Peter
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Peter, quit tapping your foot. It gives the impression of a street vagabond."
Tap.
"Peter, you're a hopeless case. Do you want people to think you're a vagrant?"
I sigh and straighten up, shifting my weight equally onto both feet. I feel the extreme urge to glare and snap at my mother, but then she'd go on a rampage about how I am an ungrateful brat and a disgrace and blah, blah, blah…
My father seems to sense the agitation coming off of me in waves. "Peter, she doesn't really mean it," he whispers to me. "It's just that she wants you to have a good future. She may be a little harsh, but… just remember who you are, okay?"
I nod, but on the inside I give a snort. Yeah, right. Remember who I am. That can't be hard, I think to myself. I am Peter Matthew Rockwell, son of President George Rockwell, leader of the American Federation and I am sole heir to Mary Helena Christina Rockwell, née Cornell, daughter of trillionaire Robert Cornell. Yep, easy as pie.
Avoiding my parents' watchful gazes, I scan the crowd for familiar faces. There are kids here from every state, every county, every city, and every town in the Federation. I'm not looking for friends; my parents don't let me associate with kids whose parents are beneath their rank. And besides, I don't have time for that kind of stuff. I'm just looking for kids who attend my school, kids who think I don't know who they are. Standing in line is boring, and even the president's kid has to wait.
A glint catches my eye and I jerk my head back. The glint is coming from Ellis Hoffman's glasses. She's standing there, conversing with her mother in French. My parents hold them in distaste, purely because Ellis's mother, Amélie, isn't from the Federation. I don't really care for my parent's ways of thinking and I wouldn't if she hadn't beaten me in final exams.
She had come out with a perfect score, and I, who had always been second to none, lost by one point. I still remember the kids jeering at me, but raising Ellis up and parading her around like a hero.
I shake my head and come out of my trance, the taunts still ringing in my ears. I can almost hear my mother's voice echoing in my head. There is no purpose in dwelling on the past. What matters is the present. I'm almost at the front of the line, and I fish my chip out of my trouser pocket, my ID chip from the other. As I wait, I continue to glance around the courtyard at the medley of faces, taking care to avoid Ellis's face. Suddenly, someone crashes into me, and the two chips I had clenched in my hand go flying. They soar up into the sky, arcing up into the blue into who knows where. The boy mutters an apology and runs away before I can catch a glimpse of his face.
"Hey!" I shout. "You there!" But my voice is lost in the crowd, and besides, it would be a waste of time to wander through the crowd and lose my spot in line.
Greatly disgruntled, I smooth down my black blazer, which that kid had rumpled and wrinkled. The wrinkle won't come out, and I frown. I'd have to remind my maid to iron it. For now, I'll make do. I straighten my silk tie. I feel ready. Then I remember that I'm missing my chips and panic. There are only 4 people left in front of me, and who knows if they're a family.
I'm ready to charge out and scour every inch of the grass lawn until someone taps my shoulder. I glance upward, irritated and ready to shout all kinds of things, until I realize it's Ellis. "What do you want?" I say. I know I sound arrogant, but I need to teach Ellis a lesson.
She opens her palm and inside are my two missing chips. I snatch them up and begin to dance with joy. Ellis gives a slight grin. "You're welcome," she says, in a tone equally arrogant to mine. She saunters off toward her mother, her black hair swishing in waves behind her.
Right away, my parents are on me. "You know better than that," my mother scolds. "You know we don't like you associating with people like her." She spits out the word "her" as if it's as bitter as poison.
My father gives me a lecture along the same lines. "You don't know how foul she and other people like her can be." He offers me some hand sanitizer from the bottle in his breast pocket. I accept some and smear it on my hands, taking care to have it visible to Ellis. I don't look at her, however.
Then, I'm suddenly at the front of the line. The woman bows to my family and scans my ID card, even though she already knows who I am. She's my father's chief adviser, after all. "Welcome, Mr. Rockwell," she says, addressing me. "Please drop your entry into the bin over there." She gestures.
I walk over and drop my chip in, letting it sink into the mountain of chips. Isend one last prayer up, asking for the blessing of Nike, of Victoria, and of victory and all her ethereal forms.
Once my parents are scanned and confirmed as legal citizens (even though everyone knows that there is no need to undergo such a process), the three of us pass by and are immediately accosted by a guard who bows to us. "Welcome to the 43rd Annual Robotics Competition of the American Federation. We wish you the best of luck in the competition and we hope you enjoy your time here."
Oh, I will, I think to myself. After I win, of course.
But as I pass the turnstiles, my hands are trembling.