How To Hate Your Best Friend

twenty one

THE NATIONAL ARCHIVES

PART 1/5

The National Archives.

One of the most American, most patriotic buildings in the entirety of the United States.

Home of the Declaration of Independence, Bill of Rights, and the Constitution. The founding documents which made America America, a home to many, but not to me, as I stood in the tall ceiling room feeling more isolated than ever surrounded by wealthy men and women alike.

There were 40 VIPS tops which were the same people our NGSA team staff would be serving. 

8 mahogany tables, 5 guests assigned to each. 

There were 20 people working as staff , so in total only 60 people were gathered here tonight. The organizers had to keep the number small due to security reasons and liability of outside workers wanting to harm the elites that were attending. 

That's why the NGSA figured the best route would be to hire people already in high ranks to the NGSA. 

AKA, the students that were well qualified candidates for the once in a lifetime scholarship. 

Out of the 20, 16 from the NGSA were working the event. 8 students helping out in the kitchen, and 8 students on floor, serving and interacting with the high-value guests that were dining tonight. 

The networth of the families eating here tonight combined would amass to somewhere near 2.5 billion --- according to Ms. Becraft. So no pressure!

The ceiling of the room expanded to great heights. Crystal chandeliers spiraled down from the arching white ceiling, illuminating the glimmering golden walls and a floor so polished it looked like an iced-over lake. And it wasn't just the ballroom–the women sparkled like a box of jewels, shades of emerald and ruby and amethyst swirling before me, their low chatter accompanying wafts of rose and hyacinth and jasmine. I looked down at my simple uniform.

All the tables in the extravagant room were circular except for one, centering the room.

It had sharp rectangular edges and somehow, I just knew whichever family was seated there was one that held a power like no other. And no surprise- a tent was propped up in the middle of the table with the name 'Whitman' written in embroidered cursive on it. 

Fuck. 

Tonight was the night I'd finally be meeting Colton's parents. He had told me some silly stories about them, and in my head, they were like a normal middle class suburban family...But as I was looking around the room, looking at the people decked out in Armani and Tom Ford, I think the picture Colton had painted may have been a little under illustrated.

Classical music played throughout the echoey hall and a man in a wheelchair and an ECG cart was rolled out from the entrance. 

Following behind him was a woman no younger than 70 standing by his side as another man (who I assumed to be their butler) wheeled him in. After the butler, followed a man with auburn hair and deep black eyes. He was wearing a suit a size too tight, but it's not like it didn't do him justice-- he looked fine. Okay. Average, at best. 

But definitely not as magnificent as who followed behind him. 

Muscles trapped in dark fabric, his usually bedheadesque hair was gelled into a somehow both sophisticated and unruly manner tonight. And I wasn't sure whether it was the lighting or what, but his electrifyingly blue eyes seemed to glimmer in the reflective lights. Both young and older women around the room could not help but steal glances at the intoxicating man before them.