Copyright © 2024 Maria McDonald
Elizabeth Hartley sank lower onto the passenger seat the moment her father’s Volvo rolled past the black-painted gate, both arms hugging her backpack as though it was a buoy keeping her from drowning.
Everything about St. Andrew’s screamed grandiose, and she, in comparison, was irrelevantly minute. Boasting a land mass of twenty acres, it housed everything from a hockey field to both outdoor and indoor basketball courts; from an auditorium that could comfortably house over three thousand people to an Olympic-sized swimming pool. The vast well-clipped green lawns, perfectly manicured hedges and blossoming flowers in kaleidoscopes of yellow, purple and red lining either side of the footpath were reminiscent of a well-planned landscape of a botanic garden. Adorned in clay-red bricks with fossil-grey turrets spiking up at intervals along the gable roof, the architecture of the wide and narrow building before her was a vivid reincarnation of a castle rather than a high school.
This is a wonderful opportunity.
Uttered by her mother, it had been the mantra Elizabeth had repeated for almost three weeks; more precisely, since her parents handed her a piece of paper bearing an embossed dark maroon saltire cross constrained inside a kite-shaped crest on the top left-hand corner.
We are pleased to extend our warmest welcome…
Her eyes had bulged wide and large as she read and re-read the acceptance letter. Considered one of the most prestigious prep schools in Boston, Massachusetts, one simply couldn’t get an admission into St. Andrew’s unless your parents possessed wealth in the millions, or held celebrity-equivalent statuses. Currently, the school’s clienteles included offspring of prominent surgeons and financiers, senators and foreign diplomats, actors and actresses.
Not belonging to any of these categories, Elizabeth had been fortunate enough to gain an enrolment at the beginning of her sophomore year simply because her grades had been well above average; a rare, not-to-be-scoffed-at opportunity, indeed. It would mean being able to apply her skills and intellect in a more competitive setting than what her local high school could offer her. With college being less than two years away, the possibility of being seriously considered by Ivy League Universities had just become even more attainable.
She narrowed her eyes at the fuzzy reflection afforded through the tinted window of her father’s car. Clad in the same set of uniform as the students clustering around the vast grounds, she still felt every bit an impostor; the white-collared shirt, maroon vest and pleated grey skirt was a far cry from the staple jeans and shirt she had donned to her previous school. Her mother had purposely styled her hair in a tight French braid; a more polished, sophisticated look than her usual high ponytail.
“Ready?”
Elizabeth looked up, her crooked smile matching her father’s.
As I’ll ever be, she thought.
She gave her father an imperceptible nod, the hands tightly wringing the shoulder straps of her backpack turning ghostly white as she graced the halls leading to the Headmaster’s office.
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