FIFTY SHADES OF G'DAY

Chapter 11

Five days. It had been five days without so much as a nod from the Australian girl. In Biology, she would turn her back towards me to face her friends on the opposite side of the room, speaking to them from across the class. For the entire lesson I would be left to my own thoughts — how could I get her to talk to me again? Should I simply give up hope?

I had begun to dread coming to school just as much as I dreaded being home —neither of which were a safe space for me anymore. I used to thrive off the attention I'd get in the school hallways from the other students, the compliments from my 'friends', and the looks from girls and boys alike. Now, I spend my free periods and lunch breaks in the library, avoiding my 'friends' and the girl whose attention I had come to crave. I'd rather steer clear of her entirely rather than get that sinking feeling every time she ignored my presence as we passed each other in the hallways.

In the past five days of spending my lunch breaks and free periods in the library, I'd been catching up on any school work that I'd fallen behind on. I was smart, sure, but I had to work hard to keep good grades. Unlike the classic movie trope where the most popular girl in school is a 'dumb blonde' with poor grades, it was imperative that I kept my grades in the top percentile. Being smart was important in this school, it was cool to be smart, and I was expected to follow my parents and brother's footsteps by attending Harvard University to study law, even though that wasn't the career I wanted to pursue — not that that mattered to Shawn and Nicola Whitman, of course.

My brother, Aaron, had graduated from Shore Cross High School with flying colours three years ago and received a scholarship to Harvard — something that my parents love to remind me, and everyone else, of regularly. Aaron used to be a sweet and respectful boy when we were growing up, but the influence of my parents over the years has turned him into a misogynistic asshole. Each University break he returns home with a different girl, each one wealthier than the last. It's like a turnstile of girls coming in and out of his life, and my mother not only encourages it, but practically enforces it.

"Oh, she was much nicer looking than the last one you brought home, Aaron," my mother would say, "And her parents have much better jobs!"

My father, on the other hand, was rarely ever home. He was a defence lawyer for a law firm that his grandfather had started many years ago, Whitman & Co. My mother worked alongside him, and my brother and I were expected to join the firm, too. On the off chance that I did see him, he'd ask me how my day had been and then proceed to walk off without waiting for me to answer. I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually had a proper conversation with the man — it was as if he was a stranger to me now.

The people I was closest to in our household was our butler, James, and our housekeeper, Cheryl. Both were kind and took an interest in my life. They privately encouraged me to follow my dreams of becoming a celebrity high-end fashion designer, but could never do so openly for fear of getting fired. When I struggled with any homework that I had been given, James would be the person I turned to for help. I knew I could rely on him, as my parents would simply scoff and tell me I shouldn't be 'so dumb as to not know the answer'. For years I took advantage of the work James and Cheryl did around the estate, and it was only since this school year had begun that I began to truly appreciate their presence. What had caused this recent shift? I wasn't sure.

As I sat in the library, my schoolwork left untouched as I thought of my home life, I couldn't help but wonder how my parents would feel if they knew of this curiosity I was experiencing towards Ava. The thought of them being anything remotely close to supportive was extremely far-fetched, as any sort of negative attention was frowned upon in the Whitman household. If my mother found out I'd been rejected by anyone, she would be disgusted. If she found out that I'd been rejected by a girl — well, that would be an entirely new level of disgust that I wouldn't want to experience.