The Genetic Code

Chapter 7

Juliette

The second day isn't much better than the first.

After making it my prime mission to lay low and not bring any unnecessary attention to myself in school, I already managed to embarrass myself in front of the whole class on the second day, even before lunch.

The period just before lunch was homeroom. Our homeroom teacher Ms Kamilah, whom scarily resembles a modern reincarnation of Cleopatra, was sharing her insights on knowledge hierarchies in transnational education (words I'd never heard together before stepping into the classroom that day) when the bell went off, signaling the end of the lesson. At the sound of the ring I automatically pushed my chair back and rose to my feet to go for lunch...

Until I realized that I was the only one in glaring white standing right in the middle of an entire classroom of seated students.

At the screech of my chair they all swiveled their heads in my direction, gawking at me. I found myself frozen, my limbs losing their ability to function, mind unable to fathom a response. Blood rose quickly to my cheeks and my eyes widened as the situation dawned on me.

Back in the West Wing, and even in my boarding school, the ring of the bell was immediately responded by the sound of books being snapped shut, chairs being pushed out and students chattering away as they poured out of the classroom. But I guess things are different here. There's either some kind of extremely delayed response, or the mundane ring is not of a frequency that these Perfects can hear, since they seemed to ignore the bell completely.

Ms Kamilah stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes landed on me, thick eyebrows raising in question.

"Excuse me, Juliette, am I correct?" she inquired sternly, "as far as I remember, my lesson isn't over yet. Is there somewhere you need to be urgently?"

I opened and closed my mouth repeatedly, but no words come out.

"If not, then why are you interrupting me in the middle of class?"

"Sorry," I eventually mumbled before descending back down to my chair. I heard the snickers around the room, and bit my bottom lip, grimacing. Someone shoot me now, please.

A hand shot up in front of me.

"Ms Kamilah," Even though I didn't look up I recognized the voice as coming from the glossed lips of a certain blonde antagonist. My stomach twisted in dreaded anticipation.

"I think you could excuse Juliette for being unfamiliar with how things run around here. Living as a Normal all her life, she's not well-informed on the proper etiquette expected of a Perfect. Imperfect behavior can be difficult to shake off."

I despise the way Kera says things so sweetly, so innocently, as if she doesn't know the implications of those poisonous words that come out of her mouth.

"Fine, I'll give you a chance because you're new," Ms Kamilah begrudgingly conceded. "But from now on, learn the rules around here. The bell is just an indicator of time for the teacher's reference. The lesson's only over when the teacher decides they're done speaking. See me after class, and I'll inform you all about the other rules you may not be aware of that might get you booked for defiance."

Her eyes were cold and hard as they glared. "I'm not sure what they taught you in the West Wing, but you're not in the West Wing anymore. If you're a Perfect, act like one."

I swallowed, tasting bitterness in my mouth.

So that's the way it is. I always wondered how Perfects could be the way they were — so harsh, so conceited, so self-righteous. I guess it's because this mentality has been drilled into their pure, Perfect little minds since they were young. That's the value preached by teachers in schools and reverberated off the voices of your peers: you're a Perfect, you're better than everyone else, we expect more from you than that, you'd better behave up to expectation, or else you'd be just like the rest — the worst thing you could ever be.