Richmoore Institute - 2. Chapter 2 - The Mouse Trap

Do not be deceived by the illusion of grandeur for all acts are by definition selfish. All acts benefit the self – acts of love first benefit the self by providing the pleasure and the heart-warming feeling of giving to objects of one's affection, any benefits to those objects are but secondary. In fact, only those who acknowledge the aforementioned notion can be truly humble amidst their acts of kindness – they are less likely to bask in praises for being kind, less likely to condemn others' selfish actions, and more likely to convey kindness out of pure sincerity than of the desire to be recognised by society.

* * *

The students of Richmoore Institute dragged themselves off the canteen after dinner, evidently lethargic after hours' worth of mingling and socialising. For all students but the Welfies, there were no more events for the first day of the academic year, and thus they were free to retreat to their dormitories. As for the Welfies, one last session awaited them at the common room of the east wing dormitories.

For most of the day, Alistair kept close to Ethan Barberini, the new freshman and his assigned room-mate. It was no different during the Scholarship Program Orientation Session where Alistair sat to the left of Ethan around a round table that fit the 10 Welfies. Once everyone was sat, James Freeman, president of the Welfies, stood up to commence the session. James was lean and tall at 6 feet and 2 inches and had flawless dark olive skin.

“Worry not, this session won't take longer than half an hour. Most of you seem pretty beat, so I hope that was good news.

Your formal orientation should have covered everything a new student needs to know, so this session really only covers what we Welfies ought to know. I know some of you might still cringe at that term, but wisdom from decades of the Scholarship Program has provided that it would be much easier for us to embrace the term without the negative connotation as it takes away from the power others give the term.

Anyway, I'm sorry to say that life here won't be all rainbows and unicorns for us Welfies. Some students and even staff will treat us like second class citizens. Though most of the times, it's simply light jabbing and teasing, and if you can look pass the discrimination, there is a lot to gain from this institute. Occasionally, some of us do get targeted and will have to endure more severe bullying, but when it gets bad, the Breakies usually step in.

Which brings me to The Breakfast Club or as we like to call them, Breakies. They are really just a club composed of some of the more... sophisticated students. They are one of the oldest clubs here at Richmoore and have no obligations or responsibility to help us whatsoever. Having that said, they've never failed to intervene when things get bad for some of the Welfies or any other students really.

Why are they called The Breakfast Club? Rumour has it that it's because they are the only students who would wake up early enough for breakfast on a Saturday morning, which is also why their weekly meetings fall early in the morning on Saturdays in accordance with tradition.” James chuckled to himself.

True to his words, after providing other information essential to the new Welfies, James ended the session at half past seven.

“I guess there is no chance of me making the football team huh?” whispered Alistair to Ethan as they were heading to their dorm room, disappointment palpable in his expression.

* * *

“How were classes?” asked Alistair as he sat down beside Ethan at the Welfies canteen table during lunch. From just a morning of classes, Alistair could see why so many would vie to their deaths in order to be selected by the Scholarship Program, even if it meant enduring years of being bullied. Networking opportunities aside - as it did not seem that the scions of the world were very fond of making their acquaintances - the style of education was unique and refreshing. The instructors - at least the few that Alistair had that morning - did not focus so much on the knowledge within the curriculum itself, but rather on teaching students how to learn by themselves. The emphasis was to hone the learning, analytical and critical thinking capabilities of the students - afterall the institute's purpose was to spit out the business leaders of tomorrow. Alas, Alistair noticed during his classes that such quality education fell on deaf ears for almost half the class who had their minds on binging, flirting and potentially philandering - teenagers were teenagers afterall, scions or not.

“Good,” replied Ethan as stared eagerly at the detectable array of food that he selected for himself.

“No signs of bullying yet?” asked Alistair as students began pouring into the canteen.

“Nope,” replied Ethan. As if on cue, a line of football players walked pass Ethan, with each of them grabbing an item on Ethan's lunch tray.

“I'll have that!” each of them quipped, soliciting giggles and laughter from other tables, most prominent of which was the cheerleaders' table. The first explicit act of bullying had been orchestrated. Upon which, Betty immediately turned her eyes to the Breakies. She knew the routine. The very first bullying act on the very first day of classes was like a challenge. The bullies have thrown down their gauntlets, how will the vigilante respond?

“Hey you, handsome with glasses!” the stern voice reverberated across the room, as every student turned their gaze towards Jane Lee, who stood with mesmerizing elegance and poise. Jane Lee and Elizabeth Rahanski, the head cheerleader were two completely distinct yet flawless representation of feminine beauty. Jane had dark straight hair, often in form of an elegantly tied ponytail, while Lizzy had long lush blonde curly hair. Both had a voluptuous torso that every girl would die to have, but Lizzy's was more curvaceous while Jane's was more lithe. Jane was a year younger that Lizzy and had just started her junior year; both had reputations that starkly contrasted each other. Lizzy, the former girlfriend of the football captain, spent her entire career - if one could use that term - at Richmoore Institute obsessively trying to elevate her social status amongst the students at all cost; irrespective of the harm it would inflict on others. Lizzy was born a princess in her family and would not stand to spending four years in the institute without similar or equal treatment from her peers. Conversely, on the very first day Jane had set foot on the grounds of Richmoore Institute, Jane had made it her mission to wage war against bullying. As one of the most aggressive Breakies, she spent her entire career not only shielding those who were bullied but also occasionally punishing the bullies who went overboard. Jane was amongst the handful of underage scions who were already involved in the family business and she had no qualms using her connections to her advantage.

* * *

"Look at you Jane, sixteen and already running the family business, your father is ruthless," Mr. Trudeau, one of Jane's father's many business partners said in jest.

"Hardly running it Mr. Trudeau, simply getting as much experience as I can," Jane said while exhibiting the most courteous and innocent smile that could melt the heart of the most uncaring man.

"I wish my son was more like you; he's in school with you, you know?" Mr. Trudeau uttered.

"Oh, what's his name?" Jane said, feigning interest and curiosity. She knew full well who his son was - he was the sole reason Jane had put into place an elaborate plan that culminated in the exchange that Jane was having with Mr. Trudeau.

"Ryan Trudeau," Mr. Trudeau responded.

"Oh!" Jane exclaimed as she place her hand to cover her lips, as if she had transgressed in her speech. She willed her expression to convey a tinge of fear and astonishment.

"What is it?" Mr. Trudeau inquired, curious as to why his son's name elicited such a response.

"Oh, urm... it's nothing," Jane replied while exuding the purest sense of innocence.

"It's okay Jane, tell me," Mr. Trudeau said softly and gently.

The very next day, Ryan Trudeau, the most violent tyrant of his time at Richmoore Institute had reluctantly apologised to every soul he had tormented.It was then that the bullies of Richmoore Institute became aware of the power Jane Lee wielded in her hands. At the end of her sophomore year, it could be argued that she was primarily responsible for the fact that outside of the football team and cheerleading club, no one dared to overtly bully another soul, even the Welfies.

* * *

Alistair nudged Ethan when it became obvious that he was the subject of Jane's beckon. Ethan was but five foot and eight inches tall, had curly locks of brown hair that were much messier and unkempt as compared to Sam's and a pair of ordinary glasses that framed his brown eyes. Ethan had never in a million years thought himself to be handsome and hence would have never in a million years thought that Jane was referring to him.

“Yes, you,” Jane reasserted with the warmest smile forming on her lips when Ethan began to look at Jane. Ethan's eyes were immediately transfixed on Jane's immaculate smile – soft yet defined – and felt a strong stir in his groins.

“Come sit with us,” Jane requested. Upon which, Ethan nervously took his empty tray and moved towards the Breakies. Being 16, Ethan knew he was prone to having erections at any time of day, and hence to avoid embarrassment, he had always kept to tight briefs as opposed to boxers. The briefs once again did not fail Ethan by concealing his hard six inch cock, throbbing at the fantasy of Jane and him locking lips while dry humping, on the soft pasture at the grass fields surrounding Richmoore.

The Breakies made space for Ethan on their round table. “What would you like to eat?” Jane asked as she sat back down beside Ethan. Ethan who was still very much nervous from the encounter barely uttered: “Urm... Anything. Anything is fine.”.

As if on cue, the Breakies refilled Ethan's tray with an item from their lunch tray in a pace equivalent to that when items were removed by the footballers. “Is that okay?” asked Jane, maintaining her warm smile.

Ethan nodded in response. The image of Jane's smile had been etched so deeply in his mind. At that moment, he knew that, much to his dismay, he had fallen in love with an angel.

Ethan was an orphan that exhibited tremendous intelligence - teetering on the edge of being genius. Alas, all of his intelligence were allocated to mathematics and numbers, leaving not a drip left when it came to his social intelligence. At the age of 15, the number of national and international mathematics and computer science competitions he had won exceeded the number of people he could call friend. He thought that Alistair was a godsend to him - he believed that the number of people that could make him feel comfortable for being himself in the entire world was far less than the number of prime numbers between one and a million; and Alistair was one of them. He was able to laugh, smile and be his humorous self while sharing a conversation with Alistair; he felt a sense of security shrouding him whenever in Alistair's presence. And hence, it was due to such that he silently acknowledged Alistair to be his best friend on the very first day they made acquaintances.

Betty Crawford smiled at the turn of events. She knew exactly what would grace the front page of Elite, Richmoore Institute's weekly tabloid and the Crawford's medium for perpetrating gossip. And the vigilantes have spoken. They have reaffirmed their commitment to protect the outcasts. The bullies now know that if they ever dared venture beyond the usual ragging, they will be explicitly soliciting the response of the members of The Breakfast Club. Who shall win in this battle for conquest and glory?

* * *

“Hey!” Ethan greeted Alistair as Ethan entered their room. In the entire dormitory system at Richmoore Institute, there were only five double rooms, all of which were occupied by students of the Scholarship Program. Some said that it is done so to reduce the cost of the program while others purported that it helped develop stronger bonds, which were much more important for the Welfies than other students due to their vulnerability.

“Hey,” Alistair responded with a sigh.

“What's wrong?” Ethan asked, concerned. Alistair lifted the pamphlet that he had been staring at for hours in response to Ethan's question, “Football try-outs start in a week.”

Richmoore Institute had adequate amenities for any student to indulge in any extra-curricular activity of their desire. However, among the many sport activities engaged by the students at Richmoore, football has always been the most popular. Needless to say, with popularity came exclusivity – one needed not only prowess to enter, but also status. Alistair had no problems with the former – he had been the star of his football team back home, and would have undoubtedly earned a sports scholarship had he not given all up in pursuit of Sam. Though it was evident to all that he lacked the latter – no Welfy has been offered a position at the football team in the last few decades.

“It's alright, swimming doesn't sound that bad,” Alistair conceded with a tinge of sarcasm, eliciting chuckles from the both of them.

* * *

Despite feeling much more comfortable interacting with the Breakies after a week of sitting with them during lunch and dinner – breakfast was the only time when Ethan would be with his Welfy companions; breakfast was also the unofficial “peace time” when nothing eventful would ever happen as everybody was too groggy for anything dramatic – Ethan was still evidently quite nervous, especially when conversing with Jane.

“How was your weekend?” Jane directed the question at Ethan, breaking the moment of silence.

“It was fine, Alistair and I took some time to get acquainted to the campus and the city.” Replied Ethan meekly. Since the conversation with Alistair the night before, Ethan had resolved himself to seek advice from the Breakies regarding Alistair's situation. After longer moments of silence, Ethan finally was able to muster enough courage to utter the question that had been bothering him for an entire night. “I have a question,” he uttered, which got Jane's attention. “Is there a way for Alistair to join the football team? He's really good at it, and he really likes it. He's the tall guy with the auburn hair sitting there,” Ethan gabbled as he pointed towards Alistair.

“Alistair.” uttered Sam suddenly, loud and assertive enough to command the attention of both Jane and Ethan as well as a few ears in the proximity, especially that of Betty Crawford's.

“He's hot!” uttered Sam after a pause, as he stared at Alistair. “I'd love to tap that ass.” Ethan's eyes bulged at Sam's statement while Jane lifted her left eyebrow curiously.

“In fact I'd love for him to be my date for the Autumn Dance,” Sam said before he promptly stood up and left the table with a tray of finished food.

Betty Crawford's smile grew ever so widely. She knew exactly what Sam was perpetrating, so did Jane who started chuckling lightly. A mouse trap. Though such insights were not fit for the Elite. Betty was determined to publish an emergency issue the very next day with Sam as the focus, detailing his shameful intentions for Alistair, and how it would affect his relationship with Shawn McGuire, captain of the football team who happened to be Sam's fiancé, whom should be the natural choice as Sam's date for any formal event. Betty smiled showed a tinge of wistfulness as she decided, wilfully and consciously, to be a part of Sam's mouse trap.

* * *

The next day, the canteen resembled a boisterous market when rambunctious students filled every nook and cranny discussing the emergency issue of the Elite released earlier in the morning. The Autumn Dance was one of the few big formal events by Richmoore Institute – in the spirit of elitism, networking, and grandeur, the Richmoore typically held many other formal social events in a year, though the Autumn Dance could be said to be one of the most prominent events. Hence it was no surprise that the school population was shocked by the revelation that Sam would be declining the hand of Shawn McGuire - arguably the most popular male specimen at Richmoore of his time, and hence the apt sobriquet, Prince Charming - for the hand of a Welfie; a remarkably handsome one nonetheless. Though most would argue that societal status aside, even Alistair was a slight notch below Shawn in the physical attractiveness department.

All eyes in the canteen fell on three individuals. Sam and Shawn were veterans of public relations, and hence had no problems with the attention and was able to manoeuvre through the bombardment of questions with suave. Alistair on the other hand was one hair's width away from having a nervous breakdown. He gobbled his food as if he had starved for weeks and abruptly left the canteen, hoping to find shelter. What kind of game are you trying to play, Sam.

Ethan eyed him with concern as he left. He could not comprehend the rationale behind Sam's actions and partially blamed him for the misfortune that had befell Alistair. Though dumb-witted he certainly was not, and by observing the non-verbal cues of Jane and Sam, he had an inkling that Sam's actions were all part of a grand plan.

There were three other pairs of eyes that were covertly observing Alistair, or more specifically, the events surrounding Alistair. When Elizabeth, the head cheerleader excused herself from her table and trailed Alistair when he left the canteen, subtle smiles appeared on the lips of the three subtle observers – Sam, Jane, and Betty. The mouse trap was progressing as intended. After precisely half a minute, Sam took it as his cue to leave his table as well.

“Alistair, wait!” Alistair's feet came to a halt as if the command could not be disobeyed. Elizabeth was right behind Alistair and greeted him with a thousand-watt smile as he turned around.

“Hi, I'm Lizzy!”

“Hi,” Alistair responded with a tinge of confusion in his tone.

“Don't worry about it, they'll stop gawking after today,” said Lizzy while maintaining the signature smile of hers. “Say, I hope you're free after classes today. Why don't you meet me at Coffee Time after classes? I can give you some pointers on how to deal with the attention. I'm kind of an expert,” Lizzy winked.

Before Alistair could utter: “Sure,” Lizzy turned and walked the opposite direction. Alistair was amazed by how the seemingly innocent looking girl had the seemingly magical power of bending one's will. It was as if she knew that there was no way for Alistair to decline the proposed meeting. Alistair promptly turned around and paced through the hallway to prevent getting caught by another student who could practice such social witchcraft.

“Lizzy!” Lizzy's walk back to the canteen was interrupted by Sam, who greeted her with flawless cordiality at the hallway as he was walking towards her. “You're not trying to steal my date to the Autumn Dance, are you?” Sam quipped as they closed their distance.

“Sam! Don't be silly,” Liz responded.

“Good,” Sam uttered. “I had a funny thought though, I was wondering if we had both asked him to the dance, who would he choose? Just a silly thought,” Sam smiled. If Elizabeth was a social witchcraft expert, Sam was a master manipulator. Sam's jeer at Lizzy was but a tip of the iceberg with an abundance of bitter history behind it.