The train arrived earlier than expected. Like almost everything good in my life. And I, as always, almost missed it...
I sprinted down the subway platform with my heart pounding in my temples and a slice of half-eaten toast hanging from my lips, almost like a flag of surrender. The asphalt vibrated beneath my worn-out sneakers, a countdown I couldn't afford to lose.
"Wait!" I screamed into the air, my voice choked by the effort and the toast.
I put all my strength into my knees, jumping at the very last second and landing with the grace of a sack of potatoes onto the floor of the train car.
With a sharp beep, the doors slid shut behind me, sealing my entry to a new world.
My legs were trembling, my backpack was slipping off my small shoulder, and my second-hand uniform was sticking to my body from the sweat of the run.
I leaned against the door, trying to recover my lost breath.
"I really... need to... work out... more..." I muttered to myself, barely able to hold onto the air.
Although, I don't know if the uniform was sticking to me like this because of the sweat or because it was two sizes smaller than my regular clothes. But what does it matter? It was the only one we could afford.
When I finally managed to regain my composure, my gaze crossed with that of a man sitting with his back as straight as a ruler. Upon analyzing me, his face tensed, forming a look of pure contempt.
Don't tell me he's one of those old guys with furrowed brows and pressed shirts who seem to hate anything under forty on principle.
"People with no manners..." he pronounced with a disdain that slid from his gray mustache down to his chin. His words were my first greeting in this new chapter of my life.
I had heard them many times before. But not today... today I wasn't going to swallow them along with the rest of my toast.
I stared at him, back straight, pinning my imaginary lens right on his head; bald and wrinkled to a shine, just like a grumpy lightbulb.
"And what about you, old man?" I retorted without backing down. "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 spat at him with my eyes. But he said nothing. I considered it a victory.
It was then, from the other side of the car, that I heard a soft, almost musical laugh. I looked up toward the back of the train. A boy with pink hair, a flawless face, and a gentle expression seemed to have heard everything.
He was covering his mouth with a hand of long, delicate fingers, trying to contain himself, but his shoulders—covered by a blue blazer with the high school logo—were shaking slightly.
The light from the window illuminated small charms of Venetian jester masks scattered across his clothing: one on his blazer lapel, another on his shirt collar, and a tiny one, almost imaginary, shining on his ear, covered by his striking hair.
But that same light also 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 placed on the cover of a luxury magazine. His skin looked soft even from a distance, and his eyes... they had that calm of someone used to everything and everyone admiring him.
However, he didn't seem arrogant. Or disinterested. Just... used to it. As if beauty were part of his daily routine, like brushing his teeth.
He simply looked away and continued watching the landscape pass by, oblivious to my scrutiny, as if that view were the greatest privilege.
I let myself fall into an empty seat, awkwardly adjusting my uniform. I still had the tag hidden under the collar, scratching the back of my neck. Not even the original owners had removed it, and for proof of authenticity, keeping it was the best option.
I swallowed hard and whispered:
"First day..."
I opened my backpack, pulling out my worn notebook. I checked the facts about the school for the tenth time, as if reading them again could make them more real.
Hathor High School. Even the name is special. It's written "Hathor," like the Egyptian goddess of love, dance, music, and beauty, but it's pronounced Hanthor, giving it a more sophisticated air.
Founded over a hundred years ago. Its classrooms have shaped ministers, heirs to transnational corporations, artists, models, and... well, people who would never think of speaking to me.
The institution organizes recurring trips to Europe. It has courts for every sport you can think of, even Ullamaliztli, which I have no idea what it is, but I want to take a picture of it. They even have a private theater that seats a thousand people.
And there I was... with my bitten toast, 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 a full scholarship. And as if fate had decided to get romantic, a spot opened up just for me at the high school of my dreams. I can't imagine the sponsors' faces when they saw which high school I was accepted into.
From the train speakers, a velvety female voice delivered my long-awaited news:
"We have arrived at Hathor Station."
Stepping out of the car, I was greeted by a gleaming platform with gray walls and a floor white as marble.
"How rich does a school have to be to have its own train station?" I asked in a low voice, like someone tossing a thought into the air.
"Better to ask how rich its students are that they don't even use it," declared a female voice arriving at my side, clear and confident.
It was a girl with golden, perfectly straight hair. She wore the uniform elegantly, as if it had been custom-designed for her, with one small difference from mine: hers had a gold jacket. Her lips were thin and pink, and her teeth, a perfect row of pearls.
"Traveling on this train is, for many, like wanting to travel on Platform 9 3/4," she declared with a smile. "I'm Mary. Nice to meet you." She extended her hand.
"Ah... n-nice to meet you. I'm Suri," I accepted the handshake, feeling the softness of her skin. "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 the new ones, although it's not normal to find a new student in Class 1-A." With a smile, she made a slight hand gesture as she began to walk away. "Come, I'll show you the campus."
A strange sensation planted itself in my throat.
"Class 1-A?" I muttered, confused. I haven't been assigned a class yet, as far as I know.
For the next hour, Mary was my guide in the paradise of Hathor. She spoke with such natural ease and elegance that we didn't seem to be the same age.
The air inside Hathor was different. It didn't smell like school, chalk, and cooped-up teenagers. It smelled of noble woods, expensive perfumes, and something I could only describe as old money. A scent of privilege that had accumulated over generations.
My shoes squeaked against the immaculate floor, a sound that seemed to amplify in the high ceilings. Around me, the students' laughter had a particular timbre, as if even their joy were exclusive, educated in the best etiquette schools.
"Does it always smell like this?" I asked, inhaling deeply.
"What do you mean?"
"Like... I don't know, like vanilla and new leather."
Mary smiled.
"Oh, that. It's the school's custom air freshener. They make it in France exclusively for Hathor. They say it improves concentration and academic performance."
Of course they had their own smell. It's Hathor, I thought, breathing in deep with a smile.
"This is the cafeteria. You'll eat here every day."
My eyes locked onto 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 your money, the school has a... free... menu. It's limited, of course, but it works for emergencies." She winked at me with a kindness that felt acted. The way she said "emergencies" was so subtle I barely noticed it.
We continued walking down a hallway with marble floors so polished I could see my distorted reflection. Beside us, glass display cases showed off trophies and awards that looked more like works of art than school prizes. However, an unsettling detail caught my attention: none of those laurels were recent; the newest one dated back four years.
"And here is the student lounge," Mary said, opening double doors with a theatrical gesture.
My eyes went wide. That wasn't a break room; it was a luxury lounge with Italian leather sofas, a coffee bar staffed by a uniformed barista, and students who looked like they had stepped out of a fashion magazine.
"Is that a... chocolate fountain?" I asked, pointing to a golden structure in the center.
Mary nodded with a little laugh.
"Yes, but they only turn it on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Mondays, we have imported cheese fondue, on Wednesdays Norwegian verdens beste kake, and on Fridays artisanal ice cream. You know, so we don't get bored."
"Just cheese?" I said, disheartened.
"You're right," she declared. "It's unfair that they keep it for just one day, I'm going to propose they serve it every day. Good idea, Suri."
I froze. That wasn't what I meant. Does she not know how much that cake costs? Before I could say anything, 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."
We passed by a music room where someone was playing a grand piano. The notes floated down the hallway like drops of crystal, so perfect they hurt like ice.
"I love listening to the President play, he's very good, don't you think?" she told me as we watched him through the window. A boy with black hair and amber eyes wearing a blue blazer. But a distinctive detail: on his collar, a golden ribbon connected the sides of his jacket. "Anyway, let's continue."
"And here is the central fountain," Mary continued, "built by the founder's grandfather. They say whoever tosses 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-gold c-coin?
"And here is the Olympic pool," Mary pointed toward a glass structure.
"You have an Olympic pool?"
"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 is just for selfies. It's heated and has special lighting. Maybe you'll like it."
I blinked several times.
"Are you telling me you have a pool... just for taking photos?"
"Sure," she replied as if it were standard. "Although you have to reserve it two weeks in advance. And Thursdays are exclusive for influencers with over 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 posing teacher," she added. "He was an Olympic medalist, but now he teaches how to splash water without ruining your makeup."
She also took me to see the art studios, the central garden with flowers I had never seen—of which I took beautiful photos—and even the private dorms that looked like hotel suites. Everything was ripped straight from a luxury drama.
As we walked down a hallway, Mary fixed her gaze on my backpack.
"And that camera?" she asked, pointing to the bulge sticking out. "It looks... antique."
Instinctively, I moved my hand to the case, protecting the only true treasure I possessed.
"It's a Leica M3 from 1954, modified," I replied with pride. "It was my grandfather's, but my father adapted it with a sensor and a digital screen. I'm sure no collector has seen one like it."
Mary looked at it with curiosity, like someone observing an archaeological artifact.
"Oh, how... vintage," she pronounced the word with difficulty, wrinkling her nose slightly. "Very authentic. Although, 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 a soul. Every photo is a small miracle."
"If you say so," she smiled condescendingly. "My father gifted 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 the face he made when I threw it out the window. It was so funny."
I was stunned hearing those words. That camera was surely worth more than a year of rent.
"Yeah, I can imagine..."
"Well, follow me," she continued.
We passed in front of a door with a small plaque: "Dark Room - Photography Lab." I stopped for a second, feeling my heart do a little skip. A real darkroom. I couldn't help but smile, comparing it to the small closet we had at home.
"And finally," Mary stopped in front of a large wooden door with gold details, "this will be your classroom. Everything starts here."
"Wow... I didn't know a high school could be so big."
Mary smiled.
"Yes, I was surprised the first time too."
There was a pause. The atmosphere shifted subtly.
"Hey, Suri... can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Did your family also receive the invitation to the welcome cocktail for donor parents? You know, for the start of the year."
The question floated in the air, innocent in its phrasing, but loaded with intent.
"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 wasn't looking at me anymore. She was analyzing me. Appraising me. And in her voice, not a trace of the earlier warmth remained.
"Oh. I see. You're poor."
Her pupils, once bright, turned opaque, adopting a cold darkness like the marble floor.
Then she turned around. The sound of her expensive heels on the polished marble marked the exact rhythm of my heart freezing over. And as if it were an afterthought, she tossed her last word over her shoulder.
"Gross."
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 the Hathor class ribbon..."