Page 109 of The Bleak Beginning

I scoff, feeling the sting of his words. “I don’t need to belittle others to feel good about myself.”

He shrugs, indifferent. “Confidence can be expressed in many ways. I choose to embrace mine and use it as fuel, while not letting the flames consume me. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

Before I can respond, he abruptly turns and walks away from me. Now I am alone with my feelings and a flower that has been violently plucked from its stem, much like how he tries to tear down my confidence whenever he's near.

I stay outside a few more moments collecting myself. Bishop’s words echo in my mind, stirring up a mix of emotions I can’t quite untangle. Part of me wants to chase after him, demand answers, but I know it would be futile. He’d only respond with more cryptic statements and that infuriating smirk.

I raise my head, adjust my mask, and step back into the crowded ballroom.

The music and chatter wash over me, but I feel oddly detached from it all now. My eyes scan the room, searching for Aubrey, but instead I catch sight of Professor O’Donnelly, engaged in what appears to be an intense conversation with Chancellor Maxwell.

Their eyes flick toward me for a brief moment, and I quickly avert my gaze, pretending to be fascinated by the intricate mask of a nearby partygoer. When I dare to look back, they’ve disappeared into the crowd.

This place is so weird.

“There you are,” Aubrey’s voice comes from behind me. “I was starting to worry.”

I turn to face her, forcing a smile. “Sorry, I just needed a moment.”

She studies me closely, her brow furrowed with concern. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. “I’m fine,” I say. “Just a bit overwhelmed by all of this.” I gesture vaguely at the opulent surroundings.

Aubrey nods sympathetically, but I can tell she’s not entirely convinced. “Well, stick close to me. Safety in numbers, right?”

As we make our way through the crowd, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched. Every masked face seems to hide secrets, every whispered conversation potentially about us. The pressure of everything weighs heavily on my shoulders, and a low hum fills my ears.

As I look around at the sea of hidden faces, memories come flooding back in an overwhelming rush. The faceless strangers now seem like cruel versions of my mother, each one ready to judge and criticize me.

“No, no, no! I don’t understand why you can’t get it right,” my mother snaps. “I’ve told you a thousand times, it’sallegro, notadagio. Do you even know what those words mean?”

My fingers stumble over the keys, flinching at each biting word. I can feel her disapproving glare boring into my back, making my shoulders hunch. I exhale, willing my trembling hands to steady.

As I began to play once more, I can hear my mother’s impatient sigh behind me. The tempo is faster this time, but my fingers feel clumsy and uncoordinated. Each note seems to mock me, an audible reminder of my inadequacy.

“Stop, stop!” My mother’s voice cuts through the music like a knife. “This is hopeless. How do you expect to make it professionally if you can’t even play a simple piece correctly?”

I sit frozen, staring at the keys. This piece was far from easy, but she knows that and chooses to criticize me anyway. I remain silent, not daring to correct her. The silence in the room is deafening, punctuated only by the ticking of the metronome. I long to disappear, to melt into the polished wood of the piano bench.

“Useless!” she exclaims, throwing up her hands. “You are utterly, and completelyuseless, Alexandra.”

I feel my grip on reality slipping away as the memories flood my mind. The buzzing in my ears started off soft, but it’s growing into a piercing screech, threatening to overtake my senses. I snap out of it when Aubrey stands in front of me, blocking my view.

“Huh?” I say, disoriented.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I don’t focus on her, my attention scattered everywhere else. As I look around, I catch glimpses of familiar faces—or rather, familiar masks. There’s Sylvester, laughing loudly with a group of other students. But when he sees me, his smile falters, and a look of surprise crosses his face before he clears his throat uncomfortably. Sutton, deep in conversation with one of the professors, is wearing the ombre black and white dress I “stole.”And just for a moment, I swear I see Bishop again, his sharp eyes cutting through the crowd to find mine before he vanishes once more.

As the ringing in my ears fades and my mother’s familiar face returns to its rightful place in my memory, everyone around me goes back to being themselves.

A sense of fresh curiosity overtakes me. “Aubrey, what do you know about the games? About what to expect for tonight?”

“Not much,” she admits, almost ashamed. “But I do know that tonight is crucial. It’s not just about how we present ourselves or socialize. They’re looking for something specific.”

I lean in closer. “What do you mean?”

“They’re testing our adaptability, our ability to think on our feet,” Aubrey explains. “I overheard some seniors talking. Apparently, at some point tonight, there will be a…situation. Something unexpected. How we react to it will be a major factor in our ranking.”

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