She wasn't listening in on their conversaition, really she wasn't. It's just that they were whispering so loudly, their shrill voices could be heard clearly from across the study commons. They reminded Bebe, in some way, of the drills used in road construction that used to happen every summer outside her house. Slowly, she raised a figer to her forehead and began to massage her temple. Her face, for once, was lacking that sunny charm that usually flitted about on it. Instead there was a distinct sourness around the corners of her mouth, and the tips of her eyebrows were drawn together in tight annoyance.

It was only to be expected, she supposed. Here, at Crystal Academy, the pinnacle of her hopes and dreams, the school that she had spent so long striving to get into, she was being disillusioned. It had been her own fault, for being so naive, for assuming that there was still, somewhere, a place where girls of distinction and class existed. The girls here were no different than the others - worse in some cases. Spoiled and self-centered, they wore the same trashy low cut clothes that all the other girls did, only theirs had higher prices on their tags. They swore like sailors, skipped classes, and bleached their hair untill it looked like someone had attacked them with a out of controll perming machine. Here, in these 'hallowed halls' she was still as alienated and distanced as ever.

Classes were no better, most of the teachers stepping softly around their wealthy students. After all, why risk upsetting the girl who could have her daddy throw you out of the school quicker than she'd blink? There were lots of teachers looking for work, you were replacable. Oh yes, the school liked to boast of its academic standards, but really, when you had both your hands being held as they carefully helped you through even the simplest problems, did that become something you could truly talk about with pride? And of course, the richer and more well connected a young lady was, the more interest the school placed in her academic progress. You could be thicker than a stack of bricks and still pass with flying colours.

Every day, more things drew the attention of her slowly rising temper. Graffiti in the washrooms, cleaned up quickly yes, but the fact that the offended was allowed to still remain in the establishment sat in the back of her mind. A girl would dissapear for a month, coming back tanned and talking about how the cruise was fabulous. Somehow, her assignments would all be done, and handed in, though it was clear she hadn't done a bit. Bebe had always considered the elite as people who were worthy of it, who were the shining models that the rest of society should work towards and look up to. She had never considered the fact that she would ever begin to hate them.

The worst thing, she had decided, was that when you got right down to it, they were as human as everyone else.