AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Or not.”
I had enough ofGreasewhen Arabella and Li insisted on calling me Sandy for the better part of last semester. I really don’t need to examine the source material as to how they got their inspiration.
Speaking of Arabella, I watch as she chats animatedly to a group of girls I don’t recognize. Her dress is a flared little orange number with an extravagantly ruffled skirt, as if the cuter she dresses, the less likely she is to come across as the Rottweiler she actually is. The red letterAis tied around her wrist, and the same applies to the other girls. They wear them like charm bracelets, as though there’s anything remotely charming about Antiro.
There are squashy leather sofas along the book-lined mahogany walls, and a roaring fireplace, which Rory lounges against like a god who knows mixing with mere mortals for sport is beneath him.
Through the crowd, he lifts his drink in my direction and nods. I nod back, raising my bright orange glass. What I’m drinking feels like a childish concoction, all bright and orange and fizzy, but it tastes like amber nectar blown through bubblegum and I honestly can’t get enough of the stuff. The vodka is scarcely a whisper on my tongue.
A woman stands on the small stage beside the myriad balloons. “Hello, everyone!” she shouts, a glass in her hand, and silence gradually falls. “Hi, I’m April, the president of the student union. Thank you for joining us tonight — in the best student union at the best university in the best country of theworld!”
There are cheers and whoops. I don’t think my face can scrunch any harder. I’m trying to remember why I recognize April when her next words give it away.
“It’s been a pretty full-on day and I hope we’ve given our newbies a taste of how exciting life can be at St. Camford. I myself was at the heart of the protests this afternoon.” She pauses here, giving a small, pleased nod as the audience applauds her bravery. “Thank you. But it’s a testament to St. Camford’s teachings just how many of us were prepared to come out and denounce hatred today.Yes, we’re political and unafraid of it.Yes, we stand up for what is right and are unashamed of it.Yes, we are fricking awesome!”
As the cheers engulf the room, everyone clap-clap-clapping their own virtue, I remember her doing the same thing at the protest. She was the woman with the megaphone, I remember now, silent when another woman was being beaten to the ground. I still wonder what became of Jonie. Most likely, she’s still lying in a hospital bed, stiff and injured and hurt.
“So awesome,” Danny murmurs beside me, “that they won’t even listen to a different opinion. So right, they won’t imagine their definition of rightness could be wrong.”
“I want everyone here to know that St. Camford is a shared experience. A safe space. We share in the good times — and there are many — and we share the hard times, of studying and exams and other people’s jealousy. Because when you’re a part of the St. Camford family, you hold a place that hundreds of other students wanted almost as badly as you. The experience of being considered outstanding is a burden we all have to share.”
“The only shares this bunch cares about are the ones in their investment portfolios,” Danny mutters, so acidic that it makes me burst out laughing in the otherwise silent room.
“Do you have something to say? Do you have something… toshare?” April asks in a light tone but the thunder on her face betrays her irritation that someone would dare interrupt her moment at the microphone. Then I remember that someone is me. Oh, dear.
Eyes slide across to me. I say nothing, but I hope my unfading smirk says everything.
I really cannot believe their gall, to stand up on stage and proclaim how wonderful they all are, while doing fucking nothing but terrorizing people. But the audience is engrossed and nodding along, like they believe that yes, theyaremonumentally awesome. It’s easier than self-reflection, I guess.
“Some of you,” she resumes pointedly, her eyes narrowing on me, “may not be accepted into St. Camford at all, and this will be for the good of the university and those who endeavor to come after you. Unfortunately, that is a burden you will have to carry on your own, knowing that one of the best doors in the world has just been slammed shut in your face.
“So would you rather be burdened with greatness or burdened with mediocrity? Because St. Camford can show you the light. It can help you tofly. And if you make a good impression tonight — well, then. Who knows how many doors will open to you?” Her gaze lingers on me again. “And if, on the other hand, you make abadimpression… well, your name will indeed be remembered — and blacklisted — forever.”
