063 - Reinforcements, part 4

Vivian took a last look at her reflection as sunlight hit the glass door in front of her. She couldn't believe she'd been reduced to this.

Public school. 

Ugh!

She tried not to think about what sort of bacteria she was touching as she hesitantly gripped the handle and swung open the door. A long, desolate hallway stretched before her, life-sucking fluorescent lighting flickering overhead. A sneer fixed itself upon her face as the odors of box store floor cleaner and B.O. mixed in her nostrils. How was she supposed to survive the rest of the year in this place?!

As the door swung shut behind her, she ran her hands down the front of her dress to smooth it out, her hands automatically going straight to her ankle length tresses next. She'd long since been unconscious of her constant tendency to preen herself; her hair was the most important thing in the world to her. Transitioning from dark brown at the roots, to lovely light ombre curls at the ends, it was her most treasured possession. No telling what would happen to it in this intermediary way station for future prisoners, construction oafs and cubicle-dwellers, if she wasn't who she was. She was bound to have a few of her fans here to run interference between her and the deplorables...

She slowly put one foot in front of the other, following the signs directing her to the main office. The last few hours played out again in her mind as she walked, retracing her route to this wretched middle-class hovel:

***********************************

Her parents had spared no expense with her upbringing and education, bless their hearts. Vivian deserved no less, of course, but her parents just didn't get it. She was destined for better things than slaving away at Daddy's hedge fund company or becoming the trophy wife of a greasy politician. Vivian was taking her destiny in her own hands, and it seemed everyone in her life was trying to punish her for it.

Her mother had had high hopes for her when she was a child; she'd been pranced into more pageants and parades than she could count. Her participation in these took a steady drop after she'd hit puberty. She hadn't filled out as much as her peers had, and it seemed her mother took it as a personal failing on Vivian's part that she'd never be an actress or a fashion model. Mother hadn't wanted to ruin her figure by pushing out a litter of brats like the plebians did; Viv was an only child, and it seemed all her parents' aspirations for future social mobility had been wrapped up in her. 

She'd been shipped off to private school on the other side of the country, where multitudes of highly paid lackeys made her sit in endless hours of instruction in a myriad of subjects. Viv could never help but wonder, though: If all these teachers were so great, what were they doing here instead of making millions of dollars being famous? She decided she was just too good for these people. How could she learn from anyone for whom she had no respect? Sure, they all smiled and pretended to be nice to her, but that was because Daddy was paying for all of this. Well, she'd make Daddy get his money's worth, then. She adamantly refused to perform the most basic assignments given to her. She refused to answer when questioned, or barely acknowledge the staff's existence. She'd only been able to move on semester after semester because her father continued paying the schools until they couldn't say no anymore. Class after class, she sat there and sat there, looking haughty and oblivious. The only reason she hadn't gone insane from boredom was that she spent every waking minute planning her next weekly video...

Vivian had a YouTube channel with a million and a half subscribers. Having long ago being disillusioned of her prospects as a model, she'd focused her attention on one of the few things about her body over which she had control: her hair. Her childhood was filled with complaints from her mother about its insane growth rate, and made it the nanny's duty to take Viv to monthly salon visits. Long after pageant managers stopped sugar-coating their remarks about her physical beauty, stylists continued to comment on how full and lovely her dark brunette mane was, and how fast it grew. Vivian became obsessed with growing it out and keeping it as long and healthy as possible, and when she discovered she could settle for being 'internet famous,' she went all in. She learned all about how to professionally produce and edit videos (from people who were actually famous online, not these losers teaching classes for a living), and spent every night in her private dormitory room making instructional videos for every possible hairstyle, hair care technique, growth tip, and everything else under the sun she could think of that would showcase her crowning glory. As her subscriber numbers grew, she became more and more single-minded in her obsession. She didn't think of each new subscriber as a person, necessarily, just another step on her road to greatness. 

She refused to let others touch her hair. Once, one of her classmates dared to caress it as she commented on its beauty. Vivian's slap bloodied the girl's lip, and sitting through a lecture from the dean was still worth the message that had been sent to her classmates. Hands Off, Bitches.

Daddy's money could make a lot of problems go away, but violence was not one of them. On top of her already lax school performance, it was the last straw, and she was expelled. Little though she cared, she endured the move to another school, where she repeated her same poor performance in the classroom. Her online performance continued to garner her more attention, though, and some days she didn't even leave her room, refreshing the page on her latest video to watch the numbers rise. The growth of her luxurious tresses continued, and she felt like a goddess as her hair was worshiped daily online.

From age twelve to age seventeen, she lost count after the twelfth school expulsion. Her refusal to participate was matched only by her rudeness to every staff member and classmate she interacted with. Who needed these people? They could do nothing for her. She had her subscribers. She could talk and talk online, and they would think she was maybe reading their comments. Her subscribers may be as beneath her as everyone else, but at least they were useful.

It was a week ago that her parents finally sat her down and told her of their decision.

"You're done," her father said as he paced back in forth in front of her. Her mother sat, wringing her hands on the sofa next to Viv. "We've run out of options for private school."

"Good," Vivian sneered. "It was the worst, anyway. Now I finally have time to do a video every day. I'm gonna freaking break the internet."

"Vivvy, please," Mother whimpered. "After all we've done to try and help you, you can't keep doing this."

"You're just mad that you can't control me anymore," Vivian snapped. "You don't care about what's really important here. I'm up for an award this year. School is for losers."

Her father turned red. He animatedly opened a satchel he had brought into the room earlier, and turned toward his daugher. He grabbed a handful of her long hair, and the buzz of clippers emanated from his other hand. Vivian shreiked.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! DON'T YOU DARE! I'LL--"

"Are you listening to me now?" he calmly spoke as his grip tightened. His calmness terrified Vivian, and tears began to well in her eyes. "Am I finally speaking a language you will understand?" he enunciated, precisely.

"Please, Daddy, please!" she cried. Her mother looked slightly alarmed, but did nothing. 

"You are going to public school. Starting Monday. You will not log onto YouTube unless you have an A in every class. We've indulged your insane stupidity for too long. I will cut one inch of your hair for every percentage point under 100% you get on any of your assignments. If you even think of questioning me on this, of making any of your bratty remarks, if your eyes even start rolling when I talk, girl, I will shave you bald. Put THAT on YouTube."

Vivian blubbered, unable to make any words. Her father turned the clippers off and stormed out of the room. Vivian had run to her room crying...

*********************************

And now here she was. 

She finally reached the main office, a musty hole in the wall. Before her, an old crone batted away on a keyboard. Two other middle-aged women busied themselves similarly, ignoring her as well.

Vivian cleared her throat. At her previous schools, these women would be fake-smiling and anxious to help her. Where had she landed? "Excuse me," she sneered. She didn't think she'd ever used that phrase before.

The crone finished typing something, then stood and approached her. Upon seeing Vivian's magnificent hair, the girl was sure the old woman would brighten up. It was probably the most beautiful thing this woman had seen in a long time. 

"Oh God, another one," the hag grimaced. "Is Featherstone having a convention, now?"

Vivian's eyes narrowed. She decided she didn't care what this woman was talking about. She'd get through this atrocious interaction and be done with it. "Vivian St. Claire," she intoned. "I'm new today."

"Of course you are," the woman muttered as she typed the name into her computer. Under her breath, Vivian heard her mutter "ungodly amount of long hair in this place. No wonder Featherstone has the beauty college floozy coming in." 

What the hell was a feather stone? Viv wondered. And did she mention something about other girls here having long hair? None of them could possibly compete with Vivian's own, but if this woman seemed unimpressed with her...well, who could say? This crone was possibly as blind as she was stupid.

The woman returned with a slip of paper. "Schedule's on the front, map's on the back. Welcome to yada yada yada..." she muttered as she walked back to her well-worn chair.

Vivan looked over the list of classes. All these subjects seemed so...pedestrian. What was Physical Education? Was this? NO, she was not doing gym class. There was no way in hell she was sweating in the sun in this hovel, showering with strangers. Getting SWEAT in her HAIR. Absolutely NOT. Her thin frame had never been in any danger of becoming out of shape, she wouldn't be caught dead throwing balls around and getting dirt in her precious curls. 

"Excuse me," came from Viv's lips. There was that phrase again. "I can't attend Physical Education. I have a...disability," she lied.

The woman seemed annoyed at having to interact with her again. She looked the girl up and down, from crown to tip. "I'll bet you do."

"I can bring in a note from my doctor tomorrow," Vivian continued, hoping to sound sort of sincere. That could easily be faked. "But, please [another phrase foreign to her until recently], I'll need another subject."

The crone took back the paper, her eyes finally leaving Vivian's to scan the sheet of paper. "Is that so?" she monotoned. "Well, I don't think that's going to be...wait." She took a second look at the paper, and decided giving this girl a hard time wasn't a priority. She took a pen and crossed out P.E., scribbled over it, and handed it back. "I'm sure you're supposed to be in this instead. You look like another of the principal's pet projects." She waddled back to her seat and took a sip from her coffee mug, shooing Vivian away. "First class is in five minutes. Move those heels."

Vivian walked out, trying to decipher the old harridan's scribble. COSMETOLOGY - HAIR AESTHETICS. She stopped. Would she be expected to learn to cut and style hair? This could actually be useful, maybe? As long as nobody tried to touch HER hair, she might actually put forth an effort. 

The memory of Daddy and the clippers came to her mind immediately. Oh, effort would be put forth, all right. But she didn't have to like it...