The Class Reject: A Martyr in Maelstrom (Book III)

26

The documentary was a glorified movie night. Sure, it was only 4pm, but it was a Friday so just about everyone was fed up with mandatory mental health seminars or speakers or evaluators forcing them to acknowledge their feelings and struggles.

Thus, the overall mentality of the students at the Rosemunde auditorium was that this was an epic waste of time. Even when Ms. Cowdry introduced the Yale rep to the stage.

"As you may have noticed, the headmasters and other faculty are not here in order to facilitate a more honest learning environment, giving you the opportunity to ask some more unique admissions questions without administrative backlash, " she said, motioning to the man. Some students mumbled (or whined loudly) about having their cellphones taken away, but she carried on. "Without further ado, please give Mr. Marvin Spiels a round of applause!"

The man, a middle-aged man with alarmingly long hair for a Yale recruiter (it only went past his shoulders, but still) smiled at the bored group. Somehow their expressions didn't faze him.

"The internet exists, so I'm not going to go through the trouble of introducing myself. But for those of you that don't have a dad that bought a building at Yale, or a mom who's friends with the school's president, feel free to meet at my booth outside of the theater after the documentary," he told them like the "cool" guy he apparently was. "I saw part of it already and I really think you're in for a treat. If I could have Miss Vishna and Mr. Harisson come up?" He nodded at Olive, who was standing by the edge of the stage next to Parker.

"Thank-you so much, Mr. Spiels," the girl said as the two joined him upstage. Although Olive had spent quite a bit of time behind the camera to put the damn documentary together, she was a natural in front of an audience. Her eyes were practically gleaming as she addressed the crowd. "I'm sure that most of you don't know me. Although you might have seen my face these past few months, or maybe even have spoken to me briefly, you probably do not know me, as I do not actually know many of you—"

"Jesus, how much longer is this supposed to go on?" Penelope mumbled to Artemis, her eyes more bored than annoyed. "If she thinks she's accomplishing anything from trying to make me look bad, it's only going to backfire." She clicked her tongue. "It always does."

"Like you said, you have nothing to fear if you're innocent." But Artemis had plenty to be fearful of. It wasn't Olive who worried her—it was Penelope, and whatever else she had up her sleeve.

"—Fortunately, we have the luxury of time to get to know each other," Olive continued. "But for one student—Miren Eze—her story has been muddled beyond comprehension. I obviously don't know what truly caused her to leave or suffer her untimely demise, but as an outsider, I felt I was in the perfect position to investigate her story. I hope you like what we found." She turned to Parker before handing him the microphone. "Do you mind sharing some words, Parker?"

The boy just scratched his head boyishly. "Uh, I helped?" The audience began to laugh. "Jokes aside, I think the video speaks for itself. I hope it enlightens you and all that jazz."

Then the two filmmakers returned to their seats, and the projection screen flashed on. Ambient music played as the title appeared.

UNDERCOVER MARTYR: THE MIREN EZE STORY

"Marytr," Chara humored as Miren sat like a stone next to her. "That sounds fancy."

"As long as it isn't defamatory," she replied, folding her arms and trying to figure out why she was here. Oh right, because it was mandatory and she'd look suspicious if she didn't. But it seemed like everything she did made her look suspicious. And single.