Chapter 7

Talk about college being dramatic. Great!

I put on the pink, shimmery lipstick, use some makeup setting spray and wear my zircon earrings. I'm getting my feet into the stilettos when I hear the door open and I turn to it.

"Mrig, I'm really sorry for… Oh, hi, Samantha," I am so out of breath.

She responds with a curt "Hey," but keep looking at me. I become self-conscious. I mean, sure, Samantha Sammons doesn't care for gowns and makeup but everyone is a great critic when it comes to what a woman should look like.

"Is everything alright? Is my makeup too much?" I ask, dabbing my handkerchief on my face.

"No, it's okay. You're okay," she starts walking towards her bed, looking away from me.

"Oh, I guess that's alright." Honestly, I was hoping for a better compliment from my roommate, albeit one who I've only seen a few times. Where does this woman live?

"Yeah, enjoy."

"Aren't you coming?" I ask her.

"No. Busy." She starts unrolling a packet of something she has brought, and by the looks of it, it's something illicit. I need to say something to her.

"Ok. I know you're very busy smoking this drug… or whatever this is, but don't you think you do this a lot? Why do you drink and smoke so much? I get it, you don't care about your education, career or even health. But you do care about your family, right? Would they be proud of what you are doing? I'm sure they won't. So, can you lay off this stuff for a single evening, and do, I don't know, maybe some yoga or stuff, to help you with it?"

Her expression transcends steadily from incredulous to angry, and her eyes burn with something similar to hurt, and when she speaks, it is her usual calm voice which unnerves me.

"Listen now, missy. Pull your nose out of my business or I'll pull it off your face before long. I don't need your lectures, and you will keep them to yourself. Goodbye."

I don't look back at her as I leave in a hurry.

Out on the corridor, I run into Mriganka. Her face looks a little splotchy, but before I can ask about it, she gives me a nervous, apologetic smile.

"Hey, sorry for running out on you. I was just caught off-guard and messed up the situation. We good?" she says.

"Yeah, totally. You're okay, right?" I ask her.

"Obviously. Why wouldn't I? And my goodness, you're looking so cute. Please tell me you're going to talk to Devon this time? You have never really talked to him, and I don't understand why."

"It's because I get so nervous around him. He is so popular, like, wherever he is, there is a gang formed around him. All the pretty girls are laughing at his jokes, and to be honest, I didn't think those jokes were that good, you know? And there are weirdos like me as well, skulking in the background. Like, last time I ended up in front of him, I lost my voice and he kept looking at me expectantly, and I ended up saying, hey, I'm Samara. What would he do with that information, even?" We walk past the gates to the auditorium on the left side of the college.

"Right, and remind me what he said then?" she asks slyly.

I sigh. "He said, I know, I've heard about you. And something like nice to meet you and such."

"Yeah, and why would anyone know someone unless they do want to know them? This is Birchwood, Samara, and people here don't talk to, or about boring individuals. I mean, most people don't know the names of the Queens. Some of them are dancers and cheerleaders, so they do something, so people know them. Even having too much money isn't a factor here, because almost everyone does. You need to be something, you have to create your identity," she tells me.

"Then why is Samantha so famous? I thought that was because she is rich and beautiful and has a dark aura around her?" I ask.

Mriganka looks questioningly at me for a second, and I see something of some other emotion there. Anger, probably. But it's gone as she looks to the front and tells me, "Well, she definitely has those reasons to get people attracted to her, but apart from that, she excels at pretty much everything. She is kind of a genius. In literally everything. She excels at studies, she brought down the stage with her dance steps last year when Arianna Tucci came down with jaundice, and could not take part in that charity event. Samantha only turned up at the last moment, and without her, we might have lost half of the sponsors for the charity. She didn't even practice. And they say at the art club that she frequents the place, but we have no idea what she does, and she is not very keen to show off her talents."

I look at her, stunned. She could have told me all this in the first four weeks of college or at least a few minutes before I said all that stuff to Samantha. I feel like such an idiot!

We reach the auditorium which is decorated with yellow and pink fairy lights, and the arch is made of spring foliage. Everyone around me is looking so rich and pretty, but my eyes search that tall, hunk of a man in the crowd. A waiter brings us a tray.

"Hors d'oeuvres, ma'am?" He offers us.

"What is that supposed to be?" I look at the orange-something with a little apprehension, simply because it looks like there is some raw meat on it.

"Smoked salmon crisps, ma'am. Would you fancy some?"

"Uh- I don't know how to…" I begin.

"Of course, you don't," a voice comes from my back and I look back to find an attractive Asian woman moving towards us with the elegance of a swan. She wears a deep purple V-neck prom dress with slit on the left, and her legs shine like a bronzed, laminated statue. Her hair is so silky and so smooth that it reflects the light on her head like a shiny halo. She stops near us with a champagne glass in one hand, the other one resting carefully under it.

"Ellie Leung. You've never had salmon, have you, my dear?" she asks.

"Um, no?" Mriganka and I shake our heads.

"Figured. Anyway, it isn't exactly raw fish, so you can try it. Go on, pick it up. I'm sure you'll like it very much," she smiles.

I put one in my mouth, almost knocking off the toppings in the process. It tastes okay, if you've never had cooked food that tastes, well, cooked. I try to smile as I put on a thumb up. Mriganka, though, seems to hate it more than I do. Of course, she does. She is from the South Asia, and her palette consists of more tastes than the bland salt and pepper. She grimaces at the taste, which is immediately noted by our new "friend".

"What's wrong, um, what's your name?" she inquires in a sweet as poison voice.

"Mriganka Pillai."

"Mig, whatever. Ugh. What is it, you don't like our hors d'oeuvres, dear?" she asks testily.

"I mean, they are alright. It's just…"

"It's just that your poor parents could not afford fancy things like that, so they made you eat all the street food. Perhaps, you'd prefer dirt to such expensive dishes? I wish I had not wasted my pocket-money to arrange such a great party for the Freshers' Orientation, when half of them are here on scholarships," she huffs.

Mriganka looks towards her shoes and her long eyelashes glitter with tears. Quite a crowd has been formed around us, but I don't really see them. I see that rich, arrogant bitch and wish I could trip her on her legs. But it's a party for college students, not kids; and I should be the bigger person. Instead, I face her.

"I wish that too, at least we wouldn't have to pretend that we like shit just because rich brats pretend to like that," I say, and turn to Mriganka and hold her hand.

"What did you say to me?" Ellie stares dagger at me.

"I thought you had only lost your sense of taste, but you seem to have lost all the senses just because your head is so inflated," I tell her.

"You stupid…" she begins, and takes a step towards me. I pull back on one foot, and manage to latch the other on the back of her heel; bigger person can eat dung for all I care.

There is a collective intake of breath as the expensive, rich fabric tears with a sharp rip, and Ellie Leung comes crashing down on the marble floor, face first. Four thumps, as different parts of her body hit in succession, and after a shocked pause, everyone starts laughing.