I never claim to be popular or smart. That way leads to drama and madness. At least I always thought so. It's hard to deny the test scores that my private school loves posting up on the ceiling high bulletin board that dominates the lobby. The upper half of the bulletin board is covered in decorations, as no one without binoculars or a ladder would be able to see anything posted up there except huge banners extolling the virtues that one of the many sports teams displayed while winning a tournament.
It's like the teachers want to breed jealousy, intimidation, and bullies right into the core of the student populous. As if that needed help. We already have the war between the "haves" the "have-nots" the "old money" and the "nuveau rich". It is really easy to vanish and remain invisible here, usually. If you have the highest scores in the school, and strange white hair, coupled with what would appear to be impossibly dark blue eyes, you stick out like the Lighthouse of Alexandria over an ink colored sea.
That's my name, by the way, well, almost. It's Alexandreta. Alexandreta Amelie. My mom loves the sound of it. It just flows out between the lips without the barest hint of effort, she says. This coming from the woman who speaks seven or eight languages fluently, including Ancient Egyptian and Latin. The bad news about my name is that "fluidity" makes it really easy to chant, which people tend to do when they want to get your attention for something you just know you won't want to do.
"Alexandreta Amelie," sings a familiar voice from over the clamoring crowd of students trying to see their scores, their friends scores, and, more importantly, the scores of their rivals.
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