relief, the scanner accepted my fingerprint, granting me access. Relief mingled with a strange sense of elation as I stepped inside, joining the throng of students enjoying a decadent breakfast spread.

The breakfast lounge was a vision of opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over plush velvet booths and polished mahogany tables. The aroma of freshly baked pastries and brewed coffee filled the air, promising a culinary feast. As I sat down, a maid immediately appeared and dropped a curtsy, her smile as polished as the silver cutlery. The three girls, oblivious to my internal turmoil, happily ordered an array of exotic dishes. I followed suit, my mouth watering at the unfamiliar names and descriptions. The food, when it arrived, was a revelation. Each bite was a burst of flavour, a testament to the culinary mastery at play.

Over steaming mugs and plates piled high with gourmet delights, I engaged in conversation with my companions, carefully weaving my invented persona into the tapestry of their lives. I learned about their classes, their extracurricular activities, their dreams for the future. They, in turn, shared stories of their families, their weekends spent horseback riding or attending exclusive events. The more I listened, the more I realized that beneath the polished exteriors, these girls were just that - girls. They had insecurities, anxieties, and dreams just like me. In the background, the maids were toiling in silence to make our experience more pleasant, but nobody was paying any attention to them. I couldn't help admiring their graceful gestures, but, for all students, it was as if they were invisible.

As I sat amongst my newfound companions, sharing stories and savouring the delicate pastries, I couldn't help but be drawn to their genuine warmth. They were, indeed, privileged, but their kindness and lack of pretence disarmed my initial apprehension. Perhaps, I thought, wealth and privilege wasn't always synonymous with arrogance and entitlement. The lines between reality and my borrowed identity blurred, creating a strange sense of belonging I hadn't expected. But the truth remained a ticking time bomb. How long could I maintain this charade? And what would happen when the other Melissa Jones arrived, exposing my deception?

As we finished our breakfast, the girls suggested exploring the school grounds together after our lessons. "This place is incredible, right?" Jessica exclaimed, gesturing to the opulent surroundings. "But honestly, the best part is exploring the grounds. There's a hidden garden rumoured to have the most beautiful rose bushes, a secret spot by the lake with the most breathtaking view, and a well-equipped rooftop observatory." 

The thought of exploring the hidden corners of Elmwood Academy, a world I never dreamed I'd have access to, sent a thrill through me. The desire to experience it all, even if for a stolen moment, warred with the nagging guilt of my masquerade. I hesitated. The thought of being further entangled in this charade filled me with unease. Yet, the prospect of adventure, of experiencing Elmwood Academy beyond the confines of my room, was undeniably tempting. I weren't sure how long this charade could last, but for now, I was determined to experience this new world to the fullest. Finally, I took a deep breath. "I...I wouldn't mind exploring with you," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

Their faces lit up with genuine delight. "That's amazing!" Olivia squealed, clapping her hands. "We'll do that after our lessons! We know all the best shortcuts. But now let's head to our first class."

"Mrs. Williams will love you in class," Emma chimed in, her voice reassuring. "She's the headmistress, but also, and more importantly, our Leadership Development teacher. Her course is focusing on communication, public speaking, negotiation, conflict resolution, delegation, critical thinking, and strategic decision-making. She's one of the best teachers at Elmwood!"

The mention of my first lesson with Mrs. Williams grounded me. I thought I couldn't afford to lose myself in this borrowed identity, not with my community service obligations looming. Yet, the girls' invitation held a promise of connection, a chance to glimpse a world beyond my own. "Sounds interesting," I said, a smile tugging at my lips.

With a mix of trepidation and excitement, I headed towards my first class, my head held a little higher than usual. As I walked with my new companions under the watchful gaze of Elmwood Academy, the weight of my secret still hung heavy, but so did a flicker of hope. Each step felt like a tightrope walk, the thrill of the unknown balanced precariously against the fear of being caught. Yet, a strange sense of determination bloomed within me. This unexpected opportunity, this stolen glimpse into a different world, was changing me. I was learning, observing, adapting. Perhaps, in this borrowed identity, I was discovering a strength, a confidence I never knew I possessed. I knew the truth would come out eventually, but for now, I was Melissa Jones, the girl who was treated with respect, the girl who belonged, even if it was just an illusion.

Mrs. Williams, the Leadership Development teacher, greeted me with a warm smile, presenting herself as my main teacher, her eyes crinkling at the corners. As I settled into my seat, the classroom buzzing with the energy of new beginnings, I took a deep breath. This was my first step into the unknown, my first lesson not just in academics, but in the art of navigating a world that wasn't my own. The morning unfolded in a whirlwind of activity. Mrs. Williams' class was captivating, her passionate style bringing even abstract topics to life. I found myself engaged, my mind absorbing new information with surprising ease. This was totally unlike any course I had followed during my past public school experience. 

But, at the same time, what started as a surprisingly interesting discussion about the pros and cons of different political systems soon delved into the ruthless underbelly of asserting upper-class dominance within seemingly democratic societies. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as Mrs. Williams droned on about the importance of maintaining the power of the ruling class in our society. The other students, all of whom came from wealthy and influential backgrounds, nodded in agreement, their faces carefully composed to convey a mixture of boredom and indifference. It was as if they had heard this speech a hundred times before, and each time it grew more tedious. But for me, this was all new. My family was not part of the upper echelon, and it was only by mistake that I was able to attend as a student in this exclusive school. As I listened to the teacher speak about how the ruling class had a divine right to rule over the lower classes, I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. It wasn't that I disagreed with everything Mrs. Williams was saying, but rather the way in which it was being presented. There was something fundamentally wrong with the idea that some people were born to lead and others to be led, I thought.

The more Mrs. Williams talked, the more I found myself thinking about my own family and friends and the struggles they faced every day. I couldn't help but wonder how different things might be if they had been born into a wealthy and influential family like the ones in the room. At the same time, I knew I could not simply accept what the teacher was saying as gospel truth. There had to be another way for society to function, a way that was fairer and more equitable for everyone. As the class progressed, Mrs. Williams began to discuss specific case studies of historical families and dynasties who had managed to maintain control over generations. She spoke of the ruthlessness with which they had manipulated economics, politics, and social structures to ensure their continued dominance. While the other students seemed fascinated by these accounts, I found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable. I couldn't help but feel that there was something fundamentally wrong with the world the teacher was describing.

Mrs. Williams then shifted her focus to the delicate art of deception, i.e. of maintaining a public image of benevolence while wielding power behind the scenes. She discussed techniques for crafting persuasive narratives and using media to control public perception. As she explained the importance of creating a façade of democracy and equality while secretly maintaining control, I couldn't help but feel a chill run down my spine. It was as if I were being given a glimpse into the inner workings of a twisted and manipulative machine. The other girls in the class nodded along, seemingly unperturbed by the teacher's lessons. They were already well-versed in these tactics, having been raised in families who had perfected the art of maintaining power at any cost. I, on the other hand, found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. I didn't want to live in a world where people were treated as pawns in some grand chess game, where their lives were nothing more than tools to be used by the elite to maintain their position at the top.

As the lesson progressed, I began to notice subtle differences between myself and my classmates. It wasn't just their upbringing or their families' wealth; there was something deeper, more intangible that set them apart. They had an air of confidence about them, a sense of entitlement that came from knowing that they would always be in control. They spoke differently, moved differently, even thought differently. They were not ordinary girls, I realized. They were representatives of the upper-class families who would do anything to maintain their power over the lower classes, over people like me. I felt a growing sense of frustration as I listened to Mrs. Williams' lecture. I couldn't help but think that there must be another way for society to function, a way that didn't involve the ruthless exploitation of the many for the benefit of the few. I longed for a world where people were given equal chance, where everyone had an opportunity to pursue their dreams and live a fulfilling life.

My heart pounded in my chest as I raised my hand, gathering the courage to speak my mind. "Mrs. Williams," I began, my voice trembling slightly, "I can't help but feel that what you're saying goes against the very essence of what it means to be human. The idea that some people are born to lead and others to be led seems fundamentally wrong. Don't you think that all men and women are created equal and deserve freedom?"

The silence that followed my words was deafening. The other girls in the class exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and disbelief. Even Mrs. Williams seemed taken aback, her mouth opening and closing as if she couldn't quite find the words to respond. It was as if I had thrown a stone into a still pond, and the ripples of my question were spreading outwards, making everyone uncomfortable. Now, I've just betrayed myself like an impostor, I thought.

Finally, Mrs. Williams regained her composure. Her voice was cool and collected as she addressed me. "An interesting point, Miss Jones," she said, her tone almost mocking. "But you must understand that the world does not work the way you believe it should. It has always been the responsibility of the elite to lead, to shape society and guide it towards progress. To believe otherwise is naïve at best, dangerous at worst."

The other girls in the class nodded in agreement, their expressions mirroring Mrs. Williams' disapproval. They were used to being taught that their role in life was to uphold the status quo, to maintain the delicate balance of power that had been passed down from generation to generation. Questioning this hierarchy was unthinkable, a sign of disloyalty to their families and their class. I felt a surge of defiance rise within me as I listened to their condescending murmurs. I knew that I was treading on dangerous ground, but I couldn't help but speak my mind. "It is not the responsibility of the elite to lead," I insisted, invoking the ideas of the thinkers of the Enlightenment. "It is the right of all men and women to determine their own destiny, to live free from the tyranny of oppressive rulers."

Mrs. Williams' expression darkened at my words. "You dare speak of tyranny?" she spat. "The elite have built this society, have brought progress and prosperity to the masses. Without our guidance, they would still be living in squalor and darkness." She gestured around the room, as if to emphasize her point. "Look at this school, this very classroom. It is our responsibility to educate the daughters of the aristocracy, to prepare them for their role in maintaining the delicate balance of power."

I felt my anger rising as Mrs. Williams continued to speak. I knew that the teacher was wrong, that there was a different way for society to function. But trying to convince my classmates, let alone my teacher, was like trying to stop a runaway cart. They had been so thoroughly indoctrinated with the belief in their own superiority that they couldn't even begin to understand another point of view. My heart heavy with despair, I looked around the room, taking in the faces of my classmates. They were all so certain of their own righteousness, so sure that they were destined to rule. I wondered how many of them had ever stopped to question where their beliefs came from, or why they were taught to fear ideas that challenged their worldview.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Williams continued her tirade, her voice growing louder and more insistent. "You may not realize it, Miss Jones, but you are playing right into our hands. By presenting the arguments of our enemies, you are helping us to strengthen our own resolve. You are proving that we must work harder to maintain our position of power, to protect our society from the chaos that would ensue if we were to abandon our responsibilities."

The other girls in the class nodded along, their expressions growing more confident as they began to see the logic in Mrs. Williams' words. They knew that their place in society was secure, that they had been born into a world where their every whim would be catered to. The idea of equality, of sharing power with those they deemed inferior, was abhorrent to them. They had been raised to believe that it was their birthright to rule, and nothing I could say would change that. 

"Miss Jones," Mrs. Williams paused, looking at me right in the eyes, "I encourage you to continue playing the devil's advocate in this classroom by defending the theories of human equality championed by the Enlightenment thinkers and their socialist successors. This will help your classmates to explore the arguments of the enemies of upper-class rule and enable them to hone their debating skills in order to better defend the status quo."

My gaze darted across the room, searching for reactions, for judgment. But instead of scorn, I saw a flicker of surprise, perhaps even admiration, in some eyes. Then, Mrs. Williams asked several of my classmates to take turns debating with me, to practice arguing against me for the importance of maintaining the balance of power between the elites and the commoners. By doing that, they learned to use language as a weapon, their words sharper than any sword. Using the concept of "freedom" as a shield, I did my best to counter their arguments, but I was alone against the whole class and found myself growing more and more uncomfortable with the exercise. I couldn't help but see the hypocrisy in the words of my classmates and in the way they praised the very system that oppressed mankind. As they bombarded me with their arguments, I could also feel the weight of their indoctrination bearing down on me, suffocating my ability to think clearly.

The bell rang, marking the end of the class. As my classmates filed out, Mrs. Williams stopped me. "Miss Jones," she said, her gaze steady, "you may be a new student, but your interventions in class have crossed a line. By challenging the accepted order of things, you have violated an unspoken rule of Elmwood academy. Your arguments in class makes me wonder if you truly belong in this classroom."

Me and my big mouth, I thought. Why couldn't I just stay quiet during class? I was pretty sure Mrs Williams had seen through the charade of me pretending to be a privileged student and was about to send me to my community service. But, strangely enough, that didn't happen, as if the teacher had instead decided to play a game with me.

"Miss Jones," Mrs. Williams told me, "I will give you a chance to prove that you are truly one of us. As a punishment for your behaviour, you will have to write a detailed paper by next Monday proving that you understand how to maintain the delicate balance of power between the elites and the commoners. I noticed that you heavily relied on the concept of "freedom" when you debated with me and your peers, so I ask you to demonstrate how the concept of absolute freedom, as championed by Martin Luther, allowed in fact the existing social hierarchy to continue, both during Luther's lifetime and in subsequent centuries, how this concept later fostered the rise of capitalist dominance and also how this, in turn, enabled the upper class to counter the greatest threat that has ever weighed on its rule, i.e. the societal transformation embodied by the Enlightenment ideal of freedom as expressed in the American and French Revolutions, as well as in subsequent upheavals."

I was dumbfounded. I had understood absolutely nothing about the subject of the assignment. I was tempted to put an end to this charade by confessing my true identity, but, instead, I quickly wrote down everything that the teacher had said.

"This is a compulsory assignment," insisted Mrs Williams, "and you'd better do a good job or you'll be expelled from Elmwood. I know that you are a smart girl, or you wouldn't be here, so I am pretty confident you can succeed and prove that you truly belong here. And if you do, I count on you to continue driving to play the devil's advocate in our future lessons. But don't forget, I need your paper on Monday morning. And it needs to be cold hard facts. No more equality or human rights nonsense this time."

Leaving the classroom to join my three companions Jessica, Emma and Olivia, I couldn't help but feel a mix of exhilaration and anxiety. I wasn't unmasked yet and, with a bit of luck, I might not be until the following Monday, when I had to hand in my assignment. Jessica, Emma and Olivia congratulated me on my boldness, admitting they would never have dared to intervene in class as I had done.

The day had been a whirlwind, a constant dance between my real and borrowed identities. But as I walked towards the secret garden, hand in hand with the privileged girls of Elmwood, I knew one thing for sure: my journey had just begun, and the lines between reality and possibility were already starting to blur. The weight of the borrowed identity still pressed upon me, but so did a strange sense of freedom. I was exploring this world, not as the girl I was expected to be, but as a blank slate, ready to be filled with unexpected stories and experiences. And who knew, perhaps somewhere along the way, I might even discover who I truly was, beneath the borrowed status and the stolen privilege.

The following days passed like a dream. Convinced that the situation couldn't last, I did my best to make the most of the moment and didn't even try to think about the impossible assignment given to me by Mrs. Williams. But the worry gnawed at me. Where was the other Melissa Jones, the redhead? What had happened to her and why hadn't she claimed her rightful place? I even wondered if she'd been kidnapped at the train station and if my impersonation of her was preventing the authorities from coming to her aid. I felt no particular sympathy for an entitled girl like her, but I wouldn't want my silence to put her life in danger. 

After one of my law classes, during which the teacher had explained some of the flaws in the legal system and had begun to show how to navigate the legal system to protect the interests of the elite, and while I was taking advantage of a gap in my schedule to go to the cafeteria, I noticed that a school maid was standing in the hallway.

The maid - a redhead - was looking at the flickering image on a large TV screen where the student-run internal channel was broadcasting an interview with the dean of Elmwood Academy, Mrs. Cavendish. Suddenly, I realised that this was the same girl I had bumped into at the train station, the other Melissa Jones, the privileged student whose place I'd taken. With shadows under her eyes, slumped shoulders and weary limbs, she stood in the worn uniform signifying the least respected position among the school's maids, i.e. a long slightly washed-out dress, a starched apron, a maid's cap and a pair of cheap-looking shoes. Next to her was a rubbish trolley she had obviously been using to empty trash cans, but, at the moment, she was just looking at the TV screen, listening when Mrs. Cavendish was boasting about the biometrics system used at Elmwood Academy.

Looking at the redhead in her maid's uniform - or rather, in mine, actually - I understood why no one was worried that I'd never turned up for my community service: the other Melissa Jones had taken my place, just like I had taken hers.

The redhead was so focused on the interview that she hadn't even noticed I was there. I wasn't sure what to do, when suddenly another, older and better-dressed maid appeared. "Girl," the older maid snapped at the redhead with an angry voice, "what on earth are you doing standing there listening to that rubbish? Get immediately back to work!" Then, she raised her hand and slapped the redhead very hard in the face. "You're supposed to be cleaning, not daydreaming," she barked with exasperation. "Your laziness is unacceptable."

"I-I was just listening to the dean's interview," the redhead stammered meekly, while blushing.

"Listening to an interview? While your work is left undone?" the older maid scoffed with contempt. "You're a disgrace to the staff of this academy, and your laziness is an insult to the school's reputation for excellence."

The redhead lowered her head in shame, but didn't answer.

Horrified by what I had just witnessed, I quickly retreated before either maid realised I was there.

I felt sorry for the redhead, but I really wouldn't have wanted to be in her shoes - or rather, in mine, actually. The poor girl was really treated like shit by that horrible woman - the older maid. And the slap she got looked rather painful. But, hey, better her than me, I thought. But, also, how could she be such a loser and let that happen to her? Why didn't she just say she was a privileged student and not a community service girl? I knew I should have stepped in to put an end to her ordeal, but the older maid was so frightening that I couldn't bring myself to put myself at her mercy a minute earlier than necessary. Feeling ashamed, I decided therefore to carry on pretending to be a privileged student as long as I could. After all, I thought everything would be back to normal by the following Monday, once I'd been unable to hand in my assignment to Mrs. Williams.

But before my fraud was going to be exposed, I intended to enjoy my first and, I presumed, last weekend as a privileged girl. My next-door neighbour Jessica had invited to her birthday party at her parents' castle on Saturday and my classmate Olivia had invited me to an exclusive fashion show on Sunday. At first I had turned down the invitations because I didn't have the right clothes for such events, but fate seemed to want me to attend. The day before, a suitcase full of magnificent designer clothes had been delivered to me. Apparently, the other Melissa Jones had forgotten her suitcase and a stylish coat on the train and, as I was mistaken for her, it was returned to me. And as luck would have it, she and I, we shared the same size in shoes and clothing.

The weekend was shaping up nicely. I was just trying hard not to think about the humiliating tasks the redhead would have to perform while I was going to enjoy life to the full with Jessica and Olivia. But after all, since the other Melissa Jones was born, she'd been handed everything on a silver platter, whereas I'd had to fight for everything I'd got. So it was only fair that I should also enjoy the fruits of her privileges, at least for a few days.