Professor Griklaus takes his leave and the girls curtsey until he's out of the doorway.
Blaire has no clue what he ranted for over an hour but he sounded deeply similar to the 3 A.M. tele-programs which would craft the perfect backstory and sob-plot to convince a sleep deprived soul to buy their products.
Though, in Girklaus' case, there were no products but an ambiguous future of being a princess that was being sold.
And he seemed cunningly successful in selling it, Blaire gathers from the colourful notes placed on everyone's tables. He's like one of those Life Coaches… Blaire ponders, momentarily, before her alarmed senses register a hoard of 28 girls heading her way. Harriet was seated on the very first row and her apologetic personality was unable to elbow her way through everyone else.
"Hi!" one of the girls exclaim.
Blaire raises her brows. The girl's smiling at her, like everyone else who is beginning to surround her. Yet, there's a hollowness in her eyes that Blaire cannot shake off.
"May I call you by your first name, Lady Winston?" some other girl asks.
"Y-yeah…?" Blaire agrees, her own words sound unsure to her ears. She expected spears and jabs her way…but this was rather civil. Blaire could deal with it.
"Goodness, you're so pretty!" some girl exclaims.
"I know, right? Love your hair!" another agrees.
Blaire's hand subconsciously runs through her hair, settling her unruly curls.
"Th-than—" Blaire begins only to be cut off.
"I saw you in the newspaper today!" some girl shoves a crispy paper in Blaire's face.
Curious and partially excited, Blaire grabs it. That is so cool! I've never been in a Newspaper before! Annalise and Mumma would love it! Maisie would be so jealous! Blaire internally giggles, imagining Maisie's fuming face as she jolts the paper to read the headline.
'A TIER THREE REISDENT MAKES HER CINDERELLA JOURNEY TO CHARMITY! SUBSCRIBE TO KEEP UP WITH THE LOTTO GIRL SAGA!'
Under the headline is a picture of an unkempt Blaire by the door of her mother's apartment, visibly avoiding the cameras in her face. The second picture is a hideous lower angle of her face where she's clearly asleep with an open mouth and flared nostrils on show.
"What is this picture?!" Blaire gasps, "I've never seen it in my life!"
"Oh that?" a girl snickers, "That's something Courtney sent yesterday. She was very mean in her texts. One of the third years called you a turd," she haughtily explains.
Blaire's eyes widen as she rolls the paper.
"They're third years, no need to mind them. You can just ask the Crown Prince to expel them or something."
"Huh?" Blaire utters.
"Aren't you close with the Crown Prince?"
"Yeah, won't you introduce us to him?"
"I've always wanted to make friends with him. How do you that? Do you have good cleavage?"
Man, even my rapid-fire viva voice teacher was more considerate than this. Blaire shakes her head, disagreeing with the claims and requests, "I don't know him at all," she replies.
"Why would you lie to us?"
The smiles wear off. Their hollow eyes and deep frowns feel more comfortable now.
"I'm not ly—"
"I've got the Queen's hairdresser on speed-dial. If you hook me up with the Crown Prince, maybe I could do you a favour," a girl shrugs, smug at her proposition.
"That's awfully kind but no, thank you."
"Of course, why would Blaire need your reference, Trish, she's got the Crown Prince!"
"I don—"
"She wants to gatekeep him."
"She's not a girl's girl."
"She's one of those. The pick-mees."
"Ugh…I feel bad for the Crown Prince."
Amidst the hustle bustle, Blaire spots someone knock their elbow into Harriet's side.
"And I feel bad for you," Blaire snaps, rolling her eyes. Upon deciding to be done with them, Blaire shoves the newspaper back into its owner's chest and picks up her tablet. "How about you try this very personal exercise like GEttING A LiFE and maybe you could find the answers you're looking for?" She snaps and she rudely elbows her way through the crowd.
"Come Harriet, let's move to our next class!" Blaire exclaims as she holds out her free hand in Harriet's direction.
The flustered blonde nods before interlocking their fingers. She follows Blaire's lead as the ravenette gently escorts her down the stairs.
"Are you okay?" Blaire asks as soon as they're out of earshot.
"I am, I am, are you?" Harriet whispers, wrapping her hands around Blaire's arm.
They head out of the classroom, joined at the shoulders, whispering like lost lovers. The guava juice sits abandoned on Blaire's desk until a new owner claims it by the law of: pickers, keepers.
"I'm okay. Just shaken up," Blaire replies, mindlessly staring at the busy hallway.
"What was the Crown Prince doing? Did he punish you to act like his girlfriend?!" Harriet whispers, excitedly.
"What? No!" Blaire bursts out in a laugh, "That sounds horrible!"
"What was the punishment then?" Harriet asks, frowning as she leads them out of the Classes Building.
"He wants me to jump grades in a month," Blaire replies.
"He WHAT?!" Harriet all but screams. Though her exclamation is loud enough to earn a good number of head turners.
"Yeah…"
"He wants to keep you close!" Harriet deduces, "Why though? Does he like you?"
"What! No! NO WAY! NO-UH!" Blaire snorts, gasping for air.
"But—"
"Where are we going?" Blaire cuts in, hoping to bury the conversation ten feet under.
They were walking on yet another cobbled pathway lined with roses on either side. A handful of other students as well as their own batchmates were following them at a distance.
"To the next class, of course."
"Ugh, I should really take a look at my Schedule. What's the next class?"
"Walking."
Blaire waits for Harriet to continue or elaborate. Surely, there would be more context to 'Walking' as a legitimate subject in their four-year curriculum. Though, Harriet's plain smile exhibits no layered nuances.
"What do you mean Walking is an hour-long period?! What do we do, just WALK AROUND LIKE RIGHT NOW?!"
Witnessing Blaire's brain melt, Harriet bursts into laughter.
"No, no, it is about the art of Walking. It a class held in the Auditorium. We've had it ever since Royal Prep, but you wouldn't believe how pathetic most are at it." Harriet explains, not providing much ground to soothe Blaire's exasperation.
"Yeah, what a chore!" Blaire huffs, "Is that all we study here? Walking, talking and stuff?!" she finally gives in and unlocks her tablet. Harriet comments about Blaire not having a password but the ravenette's busy with heftier problems at hand. Her weekly schedule, for starters, stares back at her like two girls playing princess when they were four.
Classes like: Princess Education, Walking, Discipline, Tea Making, Dance, Appearance, Non-Verbal Cues, Conversation, Social Education, Sports and Games, stare back at her in the form of barren and cold pixels.
"This is ridiculous! What about arts and sciences?! I cannot believe I'm saying this but what about fundamental Math?! Geography? History?? I'm sure history would be super important to you all, isn't it?" Blaire bursts.
"Mhm," Harriet nods, amused, "The first semester, or rather the first year builds the base. All of those courses you are worried about are a part of year two curriculum. They're further intensified in year three and year four is everything all at once."
"So ridiculous," Blaire huffs.
The new piece of information soothes Blaire's soul by a fraction. Thankfully, I would learn something worthwhile which I could use to help my family…Blaire sighs, mind at peace.
"It is not, Blaire. All of first year classes are grounding classes for settling into high society! For example, if you enter a room full of strangers, you wouldn't start talking to just about anyone, would you?"
Blaire shakes her head, frowning.
"Precisely! Considering all conversations begin only after assessing one's appearance, the first year prepares you to attract the attention. The second year provides you the substance, which is equally important but does not make the first year any less."
Blaire nods her head, slightly in awe with Harriet's explanation.
The first room inside the auditorium building is an empty space of marbled floors reflecting the shining chandeliers overhead. On the left is a gleaming wall of mirrors, highlighting every flaw unknown to Blaire's eyes in extreme clarity.
Wow…my lips are so chapped and…she places a hand over her right cheeks, squinting…it's not even that red…it looks like blush…how did he notice it?
Barring the mirror wall, the remaining three walls are pastel pink in colour with crème intricacies embossed upon them. Blaire's soul is soothed upon witnessing such glorious sculpting. It is times like these which make her grateful to exist in a place that breathes raw art.
The Walking Professor – talk about dream job – is a frivolous redhead with a bright smile and a breathy whisper for voice. "Good morning, my darlings! I'm Agatha and I shall teach you how to walk!" She sings like the fairy she is aspiring to become, given the butterfly clips in her hair, glitter on her eyes and the two-toned whimsical fabric of her gown.
"As you all know, walking is an integral part of life! It's what sets an elite apart from their servant! You wouldn't walk like your maid would, head bent and shoulders curved, now would you, my angels?"
A chorus of scandalised 'no' echoes in the room.
Blaire, on the other hand, thinks: It's actually good to look down when walking. It's saved me from stepping on shit so many times! Then again…these rich folks wouldn't be walking within free shitting range. Makes sense.
"Now, get yourselves a book from the back and we shall begin Walking!" she sings the name of her subject as if it is something inspiring and sentimental like motherhood.
Blaire turns around to follow the crowd and is visibly alarmed to find the carton of guava juice placed in one corner of the room.