I sit on my bed and look at my printed class schedule. “I guess this means you won’t be able to walk with me to class tomorrow?”
She frowns and looks down at her hands. “No, sorry.”
I don’t want my disappointment to show through, so I shrug and shake off all my first-day-of-school jitters. “Eh, who cares. I’ll be fine. Once people realize they have East Coast Royalty here, they’ll all be begging to be my friend.”
* * *
I walkwith purpose the next morning, even though my uniform is annoying, and I’m only vaguely sure where I’m supposed to go. The fabric is crisp from being dry cleaned, and the skirt feels annoying on my skin. It’s too stuffy, too prep school. I’m more of a laid-back fashionista myself. I’m not into all these buttons and creases.
The campus is filled with students as I make my way to Kellylynch Hall for my first class of the day. It’s English, which should be simple enough. I try to spot a group of popular students so I can make my new set of friends, but it’s hard to tell everyone apart when they’re wearing the same clothes. Some people try to set themselves apart, though. I see Airpods in ears, and luxury brand black shoes. Diamond bracelets and gorgeous real hair extensions.
But all of these things just separate out the wealthier students from the others. They don’t tell me who is popular.
I guess it doesn’t totally matter, I tell myself as I walk with a little more pep in my step. Once people realize that Sophia Brass is here, I’ll become the most popular student. So who cares who is currently popular? I’m about to take over here.
Honestly, I’m a little surprised that no one has said anything to me by the time I get to the English hallway. It’s all the way up on the third floor, and I’m in such a hurry to get there before the bell rings, I don’t really stop to admire the intricate architecture of the old building. I don’t really care if I’m late and make some kind of grand entrance in front of everyone—in fact, I kind of prefer that—but I do remember reading over the strict rules of the school and getting a tardy is not a good idea. The last thing I need is any kind of disciplinary record to make my parents show their wrath in an even worse way.
English Lit with Professor Harding is at the very end of the hallway. I find the classroom easily enough and slip inside. All eyes are immediately on me. I uphold my confidence and walk straight to the teacher’s desk where a middle-aged man with a slender build sits, looking through some papers.
“Hello,” I say, “I’m Sophia Brass.”
Professor Harding gazes up at me, and he couldn’t look any more bored if he tried. “Good for you. Have a seat.”
“I’m a new student.”
“Obviously,” he says, his eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before looking away. “In this classroom, we don’t waste our time reciting clear facts, Ms. Brass. Please take your seat.”
Someone snickers. Not laughs, not chuckles, butsnickers. A snide, rude sound that’s totally making fun of me. And then everyone else does the same.
I refuse to acknowledge any of these people. And I definitely won’t let them know that they’re bothering me. I scan the room, find an empty desk in the back, and sit down.
I had the good sense to bring my laptop as well as pack a binder with paper and pens, and I’m glad I did.
That gardener guy didn’t bother telling me that everyone here uses a laptop during class to take their notes, but I’ve seen enough television to have guessed that was a possibility.
I open my laptop, ignore the stares from people, and try to focus on the days’ lecture.
Only… I already know all of this stuff.
The same thing happens in second period. I take a seat without talking to the teacher, who doesn’t care or notice that I’m here, and then the lesson begins and they’re learning stuff I already know.
The students are not nice. No one says hello. No one asks for my name.
I eat lunch with Belle in our dorm. She doesn’t ask me why, and I don’t bother telling her.
The rest of my classes are all equally awful. The lessons are boring because I already know it all, and the students ignore me.
During my last class of the day, I’m considering that maybe I should introduce myself to these people so that I can finally make some friends, but I can never seem to pluck up the courage to do it. This isn’t like back at home, where everyone knew me and everyone wanted to be my friend. I’ve never had to make first contact with someone. People just come to me.
These Shelfbrooke kids obviously have no idea who I am, but how do I tell them? I can’t exactly stand up in the middle of the classroom and announce: “By the way, I’m Sophia Brass, of the Brass fortune, yes that Sophia, the one with almost a million followers on Instagram. Now that you know who I am, you can all start begging to be my friend.”
I snort at the thought as I imagine that scene playing out in my head. I would never actually do that, but it would be funny. And it might actually get results. But still – I amnotthat desperate.
“Excuse me,” my fourth period chemistry teacher says. “Sophia Brass, is it?”
I jolt, looking up at her. “Yes?”
“Is there something funny about these molecules?”
