Specks of sunlight peeked through the glass windows of the classroom, reflecting off of students who paid no care to it. I shielded my eyes with my hands, paying no interest to whatever happened outdoors. Decorations with pastel hues draped from the ceiling. The foot of them draped in front of the shutters, making the classroom look like a colorful environment.

The corner of my eye focused on the students beside me, Bianca Stewart and Morgan Allen. They snuck peeks at their laps where their phones lurked. What they were doing was apparent since the two of them are inseparable friends. At Westdale, they are known for being the gossip girls of the popular clique.

Whenever they walk in the broad corridors of this school, several eyes turn to them in awe. Sometimes, I wish that could happen to me. Whenever I walk down the halls, I don't gain any attention, especially from the elites.

If only people like me could get as much attention as them.

My thoughts were interrupted as I heard the clatter of the teacher's heels brush against the floor. They were louder than the birds that chirped a melodious tune outside. She walked to where Morgan and Bianca were, her calm expression fading into a disappointed frown.

Ms. Davis is passionate about her students learning in her class. If she sees anything suspicious that is distracting to learning, she is always the first to address it. It appeared that she only had a few years of experience as a teacher based on how young she looks, but she is one of Westdale High's finest teachers.

"Ahem," Ms. Davis cleared her throat, her hands planting to her hips. "Why do you two keep looking down at your lap? What is making it more important than my lesson?"

Several eyes turned to the three as if they were the spotlight of a school theatre performance. I tapped my fingers on my desk that was hard as stone as everyone waited for an answer from one of the girls.

Both of their mouths stayed still like frosty ice stuck to a pond. Bianca exchanged a hesitant glance to Morgan she turned to Ms. Davis, her glare getting sharper within every moment.

"Well . . . it's n-nothing. We were just l-looking down at o-our laps." Morgan stammered, attempting her best to sound normal.

"Nice try, Ms. Allen, but I don't believe you—" Ms. Davis sighed before being interrupted by the blaring noise of the last bell that rang.

It was louder than an elephant's roar. The bell echoed throughout the corridors of the building and in the classrooms. Everyone turned to their backpacks as they packed their things to leave.

"Class is dismissed," Ms. Davis announced while looking at the clock that resided in front of the classroom. Her stern glare turned back to Bianca and Morgan. "If I ever catch you two on your phones instead of paying attention in my class, things will not go well. You should never take advantage of your education."

Bianca croaked, making her biggest eye roll possible. "We get it, Ms. Davis. Have a lovely day."

She stormed out of the classroom quicker than the speed of lightning. Morgan followed her soon after, cursing complaints under her breath as silent as possible. Ms. Davis let out an enormous groan as she trudged back to her desk, her eyes focused on the endless amount of papers she had to grade.

I can't say that I disagree with her here. She is right that students cannot take advantage of the education opportunity they have. Unfortunately, most modern-day students could care less about paying attention in their classes. They care more about whatever is on their cell phones, whether it's new gossip or burning rumors.

There is always an excuse.

I tossed my backpack over my shoulders, my sleek, mocha hair laying loose on the straps. I made a beeline from the classroom to my locker, the forest green paint luring me closer to it. I made my best attempt to ignore Bianca and Morgan as they had a deep conversation in front of it.

I hope that they will go away soon. I do not have the entire day to wait just to grab a few belongings out of my locker. But unfortunately, they still resided at my locker, not noticing that I was there.

"Hey, excuse me," I mumbled, loud enough for them to hear. "You're standing in front of my locker. Can you please move over?"

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, hon. We'll move over." Morgan gestured Bianca to several lockers away from mine.

The two were about to walk off until a smug voice of another girl lured them to stay.

"Hey, Bianca and Morgan," the girl chimed. "Has anything new happened?"

She is not just anyone—she's Millicent Campbell, the most-known, most gorgeous, and wealthiest elite of the tenth grade. Everyone's eyes are always on her, most of which are desperate for a wave from her. I can understand why—she's endlessly stunning. Her effortlessly appealing tresses always draped down to her back, matching whatever designer outfit she wore. She is the definition of flawless.

Who would not want to look like her?

Her frigid eyes narrowed at me for a moment, then back to her friends as her hands were planted on her hips. "Who's this girl?"

"We don't know. We were just leaving," Bianca replied, motioning the other two to follow her to nearby water fountains. "By the way, we do have something to tell you. I'll tell you all about it over there."

"This should be interesting," Millicent shrugged her shoulders, her salmon lips puckering into a smug smile.

The three of them strutted several lockers down from me, their discussion becoming inaudible as they trudged farther.

Getting Bianca and Morgan away from my locker was a successful, but yet a fail. If Millicent had not come to my locker and stole all the attention, getting Morgan and Bianca away would have been easier. In the end, I tried my best instead of staying silent.

My fingers lingered on the combination lock of my locker, turning to the three numbers of my combination. The lock unlatched within one try, revealing the active tornado inside. Papers of all shapes, sizes, and hues set a blanket over textbooks and books I have borrowed from the school library.

I vowed to myself to keep it tidy, but I failed to do so no matter how many times I tried. Maybe one day I'll try again, and hopefully succeed.

My hands clasped on a textbook and folder on the shelf of my locker, stuffing them inside my overfilled backpack afterwards.

When I finished getting everything I needed, I slammed the door shut and went off for the school exit that led to the student parking lot. Today, my older brother Rafael is giving me a ride home, which is one of the most unfortunate events of the school day.

Take it from me—Rafael drives faster than a speeding bullet. Maybe some people would find that more convenient than driving slower than paint could dry, but I always found it the opposite. I mainly don't like my brother's driving because I don't want to witness him getting a speeding fine and my parents getting infuriated because of that.

Otherwise, I don't mind the faster drive of getting home. School is already a pain in the neck, and getting in the loving environment of home sets a better mood for the rest of the afternoon.

My hands thrusted against one of the many exit doors in sight as I pushed it open, paying no care to whatever was happening behind me. It was nice to be in the natural environment, rather than seeing posters of many tints plastered against the walls and doors of the school.

Sunshine shone from the clear sky, reflecting off of students who brushed passed each other in groups or independently. I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand as sweat trickled down it. Even if it is not summer yet, it felt like it was.

"Hey, Rose," a perky voice chimed from behind me. "We're here."

She is not just anyone—she's one of my two best friends, Lizzie Daniels. Her blonde hair draped down to her shoulders and upper back, over her mirrored eyeglasses. My other best friend, Tracey Johnson—best known for being in Westdale's cheerleading squad. Her lush raven hair was done in box braids, wrapped up into a bun covered by a forest green bow.

Lizzie and Tracey are the best friends I could ever have, and I am lucky to have them. But even if we have a close bond, we do have our disagreements—especially about the popular clique and being an elite. As much as I wish to become noticed at school, they do not. They would rather stay the way they are.

If an opportunity for all students at Westdale High to switch their social statuses at school for one day came up, they would ditch the opportunity to know what it feels like to be an elite. I know then an event like this would never happen under any circumstance. No one would allow it, especially the elites—who believe that everyone should stick to the status quo.

"Hi," I smiled, greeting them both with a brief hug.

"We just came to visit you before I get to cheer practice, and Lizzie gets to her chess club," Tracey enlightened, her gaze turning to the overcrowded exit doors that opened and shut.

"Oh, alright. You two should get going now. I don't want you to be late," I stated, shadowing my eyes from the sunlight that gleamed over me.

"We were," Lizzie declared, brushing her feet against the sidewalk. "See you later, Rose."

"Bye," I called out, waving my hand graciously as they disappeared into the school.

Except for the melodious sound nearby birds sang, I was alone with no one to chat with. I don't mind being alone . . . It's just that I wish that I could be closer to more people. I would hardly ever feel lonely, but I already know that getting closer to others is almost impossible for me.

My thoughts were interrupted by the blaring noise of a car horn. The car pulled up at the curb of the road, the passenger seat's window rolling down. My brother Rafael was inside, motioning me to come inside so we could head home. I cautiously opened the door and slumped into my seat, setting my backpack on the floor in front of my feet.

"Hola, Rose," he welcomed me inside. "Ready to go?"

"Of course I am," I replied while fastening my seatbelt.

"Bueno." He stated, his gaze turning to the steering wheel of the car.

The car didn't smell delightful. The mildew of putrid sweat covered the welcoming scent of vanilla air freshener that clearly did not work on sweat. Because Rafael is a basketball player at school and has PE class, it made sense that the car smelled like this—along with him driving his sweaty friends home from basketball practice twice a week.

Being a basketball player at Westdale does have its disadvantages, such as being smelly for a while, but it does have its benefits. The main benefit of being a basketball player—or a player of any sport can raise anyone's social status. That makes it possible for anyone to become part of the popular clique. Even if I am known as a nobody at school, Rafael is not. He is a well-known senior at school, while I am practically invisible.

Being invisible at school has never been my wish, but I will just have to deal with it for the time being.

We pulled out of the school and onto the road to get home. I feel excited to get there. At home, there were no blaring bells that rang obnoxiously, or teachers who shouted at misbehaving students. There was silence—maybe too much. Mom and Dad are occupied with work often, attempting their best to provide for the family so there could be food on the table.

The roaring sounds of cars and busses rushing down the street and Rafael's brisk driving interrupted my thoughts. The ride felt faster than a rollercoaster, urging me to hold on to myself tightly. Rafael's lips puckered into a smug smirk as he slowed down a bit, even if the ride still felt faster than a cheetah could run.

I rolled my eyes as my gaze turned to the window, where all the houses, buildings, and trees we passed felt like a blur. All I want from now on is a normal ride home where I do not have to worry about looking out the window and seeing everything go by swiftly.

"Can you drive slower? We could get caught by a police going above the speed limit any minute now," I grumbled to Rafael as I crossed my arms, my fists clenching together firmly.

"Nope, I will not," he stated, his shoulders raising with no mind. "We will get home in about five minutes, anyway."

"Whatever," I mumbled under my breath.

Even if we are only a few minutes away from home, I have a feeling in my gut that the ride will feel longer than it should be. I guess I'll be considered lucky if I survive five more minutes inside this car.