The Myth of the Fall

ALAYNA'S POV

1st September '22, 7:40 a.m.

"Hey! Isn't that Alayna Baker?" A high-pitched feminine shrill follows the question. How charming, you don't even know 'me'. From my peripheral view, I can see the high-pitched femme and her friend waving their hands enthusiastically to get my attention. Even if it's just for a second.

It's way too early for this.

Nonetheless, I look over my shoulder and flash them a megawatt smile. They look young. Although, that could be a wrong deduction in today's time and day. I shake my head as if it can clear out my thoughts and continue my walk to the main gate of my academy. While the academy isn't mine, it is the one I'll be spending my next four years in.

Although, one may consider that it is mine with the way everyone's heads are turning towards me. It's sickening. I do what I have been taught to do well, that is, raise my chin up and walk straight.

My eyes wander around the place. Magnolia Academy resides over thousands of students coming from privileged backgrounds. The academy is huge, it can easily put five football stadiums to shame.

I scan the three enormous buildings shrouded in opulence of the gold and the glory of the past. The layout is hard to decipher, even more so, if you have been here for a while. I take a brief look at the main gates, which rise up to fifteen feet in height, cladded in silver and black.

The gates open to a straight road with footpaths on both of the sides, on which I'm walking currently.

Even the asphalt looks imported.

Speeding luxury cars pass by, instead of taking left, they steer towards right for the underground parkings. Some walk - some drive - towards the primaria schola building, some towards the secundarium schola building, while the rest, like me, head towards the alta schola building.

Primary school, secondary school and high school.

Pretentious, if you ask me. The buildings, that is, our academies, tower each other. Each distinct yet so mundane. Primaria schola honours Greek architecture. Secundarium schola reflects British Victorian architecture. Lastly, alta schola, glorious in its splendour with the fountains, the chandeliers, the pillars, the archways, the pathways, the statues - all reflect immaculate craftsmanship.

"Al, slow down will you?" an orotund voice calls out to me, just as I'm about to turn right. Josh Fawn. He jogs to match my pace. "This is my slow, Joshie." He gives me the finger while catching his breath. "You-gasps-are-gasps-evil." I smile in return, deciding to go easy on him.

The poor guy can hardly speak right now.

But oh well, he said it, I'm evil, "Your stamina makes me pity you," I pause for theatrics, "Pretty sure your future girlfriend would too." He glares but gives up.

Touché, Josh, touché.

"At least, I'd wake up on a bed," His eyes lit up with silent mischief, "did you? I mean this morning." My dark eyes meet his lighter ones in challenge, "If I didn't, would you twirl as a ballerina for me?" Though I was not serious, it would be quite fun to watch his attempt. "I would, if only you admit it." His voice takes on a singsong note, mocking me.

I read this somewhere 'I surround myself with people worse than me because if something were to happen they would have to face the consequences.' Admitting that I woke up on the floor would be humiliating but not as much as my best friend's attempt, albeit failing, at twirling as gracefully as a ballerina in front of nearly the whole school.