Elitism

The next day at lunch, I was sitting peacefully alone eating a healthy sandwich that my stepmother made when a redhead girl pulled up a chair and sat across from me.

“Well, she doesn’t wait long before making contact.”

I wasn’t confused by this sudden invasion. I was creeped out by the tiny fact that she was completely serious.

“Who are you?” I asked bluntly.

“I’m Jennifer. I’m with the school’s newspaper.”

Okay, I didn’t care about that. Let me rephrase this. “What do you want?”

“Words in the hall you turned down an elite offer.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. She looked like she was a smart girl. She knew. I just stared at her.

“That was brave of you. The last girl to turn them down was six years ago. And she’s never been the same since.”

“Are you one of them?” I asked, really not following this conversation.

“No. I hate them. I want to bring them down.”

I had no idea what she was trying to imply, but I refused to acknowledge that comment.

“Good luck,” I said then took a bite of my sandwich.

She sighed. “I need your help. There’s only so much I can do from a distance. I need a way inside and you’re my ticket.”

“What makes you think I’ll agree to this?”

“Listen, this group is powerful and manipulative,” she said, trying to keep out the desperation in her voice.

“Please tell me I didn’t just walked into 90210 and Gossip Girl.”

“Look this over. It’s everything I’ve written about them in the last year. Accusations, rumors, but no proof. Just read them and let me know tomorrow.”

She left a thin binder on the table. It was filled with a couple of dozens cutout articles that were all about the elite group of this school. I wasn’t going to lie. I was intrigued.

I was going to go straight home, but I ended up somewhere else first. I guessed the girl who followed me in the hallway this morning had a funny way of getting people to change their minds. Because my punishment for turning her down was getting thrown into the school’s dumpster. While I chilled in the dumpster, for some reason it reminded me an episode of Glee. Who was it again that got thrown into one of these monstrous blue bins? Kurt, oh yeah.

Well, I wasn’t publicly humiliated. Sharon and I would do this almost every weekend with our friends. It was our version of treasure haunting. When you’re poor with nowhere to go for free, you learned to improvise and get creative.

So here I was, searching the dumpster for anything that stood out, or piqued my curiosity. I found a written test that one of the students had failed. I found a teddy bear hugging a heart. Someone didn’t like the gift. Underneath all the waste, I found a painting, the frame was broken, but the painting surprisingly intact.

I held it up and stared at it, trying to make out what it was. It wasn’t anything really, just an abstract concept, and while looking at it, I couldn’t help but feel sad yet hopeful. Interesting.

Well, this was going up on my wall.

I carefully rolled the painting and put away safely in my backpack. I took out my cell phone and text messaged Sharon about all this. Suddenly there was a knock on the bin, which harshly echoes through my ears.

“Yes?” I said slowly, because this wasn’t awkward at all.

“You having fun in there?” said a male voice.

I picked myself up and poked my head out. Well, fuck me. This young gentleman was certainly too good-looking to be wearing a lame school uniform.

You could tell he hit puberty early because he was clean shaven with perfect measured sideburns and his short brown hair the sticks up in synch. His jaws certainly caught my attention. His piercing green eyes looked so soft, yet there was something more to them. But more importantly, he was built. Damn.

Keeping my cool as I crossed arms and leaned on the edge of the bin, I said, “As a matter of fact, I was. Until your rude interruption.”

He chuckled coolly. I was in a dumpster, most likely smelled like shit and this guy in front of me was flirting with me.

“I deeply apologized,” he grinned. He emphasized on the word ‘deep’ because I was at the bottom of the dumpster.

“I see what you did there,” I said deadpan, trying to keep my smile from breaking out.

I gently dropped my backpack on the ground and hopped over landing on my two feet. For a second there, I thought I was going to trip and fall on my face in front of him.

“What are you doing, anyway?” I asked after I finished brushing myself off whatever dirt I could.

“I saw what they did. I was making sure you were alright.”

“Why, thank you, kind sir, for your strange interest. Here I am, proof that I am quite alright,” I said in a British accent.

He smiled. “I’ll see you around, Shakespeare.”

He walked in the direction of a lonely car in the parking lot. I watched him as he got in and drove away. I chuckled to myself as I made my way to my car in the overhead garage. Something told me that I would be definitely be seeing him again.