Pilot
AN: I won't try to make a habit of leaving author notes but I figured that this is a necessary introductory one. This is a pilot; if the reaction is good then I will be adding to this story. If all goes well, I plan on making this story 50k words—hopefully. The first few chapters may be inadequate, but I have tons of ideas for this. I'm so excited about this fanfic though, I can't wait to get farther into this! I won't be using Paul's POV that often, so if I don't state Paul's POV then it's the OC's/Florence's POV. Also I'm probably going to begin each chapter with a quote to set the tone and hint at what will happen.
TRIGGER WARNING: Abuse in following chapter (pilot/chapter 1)
"It's about the bullshit they've been feeding us since preschool: Do your homework, be good, fall in line, do what we say and maybe if you're lucky, you'll get the golden ticket. We're supposed to act like the only thing that matter is getting into college…and what about the people that don't get in? The ones who let some stupid letter from some stupid school tell them what they're worth as a person. Harvard says they're nothing and they believe it."
—Hacking Harvard
Like every lamb going to slaughter, I was utterly unnoticing of the impending doom that waited before me. I woke up optimistically early that day. I knew that Harvard had posted online who was getting in to their school and I was going to be on that list. I could wait until the admissions letter arrived in the mail, but I was too excited. I rolled out of bed and shivered from the cool April air. I must have forgotten to shut the window last night; it wouldn't be the first time. After slamming the window shut I jumped over a pile of dirty clothes and bounded towards my computer and log on. Waiting for the computer to load, I spun around in my spiny office chair in giddy anticipation. My hands shook as I wait to the Harvard website I checked the status by my name, "rejected".
My life was over. All of those years of straight A's, studying, the endless amount of boring club meetings, wasted! I lived so close to Harvard that I had spent my life driving past Harvard, thinking that one day I would go there. That I was going to be great. I wanted to go to that school more than anyone else. My parents want—no expect me to go. No other form of education could compare to what I would get at Harvard, but now I was going to be stuck working at a fast-food restaurant for the rest of my life; it's not like I can go to a different college. Harvard was my first and only choice, I didn't apply anywhere else I didn't think it would be necessary.
Suddenly my phone rang out and I realized I had a huge headache. How long had I be sitting here, staring at the computer? I sighed, flopping off my chair, on to the floor, and dragged myself to my cell phone that had fallen on the floor at some point during my morning escapade. I picked it up without checking the caller ID.
"Hello?" I mumbled in the phone.
"Guess who's going to Harvard with you!" a high pitch voice screeched back to me. I pulled the phone away from my ear and check the caller ID; it was Becky. Becky and I had exchanged phone numbers when we got assigned a group project together back in freshmen year. After the project Becky had, and still does, text me nonstop and I think we're friends now. She must have heard me talking about where I was applying when I asked the consoler to send my SAT score there, because I don't remember ever mentioning it to her.
"Who?" I humored her. I really didn't want know anything about that college ever again.
"Me silly!" She responded with an overabundance of enthusiasm. "I can't wait! Do you want to be my roommate? We can get a pet fish and—"
I cut her off. "Listen, why don't we talk about this later, during study hall? I just have a ton of homework that I need to get done for tomorrow." It was a Sunday morning after all, so I technically wasn't lying; I did have a bunch of homework, I just wasn't going to do it yet wallowing in self-pity comes first.
"Oh, okay! Don't be a stranger! Call me back if you get a chance, I feel like we hardly ever talk anymore!" and with that she hung up.
Now I must focus at the problem at hand. My parents expected me to be going to college at the end of summer. They expected me to go to one, Harvard or not. My mom will have a field day if she finds out that I didn't sign up for a college other than Harvard, she had warned me not to be so cocky. I couldn't let her win.
"What do you mean, you're going to a different college?" my dad lectures me from the other side of the dinner table. I glanced at my mom and she was nodding along with everything he was saying. The (rejection) letter had arrived today and I panicked, I told them Harvard accepted me. Then once we sat down at the table for dinner my mom started talking about how she can wait to move me into the Harvard dorms. And I said that I was thinking about different college options.
"Well, I'm not set in stone on anything but—" I quickly backpedaled "I'm just keeping my eyes peeled for better opportunities." My mom glared at me. I had tried to put glitter on shit, but it seems that the smell ruined the façade.
"Harvard is the best opportunity you have for making yourself not useless!" my mom retorted. Ouch.
"Look, I'm not saying that I'm not going to college," Lie, "or that I'm completely ignoring the chance I have at Harvard," Huge lie, "I just…" I pause trying to think of something, anything to say, "I... want more… more meaning to what I'm doing. I don't want to do something for the sake of the action. I want it to have significance. I want my actions to carry more meaning than having economic, scholarly, or social value." Actually that part was true; it just took voicing it to realize that.
"Honey," my mom started softly, then her eyes turned cold, "that is the dumbest thing you have ever said." I froze in my chair. I gnaw on the inside of my cheeks to refrain from reacting to her words. I knew how this worked; she wanted to ruffle my feathers.
My dad cleared his throat uncomfortably, "I'm going to do some paper work." With that he moved his chair back, which in return screeched in protest. Then he lead over my mom, kissed her forehead, whispered something in her ear, and shot me a rude glance; traitor.
Once dad left, the mom and I ate in silence, half because of my apprehension of being vulnerable and truthful with my mom, the other half because my mother was seething in a wrath of biblical proportions. Finally mom broke the silence by getting up from the table. "Lore, be a sweet heart and clear the table." With that she turned to walk out of the room. I only dared to look up at her when her footsteps stopped. She had turned back and was watching me carefully, her eyes showed the venomous rage that was stored up. "Oh, and Florence we will talk about this later. You will not be allowed to through your future away." With that she exited the room. I sighed. I could taste blood and realized that in the midst of that tension filled confrontation, I had chewed quiet an impressive gash in my cheek.
Absentmindedly I cleared the table. I am too focused on finding an excuse not to go to Harvard. My head played with different things I could tell my parents to excuse my absence at Harvard, all of which sucked. This is probably why I was rejected.
I heard shouting up stairs and stopped loading the dish washer so I could hear them better.
"This is your fault she's like this!" My mom's muffled voice rang out. I don't even think she was trying to hide this conversation.
"I doubt that this is my fault. Where do you think her smarts even came from? News flash: It's my side of the family that is smart." Dad's voice boomed out above moms. I couldn't help but feel a little anger with my dad for speaking to her that way. My mom could be mean to me but she was still my mom.
"Fine mister 'genius', talk to your daughter. People who are arrogant and ignorant tend to speak their own language anyway." Mom's voice was a little quieter, making it harder to hear but it was still filled with anger.
I sighed not really wanting to hear the argument anymore. I quickly put the rest of the dishes in the dish washer and hurried to my room where I found my dad, looking at my rejection letter from Harvard.
I froze in the door way. Shit. I forgot to hide that. I wanted to keep it to remind myself, now I really regret that decision. I'm so stupid.
"So," his voice was quiet and he kept his eyes trained on the letter. "When were you going to tell us the truth?"
"I didn't—" I started, but he cut me off.
"You didn't even think that far ahead did you?" His voice had this sharp edge that sounded familiar like an old dream—no like an old nightmare that has stuck in your head for years but you can't really remember the details anymore. I stiffen and feel my heart beat go faster as fear consumes me.
I turned and shut the door hoping mom hasn't heard us. "Listen dad, I'm sor—" he cut me off again.
"Did you even plan on going to college? Did you apply anywhere else?" He turned to face me. His face was red and he was consumed with anger. One hand was in a tight fist crushing the letter in its grasp. The other pointed at me accusingly.
"I- I—" I started; my voice was cracking from the lump in my throat.
"Your mother and I have worked very hard to give you opportunities that we never had at your age. Do you even try? No. You don't. You sit on your ass and waste your life."
Suddenly he was moving towards me. His hand moved up and he smacked me, hard. No, this was all wrong. He hasn't hit me since Middle School. My ears were ringing as I held the spot he hit, my face was throbbing. The back of my head hurt and I realized that the force of his hit had knocked me down; I must have hit my head. I glance up at him just as his foot connected to my stomach. I coughed and gasped trying to get air back into my lungs. His foot struck my stomach a few my times then he stormed out of my room, he slammed the door causing my mirror to fall and break.
I spent the rest of the evening on the floor sobbing; in the same spot dad had left me. After a while I couldn't cry anymore. Staring at myself in the broken shatter mirror and thought about myself. And realized that I had my own bank account filled with tuition money and I'm eighteen. I could leave any minute and my parents couldn't do anything. I could use the computer to look for somewhere far away from here, but then mom and dad could check my history and find me. I glanced up at the clock, 1 am. I groaned and pulled myself up; my body ached and fought against me. I had school tomorrow or rather today. I had to study for my History Class, which ironically we were going to have a test on present day Native American reservations, very historic and not present day at all. Suddenly an idea springs to mind. I'm going to go far away from home.
Once I narrow down the reservations to the farthest away, I took into consideration my preferences. I want ravens and snow. I grab my bird watching book from my book shelf and find the page with the migration patterns and locations of birds, find ravens, and mark each reservation with the ravens. Out of all of the places La Push in Washington is most likely to have the most snow fall. I've always liked forests. It's decided, I will start my day like normal, pretend to go to school, and leave for good.