Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 12.

by Melissa

Part 12. The kiss. 

As I trudged through the rust-coloured landscape of Mars, I couldn't help but marvel at the surreal beauty of the place. I was Melissa Jones, a proud astronaut of the first manned mission to the Red planet. The Martian sky was a deep, endless red, dotted with clouds that seemed to shift and dance like ethereal creatures. The ground beneath my space suit's boots was a patchwork quilt of red rock and dust, criss-crossed by the tracks left by my rover. It was eerily quiet, save for the occasional whir of the suit's life-support systems and the faint hiss of dust kicked up by her boots. 

But something was wrong. I felt very sore. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. The first week of the mission had been filled with exhausting work, and I'd been on edge since the moment I'd landed on the Red planet. Now, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd pushed myself too hard. I'd been given strict orders not to overexert myself, but the allure of exploring this alien world was too great to resist. 

I gasped as I suddenly jolted awake, my heart racing and every muscle in my body protesting. It was then that I realized I was no longer wearing my spacesuit. I was Melissa Jones, but I wasn't an astronaut and this wasn't the vast expanse of Mars I'd been dreaming of for years. In fact, I was still clad in my scratchy maid's uniform from the day before. I was lying on a hard cot in a tiny room of the maid's quarter, the pale light of a single dim bulb casting eerie shadows across the cramped space. The air smelled stale and dusty, and my throat felt raw from the dryness. I sat up slowly, my head spinning, and rubbed at my eyes. This was just another day in the maid's quarters at Elmwood Academy. The same routine I'd been stuck in for a week now, forced to masquerade as a delinquent school maid at this prestigious boarding school where my life had been turned upside down by a cruel twist of fate, my identity stolen by my namesake, a girl from a disadvantaged background who had taken advantage of my misfortune to assume my rightful place. 

I groaned, rolling out of bed and onto the cold wooden floor of my tiny room. After having been punished the day before by having to move countless crates of wine, the pain in my back, shoulders, arms, legs, and even my neck was unbearable. I had never felt this sore in my life. As I sat up, my vision swam, and I had to clutch at my aching head. I couldn't possibly be as sore as I felt; it must be some sort of weird dream. I stood unsteadily, my legs wobbling, and made my way to the mirror. 

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.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 9.

by Melissa

Part 9. A setback and a punishment

My heart plummeted as the receptionist's words washed over me. The glimmer of hope I had clung to, the possibility that Maria's intervention could give me back my true identity, seemed to vanish in an instant. "You didn't send the letter?" I gasped in surprise.

The receptionist, her gaze now avoiding mine, nodded slowly. "No," she admitted. "I... I read it first, out of curiosity. And after what I read, I couldn't bring myself to send it."

"You read my letter?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her gaze unwavering. "I did. And frankly, Miss Jones," she continued, her voice laced with disappointment, "it painted a far from flattering picture of your actions towards Maria. Allowing her to be falsely accused of theft and then, but only after needing her help, offering her money as a kind of consolation... it doesn't speak well of your character."

Shame burned through me, hotter than all the stoves I'd been forced to clean since my arrival at Elmwood Academy. The receptionist's words mirrored the self-recriminations that had haunted me since realizing the gravity of my mistake. "I know," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. "I was scared and selfish. And until now, I didn't understand the true cost of my silence."

"Maybe you just deserve what's happening to you," she continued, her voice devoid of malice but laced with a firm conviction. "Perhaps this experience is a harsh lesson, one you sorely needed."

Story: The Job Interview. Part 6.

By Inanimate77

Despite being a bit out of sorts as Amy headed out of the house, she thankfully remembered to bring a small wheeled cart with her. Her first stop on the list was going to Whole Foods and without the cart, it would be nearly impossible to walk back with all of the groceries.

The residential streets were still quiet as she made her way down them. Amy was grateful that so few people were out and about. She felt very self conscious in her uniform. Although she had managed to convince her employer to leave the apron at home, Amy still wore the headpiece. The young maid had considered removing it, but had decided against it. A part of her was worried that Susan may check up on her in some way and find out. The risk of being discovered was not worth the reduced embarrassment from wearing it.

Despite the circumstances Amy found some pleasure from her morning walk.  The Summer sun began to peek through the trees lining the sidewalk, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the pavement.  Hints of scented flowers blooming throughout the neighborhoods mingled with the familiar aroma of freshly cut grass.  The more Amy immersed herself in the beauty of the day the less she seemed to think abou the discomfort of her uniform. 

Still she was well aware of her surroundings.  The young maid deftly maneuvered her wheeled cart around a corner, avoiding a group of chattering neighbors who were out for their morning stroll.  Amy felt a pang of embarrassment as she realized that they were eyeing her uniform curiously.  She quickened her pace, hoping to put some distance between herself and their prying eyes.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 8.

by Melissa 

Part 8. Acknowledging the wrongs I've done to Maria and begging for her forgiveness. 

With a mix of anticipation and apprehension, I returned to the reception area on the next day hoping for some news from Maria, my family's former maid. The receptionist, her face etched with concern, greeted me with a sombre expression. "I have some news about your letter, Miss Jones" she began, her voice laced with sympathy. "Maria received it and called me shortly after." 

My heart pounded with anticipation as I listened to the receptionist's update. However, my hopes were quickly dashed as she relayed Maria's reaction. "Maria doesn't believe you," the receptionist explained, her voice filled with disappointment. "She refuses to believe your story about being mistaken for a delinquent school maid and thinks you're pulling a cruel prank on her, seeking to exploit her trust and loyalty." 

"But I explained everything in the letter," I protested, my voice laced with desperation. "I told her about the mix-up and how I'm forced to impersonate the delinquent school maid." 

"I know, Miss Jones," the receptionist sympathized, her eyes filled with compassion. "I even tried to explain the situation to her, but she is unfamiliar with me and didn't take my word for it." 

My stomach churned with disappointment. Maria's distrust was a bitter pill to swallow, especially considering the close bond we once shared. The idea that she could doubt my character was a harsh blow, a stinging reminder of the rift that had formed between us during the events that led to her dismissal by my parents. 

"Maria also said that you must have a sick sense of humour," the receptionist continued, her tone laced with frustration. "She's still angry with you for what happened to her when she lost her job, and she doesn't trust you." 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 7.

by Melissa

Part 7. A phone call from the judge.

As the phone rang in the staff room, Mrs. Henderson's heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and dread. The head maid knew who was calling – Judge Thompson, the stern and unforgiving woman who had sentenced Melissa Jones, the delinquent school maid, to community service at Elmwood Academy.

"Mrs. Henderson," Judge Thompson's voice boomed through the receiver, her sharp tone cutting through the silence, "I'm calling to seek an update on the progress of Melissa Jones, the delinquent girl I entrusted to your care at Elmwood Academy. I trust you've had ample time to evaluate her behaviour since her arrival."

Mrs. Henderson cleared her throat, her mind racing to recall the details of Melissa's behaviour. "Yes, Your Honour, absolutely" she began, her voice cautious, "Melissa has been assigned to various cleaning tasks and has consistently fulfilled them diligently."

"Really?" Judge Thompson's tone sharpened. "It's not like her to do that. What about her adherence to the rules and regulations of the academy?"

"She has generally followed the guidelines," Mrs. Henderson admitted, "but there is one particular aspect of her behaviour that concerns me."

"Enlighten me," Judge Thompson commanded.