"Hi everyone, my name is Justine Marie Donovan. I just moved here, so everything is still a bit new to me, but I'm excited to get to know all of you," I said, keeping my introduction as short as possible. My voice sounded steadier than I felt, but inside, I hated every second of it.

Being the new kid at a new school was like being put under a spotlight I never asked for. The awkward introductions, the uncertainty of not knowing where the classrooms are, the nagging feeling of standing out, and worst of all—the relentless, silent judgments. I could feel people's eyes on me, sizing me up, deciding if I fit into their groups, their little worlds. All of it was suffocating. Fitting in here, of all places, would be tough. My past, my background, would make sure of that.

"We're glad to have you here, Ms. Justine. You may take a seat now," our English teacher, Ms. Evelyn Harper, said, her voice warm but distant.

I nodded, quickly making my way back to my desk. Middle row, third from the front—neutral, unassuming, perfect. Or so I hoped.

To my right sat the most striking guy I'd ever laid eyes on. He had blonde hair that caught the light just enough to make it seem like it was glowing, tousled in a way that looked effortlessly perfect. His blue eyes were so vibrant they almost didn't seem real, the kind of eyes that could pierce through you if you dared to look too long. He reminded me of a prince from a fairy tale, and judging by the designer watch on his wrist and the confident, almost regal way he held himself, he probably came from a family just as rich and prestigious as he looked. Like most of the students here. Well, almost most.

On my left sat a girl who looked just as striking, but in a different way. Her long black hair fell in sleek waves down her back, catching the light with every slight movement. Her skin had this natural, flawless glow, and her dark eyes held a quiet, unwavering confidence. She didn't need to say a word to make her presence known. It was like she owned the space without even trying.

As I tried to steady my thoughts, Ms. Harper, a middle-aged woman with wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, began flipping through her lesson plan. Her gaze swept across the room as she smiled briefly at us.

"Alright, everyone, let's pick up where we left off," she said, writing the title of the novel on the whiteboard in a smooth, practiced motion. "Who can remind me what we discussed in our last lesson?"

A few hesitant hands went up, and she nodded, waiting patiently for the answers to come.

"Yes, exactly," she said, acknowledging a student seated right in front of me. "We were discussing the main themes of the chapter."

Her voice carried a calm assurance, as if she could draw us all into the world of the book with nothing more than the steady rhythm of her words. Slowly, the room fell into a familiar rhythm, the buzz of curiosity and engagement filling the air. As she seamlessly wove together the threads of the last lesson with today's discussion, I tried to slip into the flow of it, too. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still on the outside, looking in.

My mind raced back to the events that had brought me here. Winning a scholarship to the most prestigious school in the country felt like stepping into a dream. A dream I'd always kept at arm's length, reserved for the wealthy—the children of millionaires. It was a place I had often imagined myself studying, but never truly believed I could. Not until that writing competition changed everything.

The competition had been fierce. Students from all over the nation, each one determined, ambitious, and hungry for that coveted top spot. The topic had been *The Power of Words*, something that stirred something deep inside me. I poured everything I had into it, channeling years of emotion, fear, hope, and longing. Writing had always been my refuge, the one place I could escape when life became too overwhelming. But for the first time, it wasn't just an escape—it was a key. A key to something greater, to a world I had only ever seen from the outside.

When the letter arrived, I could barely breathe. I remember my hands trembling as I ripped it open, half-expecting disappointment. But instead, it was congratulations. I had won. I had earned a place in a world I never thought I'd belong to.

It didn't feel real. How could it? Me—Justine Donovan, the girl from a modest background—stepping into the halls of the elite, the untouchable. The world of wealth and power, where everything seemed larger than life. And yet, here I was. But now that I was inside, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still on the outside, looking in.

On my first day, walking onto the campus felt like stepping onto a movie set. The school was nothing short of breathtaking. The wrought-iron gates, adorned with intricate gold accents, shimmered in the morning sun as if to announce that I was crossing into another world. Beyond the gates, the sprawling grounds stretched out endlessly, with perfectly manicured gardens and meticulously trimmed hedges lining cobblestone paths. The main building towered ahead like a castle, its ivy-clad walls and soaring spires piercing the sky. 

Everywhere I looked, students moved with ease, dressed in their impeccably tailored uniforms, laughing and chatting as if they held all the time and privilege in the world. It was a living portrait of wealth, elegance, and tradition—so far removed from the life I had known.

As I walked through the grand entrance, the air inside felt cooler, heavier, as if history itself was pressing down on me. The interior was even more stunning than the exterior: gleaming marble floors, chandeliers glittering like crystal stars overhead, and walls adorned with art that looked like it belonged in the world's most famous museums. I could hear the faint strains of classical music drifting from somewhere deep within the halls. Everything about this place screamed grandeur, a sharp contrast to the modest, well-worn classrooms I was used to. It was overwhelming.

 I was directed to my first class—English. The irony wasn't lost on me. The very subject that had opened this door for me was where I would begin. 

The classroom was as luxurious as the rest of the school. Oak desks polished to a high sheen, plush leather chairs that seemed to swallow you in comfort, and massive windows offering a sweeping view of the pristine courtyard below. It was impossible not to feel small, like I was intruding on a world that wasn't mine. 

I knew it was only a matter of time before people realized I was here on a scholarship, not because my parents were wealthy or powerful. Part of me was excited to prove that I belonged, but another part was filled with dread. What if I couldn't keep up? What if I never fit in?

"Justine? Justine, are you with us?" Ms. Evelyn's voice snapped me back to the present. I blinked, startled to find the entire class staring at me.

"I asked if you could read the next chapter. There will be a quiz tomorrow," she said, her gaze lingering on me for a moment before addressing the whole class.

Before I could respond, the bell rang, and everyone began packing their bags, ready to move on to the next class. I quickly stuffed my books into my bag, feeling the weight of it all—this school, these expectations—pressing down on me.