THE QUEEN WITHOUT A THRONE

ROXANNE’S POINT OF VIEW. My nails dug into my palms, creating crescent moon shapes as I bit my lip angrily. I stared at my uniform with disdain; the plain colours meant for the scholarship kids felt like salt on an injury as I tried my hardest not to scream. My name is Roxanne Lemaire; my grandmother’s last name was the name I’d chosen to take on because it felt exotic, perfect, luxurious. I was the fucking queen! Not Sloane fucking Bishop….oh right, Everhart! I should be the one wearing luxury clothes, driving that pink G-wagon, I should be the one with Lucien on my arm, I should be the one with the rich boyfriend, the rich parents, the wealth, the rich friends….everything! How did all this fucking happen???? How did Sloane become the rich one, and I suddenly became the scholarship kid? How? I shivered at the stench of the walls. It might not reek to everyone else, but for some reason, to me, it felt like they smelled pungent of something I should hate. The sound of the phone ringing