Disclaimer: I don't own Ouran.
Stepping into the cavernous lecture rooms of Ouran Private College is like taking a large stride into a different world-one in which money is not cause for concern. In fact it is in abundance as can be seen by the opulent furniture and décor.
The marble and glass staircases simply scream wealth and old money.
The mahogany table tops as far as the eye can see only proceed to hit that metaphorical nail on the head to the point of no return. I am uncertain whether to be amazed or shocked by such frivolous décor.
Little by little, my amazement transforms to that of indifference as I somewhat clumsily lower myself into a seat with engravings of mythological events delicately interwoven; a raging phoenix whose fiery body draws comparison to that of a house fire angrily and maliciously burning through all possessions. But the influential phoenix is also a symbol of rebirth; being reborn from its ashes gives hope tangible qualities. The chair is also adorn with images of Greek heroes, arrogantly flexing their muscles like it is going out of fashion.
Clusters of well-dressed students are scattered across the room, giggling and talking loudly like they own the place and some of them probably do. Their clothes are of the finest silk and cashmere that money can buy, with vibrant colours such as crimson and vermillion galore. It is evident that they are used to such luxuries in the way that they carry themselves, as if they feel just because they have a trust fund with a minimum of six figures, they can do whatever the hell they want. Such arrogant attitudes annoy me.
Some heads turn in unison to face me as if mentally scanning if I am from a well-to-do family. Well, the laugh is on them because I got accepted into this prestigious college on my own merit and not because of my family name. I worked my ass off and now I am happy to say that I am reaping the rewards of my hard work.
I wish to become a lawyer and a successful one at that. I wish to become a lawyer like my mom whom sadly passed away when I was a mere child. I want to make her proud; for her to smile down at me.
These girls won't accept me because I am not one of them; I haven't been bred for etiquette and formal situations. My dad raised me as he saw fit; allowing me to have fun although I didn't often take him up on the offer which saddens me greatly as he is now suffering. I know he thinks that I don't love him. But that is wrong. I love him more than anyone. He has been my sole parent for the better part of thirteen years; I was only four when my mother died from injuries resulting from a devastating car accident when the front wheels of the car she was driving slid on the icy roads and into a nearby tree.
But I don't care if they don't deem me worthy of a place at their table. That is high school stuff; bitchiness for no apparent reason other than pure hatred, gossiping and giggling cruelly at students whom aren't as fortunate as others. Although I have never been bullied myself, I can understand what it would feel like. I have intervened when those around me were treated nastily. I can't condone such behaviour. To treat someone like a second class citizen simply because of their family income, background or ethnicity is unforgiveable.
I hold my head up high like I deserve to be here. And to be honest I do think that I deserve to be here. It is highly likely that those spoiled brats whom surround me, glaring accusingly at my scuffed Converse, shabby jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, got in on the merit of their family's money.
Isn't it great for some?
The click clack of exceptionally high heels reach my ears and I wince as they edge ever closer to me before abruptly pausing where I sit.
I glance up, my chocolate brown eyes rolling of their own accord in my exasperation as the admittedly pretty girl looks down her ski slope nose at me.
Her hair falls in long blonde waves down her back and her piercing blue eyes are fixed on me in a ludicrous attempt to intimidate. My attempt to stifle a chortle doesn't go unnoticed by her royal highness. Hmmm… I apologise for my sarcasm but she is really beginning to bother me with her bitchy behaviour.
"Is there something you find funny, peasant-san? You may call me Akiko-sama," she declares in a pompous manner.
She speaks Japanese with the hint of an American voice; she has evidently grown up in Japan and one of her parents must be Japanese to have given her a Japanese name.
She has been in my radar for the better part of five minutes and I have already garnered all this information about her.
She clearly is of the opinion that the sun itself shines out of her radiant ass. She even refers to herself as –sama, a clear sign of arrogance of which I am definitely not in the humour to deal with on this cool April morning; the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, waiting for the right moment to emerge from the mist to bathe the sakura blossoms in glorious rays of sun. I woke up late and I had to rush like crazy to catch the train before it departed the perpetually crowded station. I have a twenty minute journey to my college and since this is my first day, I must make a good impression.
And now Little Miss Pompidou decides to come and ruin my morning further.
"Excuse me," I utter.
She seems pleased and clearly of the opinion that I am about to apologise for my 'misdemeanour.'
"It appears that you are blocking my view of the podium and I don't want to miss a moment of the lecture."
"Um…are you calling me fat?" she demands.
"I believe that it is your own low self-esteem whom is calling you fat. I wouldn't dream of telling you that."
I hear a loud gasp of dissent from a large group of students on the far side of the yawning chamber, near the bay windows. They are sprawled out on their cushioned seats, their long limbs threatening to trip some poor unfortunates as they pass.
"You did not just say that to me?"
She sounds disbelieving; but I haven't insulted the girl in any way. She is just trying and failing to start a fight. I am not going to take the bait because there are bigger and better fights which help humanity that would be of more use to my future career as a lawyer than pointlessly arguing with an insecure girl. She is very pretty and it confuses me as to how someone whom is attractive as she would feel the need to be bombarded with constant compliments about one's physical feature.
"Don't you know who I am? I could end you. You are worthless, nothing."
"Akiko-sama, is it?" I say in a gentle mocking tone. "I believe that the lecture is about to begin, it might be of more use for you to get back to your seat than traipse around the staircases. You might fall in those heels."
Her glossed lips highlight her confusion as they drop from their previous pout into a gaping mouth.
"Are you threatening me?"
"Huh? Um, no I wasn't threatening you. I am merely warning you about the medical effects caused by high-heel wearing."
"I don't want anything to do with you." Her voice is so shrill that dolphins would recoil from such a dreadful noise.
"Good," I mutter under my breath as she storms back to her seat, fake tears already welling in her eyes.
I may be a girl but I can't admit to being overly familiar with the activities of a girl because I have never gotten along with girls. They dislike me on sight which is quite unfair. Is it my fault that I prefer to dress in comfortable clothes such as jeans and runners instead of short skirts and high heels? Each to one's own is what my dad always says. He can be quite wise when he wants to be.
The sensei walks with purpose to his podium with a hot cup of coffee in his hand. His hand is shaking in anticipation for the caffeine rush that is necessary to face a lecture room of forty four law undergraduates. His black moustache seems to dance upon his craggy face and his eyes are constantly darting up and down the aisles as if to ease his mind.
"I am Sato-sensei. Welcome to all of you. Bear in mind that if you keep on my good side, you will have nothing to fear," he states in a steady voice.
Ha-ha, that and bribes of thousands of yen when it comes to cheating your way to a better grade, I think wryly to myself.
As Sato-sensei plugs his laptop into the wall and turns on the projector, the large double doors open in unison and a tall young man of about eighteen steps into the room with a beaming smile across his face. His light brown hair is artfully tousled and I am about to pinch myself as I am seeing double. I can clearly see from my position a carbon copy of this self-confident guy.
Hmm… twins… identical twins.
I hope that you all enjoy this story.