The train arrived earlier than expected. Like almost everything good in my life. And I, as always, almost missed it.
I ran through the subway platform, my heart pounding in my temples and a half-bitten slice of toast hanging from my lips like a surrender flag. The asphalt vibrated under my worn sneakers, a countdown I couldn't afford to lose.
"Wait!" I shouted into the air, my voice muffled by effort and bread.
I jumped at the last second, landing with the grace of a sack of potatoes. The doors closed behind me with a sharp, definitive beep, sealing my entrance to a new world.
My legs trembled, my backpack slipped down my shoulder, and my secondhand uniform clung to my body from the sweat of running. I leaned against the door, trying to catch my breath.
"I should... exercise more..." I muttered to myself, almost breathless.
Though I don't know if the uniform clung to me like this from sweat or because it was two sizes smaller than my clothes. But whatever, it was all we could afford.
A man in front of me, sitting with his back straight as a ruler, looked at me with complete disdain. One of those old men with furrowed brows and pressed shirts, who seem to hate anything under forty years old on principle. He muttered with contempt dripping from his chin:
"People with no manners..."
His words were my first greeting in this new chapter of my life. I had heard them before. Many, many times. But not today. Today I wasn't going to swallow them with the rest of my breakfast.
I looked at him sideways: wrinkled and bald to a shine, like a grumpy lightbulb.
"And what about you, old man," I replied in a low but cutting voice. "Did your will to smile leave with your hair or what?"
The man pursed his mouth, forming a small, wrinkled 'o', as if I had spit at him with my gaze. But he said nothing. Victory for me.
Today I'm not going to let anyone push me around.
It was then that, from the other side of the car, I heard a soft, almost musical laugh. I looked up. A boy with pink hair, impeccable face, and peaceful expression seemed to have heard everything. He covered his mouth with a hand of long, delicate fingers, trying to contain himself, but his shoulders trembled slightly.
The light from the window illuminated his profile and, for an instant, my world stopped.
He was beautiful. Not in the traditional way, but as if he had been sculpted by an artist and then put on the cover of a luxury magazine. His skin looked soft even from a distance, and his eyes... had that calm of someone accustomed to everyone and everything admiring him.
However, he didn't seem arrogant. Or disinterested. Simply... accustomed. As if beauty were part of his daily routine, like brushing his teeth. He looked away and continued observing the landscape pass by, oblivious to my scrutiny.
I dropped into an empty seat, awkwardly adjusting my uniform. I still had the tag hidden under the collar, scratching my neck. Not even the original owners removed it, and I think it's better if I don't.
I swallowed and whispered:
"First day..."
I opened my backpack, taking out my worn notebook. I reviewed the school data for the tenth time, as if reading it again could make it more real.
Hathor Preparatory. Founded over a hundred years ago. In its classrooms, ministers, heirs of transnational companies, artists, models, and... well, people who would never think of talking to me were formed.
The institution organizes school trips to Europe. It has courts for every sport you can think of, even Ullamaliztli, which I had no idea what it was, but I want to photograph it. And they even have a private theater with capacity for a thousand people.
And there I was going... with my bitten bread, my patched backpack, and my old camera.
"And how did you get there?" you might ask.
After years of studying without rest, sleepless nights, and sacrificing weekends, I managed to win first place in the state photography contest. They awarded me with a full study scholarship. And as if destiny had turned romantic, a vacancy opened just for me. This was a dream. One in a million.
From the train's speakers, a velvety voice announced:
"We have arrived at the station: Hathor."
"How rich must a school be to have its own train station?" I asked quietly, like someone throwing a thought into the air.
"Better ask yourself how rich its students are that they don't even use it," said a female voice beside me, clear and confident.
I turned. It was a girl with golden hair, perfectly straightened. She wore the uniform elegantly, as if it had been custom-designed for her. Her lips were thin and pink, and her teeth, a perfect row.
"I'm Mary. A pleasure."
"Ah... ni-nice to meet you. I'm Suri. It's my first day."
"I know. It shows," she laughed softly, a laugh that was nothing like the pink-haired boy's; this one was more controlled, more social. "I like welcoming newcomers. Come, I'll show you the campus."
For the next hour, Mary was my guide in the paradise of the rich. She spoke with such natural ease and elegance that we didn't seem the same age.
"This is the cafeteria. You'll eat here every day."
My eyes fixed on the digital menu above the counter.
"A cup of coffee... Five thousand dollars for a coffee?!"
"Hehe, yes, it's delicious. But if you forget money, the school has a... free menu. It's limited, of course, but it serves for emergencies." She winked at me with kindness that seemed genuine. The way she said "emergencies" was so subtle I barely noticed.
We continued walking through a hallway with marble floors so polished I could see my distorted reflection. Beside us, glass display cases exhibited trophies and awards that looked more like works of art than school prizes.
"And here's the student lounge," said Mary, opening double doors.
My eyes opened wide. That wasn't a 'lounge'; it was a luxury lounge with leather sofas, a coffee bar attended by a uniformed barista, and students who looked like they came from a fashion magazine.
"Is that... a chocolate fountain?" I asked, pointing to a golden structure in the center.
Mary shrugged.
"Yes, but it only works on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Mondays we have imported cheese fondue, and Fridays artisanal ice cream. You know, so we don't get bored."
A girl passed by us talking on the phone:
"...so I told daddy that if he didn't buy me the new yacht for my birthday, I wouldn't go to Monaco this summer..."
Mary nodded as if that were the most normal thing in the world.
"That's Clarissa. Her father owns three private islands. But she's a bit stingy, you know? Last year she only donated five million to the school."
The air inside Hathor was different. It didn't smell like school, like chalk and enclosed teenagers. It smelled of noble woods, expensive perfumes, and something I could only describe as 'old money'. An aroma of privilege that had accumulated for generations.
My shoes squeaked against the immaculate floor, a sound that seemed amplified in the high ceilings. Around me, students' laughter had a particular timbre, as if even their joy were exclusive, educated in the best etiquette schools.
We passed by a music room where someone played a grand piano. The notes floated through the hallway like crystal drops, so perfect they hurt.
"Does it always smell like this?" I asked, inhaling deeply.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know, like vanilla and new leather."
Mary smiled.
"Oh, that. It's the school's personalized air freshener. They manufacture it in France exclusively for Hathor. They say it improves concentration and academic performance."
Of course they had their own scent, it's Hathor.
"And that camera?" asked Mary, pointing to the bulge protruding from my backpack. "It looks... old."
Instinctively, I brought my hand to my backpack, protecting the only true treasure I possessed.
"It's a 1954 Leica M3," I responded with pride. "It was my grandfather's."
Mary looked at it with curiosity, like someone observing an archaeological artifact.
"Oh, how... vintash," she mispronounced the word, slightly wrinkling her nose. "Very authentic. Though, wouldn't it be easier to use the latest iPhone? It has 108 megapixels and automatic filters."
"It's not the same," I defended, caressing the worn leather case. "This camera has soul. Each photo is a small miracle."
"If you say so," she smiled condescendingly. "My father gave me a digital Hasselblad last month. It cost more than a car, but I've barely used it. He wanted me to enter that silly photography contest, you should have seen his face when I threw it out the window. It was very fun."
I was stunned hearing those words, that camera surely cost more than my house.
"Yes, I can imagine..."
"Well, follow me," she continued.
"And here's the Hathor fountain, built by the founder's grandfather. They say whoever throws a coin here finds their purpose before graduating."
"Did you do it?"
"Of course, but with a gold coin. Bronze brings bad luck," she said, smiling without apparent malice.
...A g-g-gold coin?
"And here's the Olympic pool," Mary pointed toward a glass structure.
"You have an Olympic pool?" I asked, impressed.
"Oh, actually we have three. This one is for competitive swimming, the other is for diving classes, and the third..." she paused, "well, that one's just for selfies. It's heated and has special lighting."
I blinked several times.
"Are you telling me you have a pool... just for taking photos?"
"Of course," she responded as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Though you have to reserve it two weeks in advance. And Thursdays it's exclusive for influencers with more than a million followers."
I couldn't help but laugh, thinking it was a joke. Mary's serious face confirmed it wasn't.
"We also have an aquatic poses teacher," she added. "He was an Olympic medalist, but now he teaches how to splash water without ruining makeup."
She also took me to see the art rooms, the central garden with flowers I'd never seen, the opera hall, and even the private dormitories that looked like hotel suites. Everything was taken from a luxury drama.
"And finally, this will be your classroom," she stopped in front of a large wooden door with golden details. "This is where it all begins."
"Wow... I didn't know a preparatory could be so big."
Mary smiled. "Yes, I was also surprised the first time."
There was a pause. The atmosphere changed subtly.
"Hey, Suri... can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Did your family also receive the invitation to the welcome cocktail for donor parents?"
The question floated in the air, innocent in its formulation, but loaded with intention.
"What cocktail? No... I got in on a scholarship."
The air froze.
Mary's smile remained on her face, but now it was an empty mask, a grimace of courtesy. Her eyes scanned my clothes, from my worn sneakers to my patched backpack. She no longer looked at me. She analyzed me. She appraised me. And in her voice, there was no longer a trace of the warmth from before.
"Oh. I see. You're poor."
Her pupils, once bright, became opaque, adopting a cold darkness.
Then she turned around. The sound of her expensive heels on the polished marble marked the exact rhythm of my heart freezing. And as if it were a late thought, she threw her last word over her shoulder.
"How disgusting."
She walked away, leaving me alone in the enormous hallway, in front of the door to my new classroom. I clenched my fists, feeling my jaw tense until it hurt.
It doesn't matter, I told myself, a lie I needed to believe. I didn't come to make friends. I came to graduate and get that golden ribbon.