Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 13.

by Melissa 

Part 13. The hidden garden. 

As I slowly made my way to my room to rest, still wincing of pain at each step, I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with me? How could I feel such arousal when Sabrina was belittling me and had forced me to kiss her? Could she be right about me? Was I just a weak submissive girl craving to be dominated? The thought snaked its way through my mind, leaving a trail of ice in its wake. That couldn't be true, I muttered inwardly, desperate to return to a place of certainty. But the seed of doubt had been sown, and I was no longer entirely sure of myself. However, even if I really had submissive fantasies, something I was still reluctant to fully admit, that didn't mean I was going to sacrifice my dreams and give up my education. After all, not all fantasies are meant to come true. Instead, I promised myself that I would show Sabrina that I could be strong and ambitious. 

But another thing worried me. Could Sabrina be right about Elmwood Academy being a place where the students were corrupted and changed into horrible people? I didn't want to believe it, but I was no longer so confident in my previous beliefs, especially as I had witnessed time and again the contempt with which the students had treated me since I had put on the maid's uniform. The situation left me utterly bewildered. Everything I knew felt upside down, and doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve. Yet, beneath the confusion, a spark of determination flickered. I wouldn't be swayed. My rightful place awaited, and I wouldn't rest until I took it back. 

I finally reached my room, a narrow space tucked away at the end of the maid's quarter. The hard cot beckoned me, promising a much-needed rest. But before collapsing onto the sheets, I paused for a moment, my hand on the door handle. There was something I had to do first. I couldn't shake the feeling that if I didn't confront it now, it would only grow worse. With a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. 

My heart thudded in my chest as I made my way to the reception desk, where Agnès, the receptionist, sat primly behind her ornate desk. The woman looked up at me with a cool, disapproving glance, her perfectly coiffed hair, sophisticated makeup and beautiful uniform a sharp contrast to my dishevelled appearance. "Yes, girl?" she said, her tone sharp. "What is it you need?"

 

I couldn't help noticing that I was no longer Miss Jones or even Melissa to Agnès, just "girl". Taking a deep breath, I dropped a curtsy and forced myself to look into her eyes. "Please Miss Agnès, I... I wanted to apologize for my selfish behaviour," I stammered. "I should have inquired about your name, and I understand if I've made things more difficult for you. I'm sorry." My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but I forced myself to continue. "I just... I've been feeling overwhelmed since my arrival, and I didn't think about asking about you. I should have been more thoughtful." 

Agnès raised an eyebrow, but she didn't respond immediately. Instead, she studied me closely, taking in my reddened eyes and the way I winced with every step. "It's obvious that you're in pain," she said finally. "What happened to you? Were you finally beaten yesterday?" 

I flinched at the harsh word, but I steeled myself to look Agnès in the eye. "No, nothing like that," I replied, "but I was punished for upsetting you. So they made me haul and lift endless crates of wine in the cold, damp cellar. Even after a night's rest, it still feels like I've been pummeled, and frankly, your disapproval of me adds a bitter tang to the soreness." 

Agnès pursed her lips, unconvinced. "Well, perhaps you should have thought about that before you acted so recklessly," she said coolly. "But I suppose it serves you right. As for your apology... I appreciate the effort, but I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive you just yet. I could overlook your disrespect towards me, but how could you betray Maria, your former maid, and let her be wrongly accused of theft? You'll need to prove yourself before I can consider letting you back into my good graces and helping you to communicate with Maria again." 

Her words stung, but I forced myself to nod. "I understand," I said softly. "I'll try to do better, I promise." 

Agnès bit her lips, considering me. "Very well," she said finally. "I'm not giving you any special favours, you understand. But I will give you one chance to prove yourself. You must do something truly selfless, something that shows you care more about the school and its students than you do about yourself. If you can do that, then perhaps I'll reconsider my opinion of you

and transmit your apology letter to Maria." 

I nodded, a spark of determination igniting within me. "I understand, Miss Agnès" I said. "I'll find a way to make things right." With a newfound sense of purpose, I dropped a curtsy and walked back to my tiny room in the maid's quarters. Though unsure of the path, my resolve to fulfill Agnès' expectations burned bright. But for the moment, my eyelids felt heavy as lead. My muscles, still protesting from the previous day's exertion, screamed for rest. With a deep breath, I conceded defeat to exhaustion for the moment. Limping back to my cramped quarters within the maid's area, I knew sleep was the key to unlocking a solution. 

After a deep, dreamless sleep, I awoke later on the unforgiving hardness of my cot of the maid's quarters, my muscles still protesting from my efforts of the previous day. But a newfound sense of well-being overshadowed the discomfort. A wave of relief washed over me, replacing the fatigue with a quiet determination to face the rest of day, I stretched and yawned, my eyes still heavy from the exhaustion of the past week and day. The cramped maid's quarters at Elmwood Academy were far from luxurious, but they were mine for the rest of the day. I had earned this rest, I told myself, as I curled up under the threadbare blanket on my narrow, uncomfortable bed. 

Time seemed to stand still as I drifted in and out of consciousness, the world beyond my door fading into the background. It wasn't until I heard the faint clatter of china against metal that I sat up with a start, my heart racing. I peered over the edge of my bed and saw a tray of food had been left outside my door, along with a folded piece of paper. My breath hitched as I recognized Sabrina's precise handwriting on the note. My curiosity getting the better of me, I picked up the tray and opened the note. It was a map, hand-drawn and intricately detailed, leading me to Elmwood Academy's hidden garden. The garden, a place of legend and mystery, was said to be filled with rare and exotic flowers, as well as a fountain that whispered secrets to those who dared to listen. The map even included a key to help my find my way through the twisting paths and hidden passages. 

I could hardly believe my eyes. It seemed impossible that Sabrina, a usually stern and unyielding school maid and my supervisor for the day, would be allowing my access to such a treasure. But as I studied the map more closely, I noticed a few words scribbled in the corner: "For your hard work and dedication, Melissa. Enjoy your day off. -Sabrina." A smile crept across my face as I realized that perhaps Sabrina wasn't as cold-hearted as I had once thought. 

Fortified by the lunch Sabrina had so kindly prepared for me, I took a deep breath and shoved open the door. A thrill of anticipation danced in my chest. Gathering my courage, I set out on my adventure. Slipping from the confines of the maid's quarters and after presenting my fingerprint to the biometric scanner, I ventured into the secret realm of the hidden garden. The path ahead unfurled like a ribbon, beckoning me deeper with its twists and turns. Lush greenery crowded in on either side, and towering hedges, like watchful giants, veiled the path in a cool, green hush. The air was thick with the scent of roses and jasmine, and the sound of birdsong filled the air. The hidden garden was even more beautiful than I had imagined, with fountains and statues dotting the landscape, their crisp white marble seeming to glow in the sunlight. As I wandered through the garden, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and wonder. I had always been fascinated by the stories that surrounded Elmwood Academy, and now I was actually exploring them for myself. I found myself drawn to a particularly ornate fountain in the centre of the garden, its water cascading down into a crystal-clear pool. 

As I stood before the fountain, I noticed a small inscription carved into the stone: "To those who dare to dream," it read. I knelt down out and touched the cool water, feeling its energy flow through me. In that moment, I knew that I wouldn't stay stuck as a school maid forever. I felt a burning desire to pursue my dreams, to become the person I was really meant to be. 

But then, my reverie was suddenly interrupted. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something... or someone. A blonde girl immaculately dressed as an Elmwood Academy student. I quickly stood up, turned around to face her and dropped a curtsy, following the head maid's strict instructions about how I was supposed to greet students. 

***

I, Melissa Jones, still mistaken for a privileged student, couldn't help but smirk as I gazed around my opulent room at Elmwood Academy. The silk drapes billowed in the breeze, casting dancing shadows across the intricately carved four-poster bed. The thick Persian rug cushioned my feet as I padded over to the ornate dresser, running my fingers over the smooth mahogany surface. I paused for a moment, inhaling deeply, taking in the scent of roses that filled the air. It was all so surreal, so far removed from the dingy apartment I normally called home. 

I thought back to the day before, when I'd been invited to the birthday party of Jessica, a privileged student at the academy. Held in the magnificent setting of her aristocratic parents' castle, the night had been a whirlwind of opulence. Servants scurried with hors d'oeuvres while liveried footmen poured drinks. The staff danced to the guest's every whim. A raised eyebrow prompted a fresh pot of tea, a sigh brought chilled champagne. No request was too outrageous, no desire left unfulfilled. It was an atmosphere of pure indulgence, where comfort and satisfaction were the only commandments. I had never felt so out of place, yet at the same time, I'd never felt more alive. The night was a whirlwind of pure joy. My feet ached from dancing, my cheeks were sore from laughter, and a delightful buzz warmed my insides from the forbidden sip of exquisite wine. It was a night to be etched in memory, a perfect blend of energetic movement, joyous connection, and a hint of youthful rebellion. 

And as if the party itself wasn't enough, Olivia, another privileged student at the academy, had also invited me to an exclusive fashion show the next day. The event was invitation-only, and I felt honoured to have been included. The runway was filled with designs from the most sought-after designers in the world, and the models strutted down the catwalk in outfits that could only be described as works of art. I'd never seen so many beautiful people in one place, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to be one of them. During a break between shows, Olivia approached me and asked if I'd like to try on some of the clothes from the show. I couldn't believe my ears. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I eagerly accepted. As I slipped on a stunning emerald gown, I felt like a princess in a fairytale. The dress hugged my curves in all the right places, and the emerald green colour brought out the flecks of green in my blue eyes. I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror and almost didn't recognize myself. 

Feeling confident and beautiful after these two events, I decided to leave my opulent room in search of fresh air. But before going out, I decided to check something I had read about: the school's cash dispenser.

The chrome of the automatic cash dispenser gleamed under the sterile lights of Elmwood Academy's lobby. I approached it hesitantly. The school's glossy brochure had promised fingerprint access and instant allowance info – a feature I found unsettlingly convenient. No swipe cards, no PINs, just a touch and... well, what exactly? Taking a deep breath, I scanned my thumb. A holographic display flickered to life: "Fingerprints recognized and identity as student Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Access to student Melissa Jones' financial account fully granted with no restrictions whatsoever." 

The holographic display pulsed with a green glow, displaying a sum far exceeding what a young woman should need. The redhead's parents clearly hadn't skimped on their monthly allowance. Too bad for them, I was the one registered as their daughter in the system instead of her. Excited by the prospect of being able to withdraw real cash from her account, I looked at the brochure again to make sure I wasn't mistaken. According to the info, accessing the cash was supposed to be a breeze - all it took was typing the sum I wanted and scanning my fingerprint again. Intrigued and even if I didn't really want to steal money from the redhead on top of stealing her privileged life, I couldn't wait to see if it really worked as advertised. So I filled in a small amount and placed my finger on the scanner with a determined press. A whirring sound filled the air, then silence. Just as I began to doubt, crisp banknotes emerged from the dispenser. It had actually worked! Relief and satisfaction flooded through me as I tucked the banknotes safely into my pocket. With a newfound lightness in my step, I turned and left. 

Then I stepped out of the main building and sought refuge in Elmwood Academy's hidden garden. Tucked away from the clamour of student life, it was a secret haven – a tranquil oasis amidst the organized chaos. Sweet rose perfume hung in the air, and the sun, a gentle caress, warmed my skin as I ambled down the garden's winding path. 

As I rounded a corner, I came upon a large fountain in the centre of the garden, its waters cascading down into a crystal-clear pool. Kneeling at the foot of the fountain, was a school maid. She was dressed in a long, simple dress, her white apron tied neatly around her waist. She seemed to be deep in thought, lost in her own world as she watched the water dance before her. Something about the girl struck a chord with me. There was an air of familiarity about her, as if I had met her before. When she turned around to face me and dropped a curtsy, it suddenly hit me: she was the redhead, the girl whose identity I had stolen, the other Melissa Jones, the girl who should have been the one occupying my opulent room and attending my classes. I felt a pang of guilt wash over me, knowing that I was living the life she should be living, while she was stuck having to work as a community service girl. And I had even stolen money from her account at the cash dispenser - a small sum, admittedly. 

But at the same time, I was convinced that the charade would end the next day, when Mrs. Williams expected the impossibly difficult mandatory assignment I had been given a couple of days earlier. My inability to submit the work would be a dead giveaway, shattering the illusion I'd so carefully constructed. At that moment, I was about to tell the redhead I'd be found out the next day and to give her back her money from the cash dispenser, but I decided to tease her first a bit. 

***

The blonde girl dressed in a pristine Elmwood Academy schoolgirl uniform strutted confidently towards me. "Well, well, well," she drawled. "Look who we have here. If it isn't the community service girl herself? The maid's uniform really suits you, doesn't it?" My heart raced, I couldn't believe it. This was the girl I had met at the train station and who had stolen my identity. My delinquent namesake, the other Melissa Jones. This girl was wearing my schoolgirl uniform, even acting like me. The shock of seeing her sent a shiver down my spine. 

"You know, I've been meaning to thank you," the blonde girl continued, a malicious glint in her eye. "You've made my life so much easier." 

"You have no right to do this," I exclaimed, my voice trembling with emotion. "Give me back my identity!" 

But the delinquent Melissa merely laughed, her laughter echoing through the vast garden. "Why would I do that?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm finally living a life I deserve. Not like you, born with a silver spoon in your mouth and no idea what it's like to struggle." 

I felt a surge of indignation. "But it's not fair!" I protested. "You're taking advantage of this mix-up to live out your fantasies of a privileged life. You're stealing from me!" 

The delinquent Melissa shrugged nonchalantly. "Life isn't fair," she retorted. "You've had everything handed to you on a silver platter, while I've had to fight for everything I've ever gotten. Now it's my turn to enjoy the fruits of your privilege." 

I pleaded with her, my voice filled with desperation. "Please," I begged, "give me back my life. You don't belong here. You don't know what it means to be a part of this world." 

But the delinquent Melissa just stared at me, her eyes cold and unyielding. "Why would I do that?" she repeated, her voice echoing in my ears. "What's in it for me?" 

"Please," I implored, my voice laced with urgency, "I came here to study. How will I complete my education if I work as a maid all the time and am not allowed to study?" 

I watched as a flicker of amusement crossed her face, her lips curving into a sardonic smile. "Education?" she scoffed, her words laced with disdain. "You came here to enjoy a life of privilege, not to slave away over books." 

I shook my head vehemently, my determination unwavering. "No," I insisted, my voice trembling with conviction. "I came here to learn, to expand my horizons, to make something of myself." 

The delinquent Melissa regarded me with a calculating gaze, her expression unreadable. 

***

Just a moment ago, I'd been on the verge of confessing everything to the redhead, of blurting out how my failure at handing in tomorrow's mandatory assignment to Mrs. Williams would expose my true identity. But, as I listened to the girl's passionate speech about wanting to study, an idea began to form in my mind. What if I offered to lend her my course notes in exchange for her writing the assignment for me? I hesitated for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of my plan. In the end, I had nothing to lose, so I decided to take a chance. 

"Very well," I told the redhead, my voice laced with a hint of amusement, "I may be persuaded to let you study. But you'll have to earn it." 

The redhead's response caught me off guard. I'd braced myself for a laugh, a scoff maybe, anything but the sincerity in her eyes. Instead, she offered a smile brimming with gratitude, thanking me as if I'd presented her with a golden ticket. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, her voice, rich with genuine appreciation, as if I was doing her a favour. 

"Don't thank me yet," I interjected, my tone curt. "I'm stuck on a tough assignment due tomorrow! It's way over my head. I'll dig out all my course notes for you to look through, and you'll write the assignment based on that and give it to me tomorrow morning before my first lesson. Here's the deal: if you manage to snag a passing grade, I'll continue lending you my course notes so you can study at night and write other assignments for me." 

Of course, it was a long shot, and I didn't expect her to agree to my request. But even if she did and managed to complete the assignment in a last-minute scramble, success seemed far from guaranteed. Unfortunately, not attending the lessons left her at a major disadvantage. Crafting a well-structured, well-argued piece requires a strong foundation in the key concepts and frameworks covered in class. Without that knowledge, her arguments would likely lack depth and her organization might be haphazard. This could significantly impact the overall effectiveness of her writing. I knew my proposal was a Hail Mary, a moonshot of a request with a near-zero chance of success. But I was cornered, with no other way to escape the truth bomb waiting to explode the next day. 

The redhead didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the gentle sound of the water running in the fountain. I watched the girl brow furrow in concentration, a strand of fiery hair escaping the braid behind her ear. It was clear my proposal had struck a chord, and she was carefully weighing its implications before offering a reply. 

***

I wavered, caught in a mental tug-of-war. On one hand, it felt clear the blonde girl was just trying to use me. Yet, on the other hand, there was a nagging thought that, maybe, lending a hand with her schoolwork could be the selfless act Agnès had emphasized. The internal conflict left me unsure of how to proceed. But then, I realized that if I didn't help the delinquent girl with the assignment, she would be given a bad mark. But such a bad mark wouldn't just land on her, it would unfairly taint my record too. This impersonation mess wasn't just about her grades, it was about protecting my own academic standing. Helping her now, as twisted as it seemed, was the only way to stop her from dragging me down with her. And also, if I framed helping my namesake as a selfless act to Agnès, she'd finally consider sending my apology letter. That letter, the one begging forgiveness from Maria, our former maid, might just be the key to clearing my name. It all hinged on Maria's intervention, on her vouching for my true identity and enabling me to reclaim my rightful place. So by doing the girl's assignment - in fact my own assignment - I thought I'd be one step closer to ending my ordeal. And by doing the homework, I would also avoid falling behind in my studies. 

So, finally, I nodded eagerly, my heart pounding with anticipation. "Of course," I agreed, my voice filled with resolve. "I'll write that assignment. I'll do whatever I need to do to continue my studies." 

The delinquent Melissa's eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable. "Hold on a minute, I'll be right back with my course notes," she muttered, turning away abruptly. 

I watched as she strode away, a sense of determination settling in my heart. I would not let this opportunity slip away. I would work hard, study diligently, and prove to the delinquent Melissa, and to myself, that my desire for education was genuine. 

***

As I quickly left to bring the redhead my course notes, I couldn't believe that she had agreed to write the paper for me. How could she be so naive? Didn't she realise that it would help me to continue impersonating her? Normally I couldn't stand privileged girls like her, but in this case I felt a bit sorry for her. Not only was she forced to carry out the humiliating community service I had been sentenced to, but she was also going to do my homework so that I could continue to enjoy the privileges that should have been hers. 

Frankly, taking advantage of the redhead made me feel a bit guilty, because she seemed to be a nice girl. But hey, charity begins at home and she was a stranger to me. Honestly though, I would have prefered to think that she deserved that was happening to her. Instead of that, her biggest flaw was probably just to be too nice and too accommodating for her own good, especially in a place like Elmwood Academy where unbridled ambition is promoted and encouraged, a place where the end justifies the means and, therefore, a place where nice girls like her always finish last. Elmwood students were taught to be bullies, but the redhead seemed more like the kind of girl who tends to be bullied. She might be from an upper class family, but I began to wonder if she truly belonged in a school like this and how she would cope in class with a teacher as ruthless as Mrs Williams. The academy was a viper's nest, a place where kindness was a liability. Here, students clawed their way to the top, leaving naivety and decency in the dust. The redhead, with her trusting nature, was particularly vulnerable. Left alone among these ambitious classmates, she'd be easy pickings, swallowed whole by the cutthroat competition. 

Armed with my course notes, I retraced my steps back to the hidden garden, its entrance veiled by overgrown greenery. The redhead, her hair catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, stood patiently where I'd left her. Relief washed over her face as I extended the notes, and a hint of a smile played on her lips. She promised to slip the assignment into my locker the next morning before the first bell and immediately started to dove into my notes, brow furrowed in concentration. Unlike me, she seemed to grasp the topic of the assignment with an almost frightening ease. Her focus was laser sharp, oblivious to the world around her, including me. 

As I walked away, doubt gnawed at me. Would the redhead actually follow through with her promise? Even if she did, a knot of worry tightened in my stomach. Could her work possibly meet Mrs. Williams' exacting standards? The uncertainty hung heavy, leaving me with a mix of apprehension and a flicker of hope. 

Stepping into the plush confines of my room, a pang of guilt hit me. I'd completely forgotten to return the redhead's change from the cash dispenser. Part of me wanted to retrace my steps, but the sum was insignificant, and probably not something she needed right away. A sly grin tugged at my lips. A far better solution presented itself: tuck the money away and use it to give her a small tip after she'd handed over the assignment, turning our agreement into a subtle power play in which she would feel obliged to me even though she would be the one being exploited. There was also a twisted pleasure, an undeniable delight, a perverted glee in the irony of using her own money, a paltry sum at that, to reward her for helping me to continue to impersonate her.