THE ARISTOCRATS #1

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Clementine hated many things. In fact, as a child she had bombarded her father with her dislikes, and he had told her to write them down in a notebook, with reasons to why she didn't like them. She had showed up with a eight whole pages of scrawny writing, stating why she hated spider eggs, polyester and confrontation.

Most of her fears had disappeared as she grew older, she wasn't scared of her wardrobe at night, and she never really thought about possums and the sounds they made anymore. But one fear had stuck with her through the years.

Her fear of confrontation.

As Clementine stood in front of her fuming mother in her office, she thought about her list. She thought about number 54 on her list, and how she had written only one word on it and offered no explanation for it.

Mother.

"Disgusting." The older woman seethed. "That's what it is. It's shameful really, a C grade. A passing grade."

They were about to receive their report cards in a week, and as her mother was the principal, she knew about Clementines grade before she even got it. It was a C in music, the one subject Clementine got a passing grade. She just couldn't understand the notes and lines, she couldn't understand it and had quit trying to in year 10.

"I never thought that I could have a failure like you as a daughter. I can't even understand how you're related to me. I'm telling your father about this, and you know he won't be pleased."

Clementine hung her head, her golden hair creating a curtain, shielding her from the knives of insults being thrown at her. She wanted to scoff in her face, tell her that her father was so drugged out that he couldn't even remember his own name, let alone be displeased about a measly music grade.

"I am so incredibly embarrassed right now." She snapped, clutching her temples. "What did I do to deserve this? I must have done something in my past life to have a complete failure to call my daughter."

She shook her head, pacing the room frantically. Her heels clicked against the floorboards as she walked, in rhythm with the sound of her heartbeat.

"This is embarrassing, Clementine." She snapped. "How am I supposed to face your teacher now? I'm the principal of this school, for Gods sake. My own daughter failing a class!"

Clementines eyes pricked with tears, her bottom lip trembling. She hated that she valued her words so much, that they meant so much to her.

"Don't cry, you don't deserve to cry," her mother sneered, rolling her eyes. "It would make sense to cry if it was someone else's fault, but this is entirely your fault, and yours only."

She wiped the tear off her cheek with a shaking hand, her cheeks burning and her stomach curdling with humiliation and shame.

Her mother crumpled the price of paper up and threw it at Clementine's feet, the ball bouncing off her shin.

She flinched.

"Get out of my office, and don't come back until you've learnt how to stop being a complete waste of oxygen. Absolute disgrace."

Clementine walked out respectfully, closing the door softly with shaking hands. She was used to the hateful words, but it didn't mean they didn't hurt. Her entire life, all she'd ever wanted was to make her parents proud, but she could never succeed. She straightened her back and sucked in some air, compartmentalising her feelings. She would deal with the bundle of messy emotions later, in private.

So Clementine shook out her golden hair, fixed her bow and straightened her socks. It was time to move on.

She walked to the courtyard, to her group of friends. She had almost forgotten about being exiled, only remembering when she was walking up to them. Her footsteps faltered, but they had already caught sight of her. An awkward and tense silence filled the group as Clementine stood there, feeling as if she been stripped of her clothes and peeled raw.