Summary:

Matthew Williams had received a letter inviting him to study at International Academy for his Junior year of high school. Nothing could have prepared him for the amount of culture discrimination he was about to witness. On one side is his self-proclaimed best friend Alfred F. Jones, who is constantly showing his obvious distrust for those who are coloured. On the other hand is his roommate Arthur Kirkland, who is extremely intolerable towards all the racial slurs and encourages Matthew to do something about it.

But the world isn't so black and white, for Alfred has good reasons to hate and Arthur isn't exactly a saint.

Warnings: Racial discrimination, homosexual discrimination, suicidal themes, religion, bullying and abuse.

I will be honest and concise.

Matthew Williams was never our first choice. He was our last resort.

I have never seen Alfred this anxious. He was fidgeting in his seat, strumming his fingers against the arm rest of the chair and nervously bouncing his leg up and down. I have to admit, Alfred looked quite charming the way he bit his bottom lip and scrunched his brow.

"Stop that," I chided, placing a hand on his knee. "It's rather irritating and you have no reason to be nervous."

I try to keep my voice low and cool but a bit of a hitch escapes my throat. Perhaps I was a bit on edge as well.

(I still have not told Alfred that I had locked myself in our dorm hours before and would not come out until a fellow peer had blackmailed me with incriminating photos)

"I can't help it!" Alfred's strumming stopped but his leg bouncing seemed to pick up speed. "I mean I don't normally get this way, ya know? But when it's her,oh my god she is just so cute and vulnerable. It makes me want to kiss her."

Jealousy is an emotion that I have become well acquainted with. Even though I had long since realized that Alfred would never see me the same way I had always seen him, he still brought great pangs to my chest. Still does.

"So you've said for the seventy-fifth time. Bloody hell, just get it over with and do it already."

"Hey you don't have to be so jealous guy."

I let out an indignant snort. "I am not jealous."

(I was jealous, but not for the reasons Alfred thought)

"Don't worry Artie." Alfred wraps an arm around my shoulder and rubs my arm. Thank God the gymnasium is dark or Alfred would have seen the flustered look on my face. "I'm sure there's a girl somewhere in the world who digs the brows."

I squirmed out of Alfred's grip and sink lower into my seat. "I don't want a girl." I muttered, but my voice was drowned out by sudden cheering. Alfred had practically leaped out of his seat when spotlights focused one the stage, revealing one lone figure.

She was diminutive in stature, long blonde hair tied into two neat ponytails that flowed behind her back, indigo eyes hidden by the glare of her steel-rimmed glasses. In her right hand she held a microphone, in her left was a piece of paper.

"H-hello everyone."

The response she received was weak and hollow, much similar to how she spoke.

"I am Madeline Joyce and I will be your student c-council president next year..."

"Can't hear you!" Someone from the back of the gymnasium shouted.

"I-I am Madeline Joyce and I will be your student council president next year." She had held the paper directly in front of her face which muffled her words.

"I didn't vote for you." Someone in the front row said in a loud enough voice that it was picked up by the mic. Several others yelled in agreement.

Of course they didn't vote for her. The elections were rigged. They probably knew but could never prove it. I looked to my left to see Alfred leaning forward, chin resting on his hands. This was the most focused I had ever seen him.

Madeline ignored the heckling and continued to read in a monotonous voice. "A-as your school president I promise I will try my hardest and..."

Her voice was soon drowned out by the murmur of voices. She was quickly losing the interest of her audience. I could see as her tiny pale hands trembled as she tightly clutched her paper.

"She's going to cry," I said with a shake of my head. Well this didn't matter anyways. Madeline's introduction was meaningless; it was how she would act as president next year that would matter. We had already won, this was just a formality.

Alfred had not responded at all. Instead, a devious smile grew across his face as he stared fondly at Madeline. Love is blind, I suppose.

Then an ear splitting, "Fuck you all!" left the speakers and echoed off the gymnasium walls. I had looked up to see Madeline had thrown her speech on to the floor and she had not only gained my attention, but the eyes of the rest of the student body.

(Now that I think about it, Alfred had probably predicted this would happen)

Madeline was crying, yes. Her entire body trembled and her fist was clenched so tight that I could imagine her nails were digging into her skin. But the voice that came out of her mouth was so strong, so confident, I could not believe this was the Madeline Joyce I had known for three years.

"F-fuck you all!" she repeated but with less clarity than before. I was surprised none of the teachers had gone up there to rip the mic from her hand. "You all think you're so cool, eh? Coming up with these derogatory terms for people who have a different skin colour as you. Using a person's ethnic background to judge how valuable they are. As president, I will do my best to abolish this, "Core" system. There is some sort of invisible rule book where people from the Periphery countries are not allowed to associate themselves with Old Core countries, just because they might have a lower education. How stupid can you get? We all go to the same school now!"

I had once been one of those people. I used to only hang out with people from the Old Core countries. The Germans, the Spaniards, even the French and the Americans. All of them. If you were not from a country I had looked down upon those from the Periphery countries, like India or Seychelles.

Now that I think about it, I was so foolish.

"I hear your nicknames," she continued. "Those stupid nicknames. You call the people from Periphery countries 'riffs'? Even those people from the New Core countries, like Poland or Russia. You call them 'newbies'. That is so idiotic. Why don't you guys make your own nicknames, eh? I've got a good one. How about the 'Racial Discriminators'? That sounds accurate. We call this 'The best international school in the world'. We may be the best in academic standards but in moral ethics we are the worst."

Madeline paused, her eyes scanning the crowd. She had this luminescent gaze radiating determination and confidence, daring someone to challenge her. It was a similar effect to what Alfred could do only less powerful.

Then in a very rushed voice she said, "I-I am Madeline Joyce and I am your student council president for next year. O-oh and I'm also the representative for Canada. T-thank you and good bye."

Needless to say, the gymnasium went livid.

I would have liked to have said things went fine after that, that the school eventually grew racial intolerable. I also would liked to have said that the turn of events that happened next were extremely unfortunate and if I could turn back time, I would have done anything to prevent what was about to happen. I would never tell Alfred this, but I was glad for the events that occurred.

Because if Madeline Joyce was never murdered, I would not have been able to meet the student sent to replace her.

I would never have met Matthew Williams.

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