Chapter 2

𝓗er vibrant ginger locks cascade down the length of her back, I had always thought her hair to be the prettiest shade there could be. In contrast to my own unruly dark brown locks, her tresses fell elegantly.  We are sitting on one of the picturesque valley hills back home, making daisy chains. I can feel the sun gleaming down at us, the soft breeze swaying blades of grass, most importantly , I can feel her presence. There had always been a sense of calm  surrounding her being, she was one of the few people who I would voluntarily share my knot of thoughts with.  Slowly she turns to face me.

"Calliope?"

"Calliope…"

"Calliope."

"Calliope!"

A wave sent from my consciousness shocks me back into the present moment.  Stirring awake, prying my eyelids apart, my vision is fixated upon Allegra's bright expression.  Squinting my eyes at the intense brightness radiating from the open window, I pin my roommate with the best glare I can possibly muster at this early time of the morning. Aside from her cheerful energy, I further notice that the blonde  is already fully dressed. Pushing the blonde girl's face far away from mine, I emit a tired yawn.  As I finally sit up in bed Allegra allows me personal space.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!" Allegra's dreamy voice slices through my  serenity. Pinching the bridge of my nose I look at the time. 6:00am.  Breakfast would have just commenced in the refectory.  Is breakfast really a necessity in order to achieve a successful day? I roll the thought over in my head before finally heading over to my closet, suppressing another yawn. If I am to focus on my studies I ought to do so with a satisfied stomach. 

Ploughing through bundles of undershirts, jackets and blouses I, at long last, pull out my school uniform. A white simple dress shirt, a striped tie of light cream, scarlet, and navy - Roxiliya's signature colour scheme, a sophisticated margaric blazer, a pleated skirt of a nacreous shade containing checked lines of scarlet and navy, and sheer stockings make up the uniform of Roxiliya Academy.  These, with an addition of jewellery, effeminate socks and loafer shoes, I wear for all  five school days weekly.

What an annoyance it is to be restricted through one's clothing, would it not be prudent to allow students comfortable attire? Despite the aggravation sparked as a result of the need to be wearing such confining attire consistently, the bulk of students at Roxiliya pride themselves upon their appearance. Thus our uniforms are worn with flair, I too must admit to the satisfaction raised from seeing such a multitude of  individuals dressed so aesthetically. 

Emerging from the bathroom that is attached to our dormitory, in which I had been changing, I am met with an empty dormitory. Allegra must have been whisked off to the refectory by our friends. Wherefore the solitary air gives rise to my mind wandering off to the memory that had corrupted my slumber. I had deliberately avoided the cogitation of the reasoning behind this specific reminiscence, for I had long obstructed any thoughts of that fiery haired girl. 

Consciously estranging all thoughts of the memory, I swiftly gather all study material entailed for my schedule today and start towards the refectory. Scampering down the spiralled staircase, speeding out of the parlour, hurrying down imposing corridors and arriving at the refectory through the expertly carved archway entrance, I escape my rumination by instead focussing on thoughts of numerous breakfast foods.  I am envisioning a plate of waffles when I, with great difficulty, locate my friends within a sea of Roxiliya students, along with Andre and his friend, Dante Whiteford. 

Describing the relationship between Dante and my brother as a mere friendship is but a euphemism for the bond the pair have formed. The connection between the two teenagers is vastly more comparable to the kinship of the March sisters.  Andre and Dante formulate the perfect exemplification of the term 'partners in crime' . Whether they are poking fun at their friends, playing tricks on professors  - landing them in recurrent detentions, or simply antagonising Principal Silvia, my brother and his best friend could not be more close. 

Walking over to the table our clique had assumed, I set myself down on the only free seat, beside Dante. After a chain of greetings flow in my direction and I have graciously bidded my friends a good morning, I reach for the last remaining  blueberry scone.  In that same moment another arm extends itself towards the breakfast pastry. 

"I touched it first!" Both Dante and I immediately remark in unison. 

"Well I am the one to consistently have had a blueberry scone every Wednesday for breakfast ever since my preliminary year," I point out factually to the boy sitting beside me. 

"Precisely. All the more reason for me to have it then, isn't it? " Dante peers down at me, a smile of amusement plastered across his face. 

Scoffing at his teasing, I snatch my blueberry scone and take a sizable bite out of it. Shaking his brunette fringe away from his hazel eyes, chuckling at my reaction, Dante reaches for the pitcher of orange juice sitting in the middle of the table.  I observe, chewing heartily on my scone, as he pours himself a glass, and then another, which is slid over to me. 

I positively abhor the unpleasant, bitter toxicity that is  orange juice, how can one be expected to consume a drink of such repellent taste? My dislike for orange flavoured food is, coincidentally, a result of spewing. As children, in hopes of soothing our unsettled stomachs after vomiting, Andre and I  were given medicine. Orange flavoured syrup. Thenceforth I have associated the flavour of orange with barf. My poor mother discovered my detestment of  orange flavouring in a rather unfortunate fashion. 

Dismissing any musing over my wistfulness I concentrate my questioning gaze at Dante. After a beat, the brunette looks up from the book he has propped up against a jar of plum jam. Registering my staring he too gazes back, until he understands the reasoning  behind my bemused expression. 

"Mango juice Calliope, not orange." Dante gestures at my glass. I cannot help the feeling of contentment that swells up in my chest due to the boy's words. My brother's best friend; it is from him I was taught how to play chess, it is from him that I gained my understanding of soccer, it is from him I learnt most of Andre's embarrassing secrets. I am smiling up at Dante when I sense two pairs of eyes fixated on myself and the boy seated alongside me. 

Simultaneously glancing in the direction of the gazes we feel burning into us, Dante and I glimpse Andre and Allegra ogling at our interaction. The duo break eye contact the very moment they realise they had been caught. Allegra looks down suddenly, apparently inspecting her cuticles. While my brother begins to  shovel scrambled eggs into his mouth, in a rather unappetising manner.  Both of the teenagers have similar smirks spread across their faces.  Interrupting my observance of my brother and best friend's odd behaviour, the loud peal of the bell echos from the bell tower. Before I can tell the pair off for staring - it is a rather discourteous habit - I am interrupted yet again, this time by her majesty of predominance.

"Students, proceed to your classes! " Silvia squawks out from the staff table located to the right of the refectory. Swinging my book satchel over my shoulder I, along with Allegra and a few other friends who are also in fifth year, separate from the sixth years of our clique. I call out a goodbye to Andre and Dante before exiting the breakfast hall, in the midst of hundreds of other students.