Seven Deadly

Chapter 6: The Social Pecking Order

Within moments, a crowd of boys and girls are swarming the cloisters, visiting their lockers, stopping to chat and catch up in small groups - all dressed in the grey and forest green uniform of St. Selaphiel’s Academy.

As they pass by, everyone says hi to Rhys, greeting him with a smile or a wave, and he greets them back in passing dismissively. 

This guy seems to know everyone. Is he super popular or something?

The thought of high school politics and popularity contests sends a cold shiver down my spine. Meeting Sister Evelyn and Rhys has been nerve-wrecking enough - but the thought of coming face to face with my new classmates and having to interact with them, to be judged by them… I can feel myself shaking slightly. 

‘I have to calm down,’ I tell myself silently. ‘There’s no need to feel anxious. I won’t be here long enough for anyone to miss me when I’m gone. Chances are Gabby will get bitten with the wanderlust bug two months in, and I won’t even complete Senior year here. Nothing I do or say here matters. I can relax.’

I feel a little calmer after my quick internal pep talk, and it takes me a second to realise that Rhys is still talking, looking out over the courtyard disdainfully, almost resentfully - as if it’s a prison courtyard, rather than one in a school.

“So far on this little tour, I’ve only shown you the building - the bones of this place, the shell,” Rhys says, leaning against my locker. “Far more interesting than the place however, is the people. The lifeblood of St. Selaphiel’s. Naturally, I won’t bother pointing out any of the underclassmen - we’re only interested in other Seniors.”

He begins pointing out people of interest as they walk past us though the cloisters or over the courtyard field between classes.

“As in any high school, everyone has their own rank assigned in the social pecking-order,” he says. “At the very depths of the swamp, we have that bunch. See them?”

He points at a group of kids walking together out of the chapel. They look like ordinary kids, nothing to set them apart from the others.

“Scholarship students,” Rhys says, making a face of disgust as if he’s smelling something putrid. “Avoid associating with that group at all costs. Unless you want to be stuck at the bottom of the social hierarchy for the rest of the year. Trust me on that.”

“Next, we have the Whales,” he continues, pointing out two very large girls standing around a locker together. “Aka Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Identical twin sisters, although you’d hardly be able to tell under all that blubber. Their mom sends them to fat camp every Summer, but they come back miraculously larger and rounder every time. Tragic. ”

“Then we have other mid-level social rejects like Andrew Colburn and Mia Aranov,” he says, pointing out a short, stocky, bespectacled boy with severe acne and a tall, gawky-looking looking girl with a messy bird’s nest of pale brown hair. “Friendless loners. I have five hundred dollars on Mia killing herself by the end of the year.”

I gasp at this. “That’s so…” I struggle for the words. 'Cruel' doesn’t cut it. 'Mean', 'evil', 'nasty' might.

Rhys notices my discomfort and rolls his eyes. 

“Jesus Christ you’re sensitive,” he says. “I’m only joking. Anyway, next on the ladder we have the clingers. The nobodies. Kids on the fringes of the social circle, clinging on to cliffs of acceptability, about to fall off into the abyss of lonerhood and loserdom at a moment’s notice. One bad selfie, one mishap, one step out of place, and they’re out.”

“Then we have the climbers, he says. “The kids that surround the next level up, trying to climb their way to the top of the social pyramid. Snivelling pathetic try-hard wannabes, all of them. But they have their place and their purpose. They’re there to make the popular kids look good. Speaking of which...”

He gestures towards a group of kids walking together across the courtyard, some hand-in hand, some laughing at some in-joke. 

“Ashley Summerfield, Nick Elmes, Simon Marks, Hannah Leigh Blightley, Jason Harding, Mariana Sanchez, Lexi Hewitt,” he says, pointing them out one by one. “Ashley and Nick are officially dating, but I have it on good authority that he’s been screwing Mariana on the side. And Hannah Leigh’s got a massive crush on Simon, despite him being the most obvious closet case ever. Rumour has it that Simon’s been hooking up with a sophomore in the locker rooms, Josh Handsby. Poor, poor Hannah Leigh. Forever alone.”

He doesn’t sound like he feels very sorry for Hannah Leigh though. Rhys has a cruel smile on his face, like he’s savouring every delicious morsel, feeding off the secrets as he spills them.

“Then finally, at the very pinnacle of this mountain, we have the creme de la creme, the gods, the upper crust, the A List,” he says. “More popular than the popular kids. The most desirable, most idolised boys in school. The Seven Princes. Unlike the popular kids, the Seven Prince’s don’t stick together in a group. They don’t need to. They’re special.”

He says the word ‘special’ in a sort of breathless, adoring way.

“Here comes one of them now,” Rhys continues. “Ezra Van Gelden. Hands down the most popular boy at St. Selaphiel’s Academy. Nicknamed ‘The King.’ Everyone either wants to be him, or be with him.”

We hear his approach before we even see it - a cacophony or girls giggling in the cloisters, clustered around him as he strides towards his locker, oblivious to his little fan club following his every move.

I can see why he’s the school’s idol - he’s simply exquisite, maybe the most handsome boy I’ve ever seen.

He’s tall and lean and athletic-looking, slender but muscular - with an impossibly beautiful face, like someone out of a classical painting, or a movie or a music video. A pale complexion, midnight blue eyes and dark bronze-coloured hair, longish and messy with a slight wave to it. His facial features are perfect and angular - a strong jawline, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and full sensual lips. His eyes, the colour of sapphires, are dark and brooding - and it takes me a moment to realise that they are lined with black eyeliner.

Who does this guy think he is? Some sort of rock star? A celebrity? Although judging by the group of fanatical fangirls he has swarming around him, maybe he is. Well whoever he is, surely that eyeliner can’t be within the school rules? Do the teachers idolise him too and let him get away with anything he wants?

I’m about to ask Rhys about this, but then I notice something that makes my heart freeze in place. Those beautiful dark blue eyes, that cold haughty stare - it's fixed on me. Ezra Van Gelden parts the crowd of giggling and adoring girls like Moses parting the read sea, striding confidently towards where Rhys and I are standing at my locker.

He closes in, stopping just a few feet in front of me, and looks me up and down, as if undressing me with a  glance alone - with approval or distaste, I'm not sure. There's mischief in his eyes, a devilish smile across his beautiful face. He c***s and eyebrow at me, expectantly.

Slowly, Ezra places one hand on the locker above me, and leans down and whispers in my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

"Move, new girl," he whispers. "You're standing in front of my locker."