Can I Speak With You A Moment?
Chapter One — Determination
If she wanted it, she got it; what’s the big deal? That is how life works, right? There are the “have’s” and the “have not’s”. Plain and Simple. Amy, of course, was one of the “have’s” She had come late in life to well-off parents. Being their only child and a daughter at that; anyone could imagine she had the princess concept down pat by the time she went home from the hospital.
One would hope that as she interacted with others, her peers, teachers, or even employees of her parents, that she might have developed some level of humility and understanding. Sadly, it had not happened yet. And at age eighteen, most would not have held out even an inkling of hope that it would for as long as they had to deal with her. The life of a rich and privileged was bad enough of a “handicap” to deal with; when you added in her natural beauty; hope had definitely left the building.
At 5′ 8″, she towered over most of her female counterparts, and over half of her male classmates were still waiting for that adolescent growth spurt. She rarely gave most of those... boys any notice. And she made sure they noticed her contempt. Alas, even that height was not to be her best asset. Most were sure she had never really cut her silken blond hair. It was the kind of hair seen tossed about in slow motion on shampoo commercials; swaying behind her as she walked the high school hallways, brushing along the lower curve her perfectly rounded behind. And yes, not that most could attest to such things but, it was naturally blond.
If you happened to garner her attention, unless of course you were one of the chosen few, it was usually condescension that graced her cornflower blue orbs. Those were set, perfectly, in her angelically blessed face, on porcelain perfect pale skin. Ruby lips were quick to criticize, cutting anyone beneath her to quick with her words; if you survived the look first.
With all this said, she was not without some attributes; worthy ones even in some circles. Even at her age, she was an accomplished hostess. She had the ability to bring off anything from an intimate dinner party for ten, to a rousing charity dinner for hundreds. This was required of someone born to her position. The little people do expect these things after all. So, rather than ensuring she had actual manners; her mother ensured she had the perfect qualities to become the wife of another rich and famous man like her father. Her father, made sure the unlimited credit card bill was always paid.
She therefore sat in that first period class today, watching some lame movie about responsibility, higher learning, and goals; planning the small dinner party for the weekend instead.. This would be the kick-off to finally landing her the rich and handsome spouse she so rightly deserved. If it was not for the dimming light feature on her super silent phone; she would not have gotten near as much accomplished. She spent the first half of class, mentally planning and text-coordinating with caterers, entertainment, decorators, and the like.
But, something about half way into the movie caught her eye. Her phone, luckily landed into her designer jean-clad lap, as her wrist went lax. She did not look as if she had blacked out, or somehow “checked out”. She gave the appearance of someone that was suddenly taken up with the story, such as it was. If anyone noticed, she would almost seem to be agreeing; nodding now and then. It would have seemed natural if you didn’t know her. Most that saw her, presumed she was talking on the phone—employing some sort of stealth-technology allowing her to think rather than type.
As the lights came up, Amy shook her head a bit, coming to her senses. She figured she had wisely nodded off during that boring lecture. Walking toward the front of the table, she wrote her name down on one of the time slots. Next to everyone’s name that had signed up so far, and everyone would attend the mandatory session with a school counselor, was two or three single-letter answers to the questions at the top of the page. They were innocuous questions. Do you plan on getting advanced training? Do you plan on attending college? Do you need extra help from your guidance counselor to achieve your goals?
Out of her group, those before and those after that did the sign-in, entered the requisite Y’s and N’s. Amy, however, entered her three answers as YPM. No one really paid attention to that, figuring it was some acronym for just another put down from the ever stuck up Amy. One of the four guidance counselors saw the answer, Mr. Hollinger. He had to rein in the smile threatening evilly upon his lips. He made sure to block off the rest of the day after her appointment.
Her usual air of haughty contempt, for those she determined were beneath her, came across loud and clear as she approached Mr. Hollinger’s office. She always found him to be mousy, unassuming, and surely clueless. That is, if she bothered to even think of him. It was not as if being a high school guidance counselor was a career wished upon. Smirking, she looked to him once more, “Probably failed out of shrink school” she thought.
She knew she was not going to bother with college. Why bother, Daddy had plenty enough for her lifetime and a few others. As long as she had trusted money managers, kept her eye on them randomly, and married the right man – she was set. She would not have bothered even showing, had it not been a diploma-stealing appointment.