*REVISED*

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I sit stiffly on the black leather seats of my family's limo. The chauffeur turns the steering wheel and the car changes its direction, just like me. I'm headed to a boarding school for the Prestige of Sarrione, the Fraussen Prestige Institute. In Sarrione, we are divided by labels, unfair labels that spread the disease of fame and fortune to a scarce few. The labels are divided into five levels. The Royalty, of course, are the people at the very top of society, and considered the height of perfection. One step down are the Prestige: the lucky, lucky ones, as society says, rich and famous. Then come the Elite, who, while privileged like the Prestige, lack fame. The Royalty, Prestige, and Elite receive thorough educations and occupy the most advantageous jobs in the country. Right below the Elite come the Modests. With just enough money to survive, these families work hard to get basic necessities like food and electricity. Underneath them all are the Unlabeled, the people that our government wants the rest of the country to forget about. The Unlabeled are homeless or very poor, unable to contribute to society because of their status, and overlooked by everyone in our society.

Instead of offering support for the Unlabeled, which would better both our country and their lives, we pretend they don't exist, as if ignoring a problem can vanish it. King Lamont says we should always be thankful for the kind gifts of "compassion and equality that were bestowed upon this land." His words are snake-like: twisting, manipulating, and fake. He tries to make the privileged feel better about their blissful ignorance when he should be working towards better living conditions for the Modests and the Unlabeled, medical care, insurance, and food support. About forty years ago, Sarroine actually didn't have these government-issued labels that define and restrict us. When King Maxon and Queen America were in power, they ended the caste system and beautifully integrated every citizen into normal society. Soon, the stigmas of being in a lower caste were gone and our country was functioning well. But some previous Twos and Threes, the higher castes from before, called for a reinstatement of the caste system, and King Lamont, King Maxon and Queen America's son, irresponsibly listened to the wealthy and gave every citizen a Label.

Since our family used to be Twos, my mother is only one of the many in my family that believes everyone who has money and status is superior to those without them. Her piercing voice, warning me to behave properly in society, echoes in my ears. You shouldn't mingle with the people who are labeled lower than you. Our family is labeled Prestige for a reason. I disagree with her. I think that everyone should have an equal chance at success, no matter their label. And because of my 'absurd' beliefs, my mother thinks I am a problem and a disgrace.

In public, I'm the perfect, poised daughter and she is a graceful mother. Not so much at home, though, where we barely interact, and when we do, we usually end up bickering. So, my mother's solution is to ship me off to boarding school and surround me with other Prestige. I've always wished to have a close relationship with my mother, but she seems determined to distance herself from any semblance of love. I used to hope for closeness between us every day, but I know it's only wishful thinking. She is singed by fame and money like a piece of paper burned around the edges. She thinks being famous and rich will earn her favor in the King's court, and unfortunately it's somewhat true - he doesn't listen one bit to the Modests or the Unlabeled but highly values the opinion of the wealthy Prestige. But...I think the prince does care about the lower Labels' opinions. I don't know why, but there seems to be something different about Prince Alexander.

§§§§§

As I enter the lobby, I say goodbye to Reagan, my personal butler and friend. He is such a sweetheart, and knows how much I despise the visible boundaries between the Labels.

I take in my velvet surroundings. It looks like a piece of the ostentatious palace was brought here. From behind me I hear, "Ah, Clarissa Dossen. Here at last." A rather plump man with a broad smile looks at me and gestures to the elevator. I smile back, and he moves to take my bags up to my room.

"Oh, no, don't bother I can get them myself Mr. ..." I say, wondering what his name is.

"Carnet," he says in a thick French accent with a bow, "I will be your personal butler while you are here. You will not be assigned maids, but you can certainly call for one to come to your assistance whenever you need it." I thank him, but know that I would never call for a maid, I am not royalty and don't need help with my every movement. I laugh lightly to myself. It's absurd! This is a school, not the palace. I walk into the elevator. I tried to convince Mr. Carnet that I could take my bags up on my own, but true to the laws of society he insisted on carrying them for me.

I punch in my floor number, 576, and the elevator is lifted up through my new home, if you could ever called stiff metal structures and tacky decorations home. The door quickly opens to the living room of my apartment, no hallway or anything. I thank Mr. Carnet and walk inside expectantly.

§§§§§

Whoever designed this place really went for luxury. The newest technology is displayed everywhere. There are televisions flush to the walls, and hidden speakers that can connect to our phones. Architecturally, the crown molding on the cream colored walls is beautiful and there are velvet navy-blue curtains that frame a large bay window with a picturesque view of the city. Even though I feel so unwelcome at my home province Likely, I love Sonage. There's a mix of so many cultures and Labels here and the ocean is a welcome plus.

"Call waiting for Clarissa Dossen from Arielle Dossen," the hidden speakers announce. I'm surprised to hear her calling, seeing as she shipped me off without saying goodbye. I wonder how my dad is; I didn't get to see him either as he was on a work trip.

"Take call," I say to the walls.

My mother's fake cheerful voice erupts out of midair, "Hi Clary-beary! How are you doing? How was your flight?" I can hear the bragging jingle and clinking of her jewelry like I'm still in Likely.

"Mother, my flight was fine, thanks for asking, and I'm doing all right, just tired," I say flatly. I can sense her faux-happiness even from afar; she wasn't really interested in my well-being, just wanted to make sure that she kept her impression managed if anyone else was listening. She relaxes and drills me about the room and the service so far and tells me to not hesitate to call if anything is off. She was chatty about all that, but when I asked about Dad she switched the topic back to her company. I wish my dad was the one on the other end of the call, not my mother. He doesn't care very much about money or status, he actually cares about me and the little joys in life, but he's always working so I don't get to see him as much as I would like. As for my mother's company, she represents models and singers and the like, so she wants to know if I've met anyone she could represent.

"No I haven't met anyone except for my butler- he seems nice." She's not going to like that, she doesn't like my habit of talking about the people who, to quote her, "are meant to serve us because they haven't contributed as much to our beloved monarchy." That's the other thing. She loves the King and Queen and everything about them- she almost worships the ground they walk on.

"Clarissa!" She pauses, then sighs. "Try to associate with people our level, okay?"

Before I can respond, the speakers announce in a robotic tone that someone is requesting permission to come in. I guess that's what happens when someone else tries to come to your room. It's probably the rest of my luggage. I finish talking to my mother.

"No mom, I won't treat people differently because of their label." I've said it a million times, but she always reacts the same way.

"Clarissa! You could damage everything our family has worked for, far more than just money and our Label...you never understand, it's worthless." Her toxic voice flows ominously through the speakers. She's never said anything like that before.

"I have to go, someone needs me." My voice is unloving and cold, almost bored.

"Okay, sweetums! Love you," she says, and ends the call. Of course, when someone might be able to hear, she goes back to her sweet facade.

I go to open the door and it slides automatically open, revealing a girl with flowy blonde hair and energetic green eyes. She looks about a year younger than me, so sixteen maybe.

"Hi," she says brightly. "I'm Elizabeth, I have the floor below you!"

"It is very nice to meet you Elizabeth, I'm Clarissa," I say just like my mother would like me to. Ugh, I think to myself, why are you so bad at this?

"Yeah, I know, you're sort of famous." Her voice is playful.

At that, I nervously laugh, trying to break through the stiffness. She seems so chipper and happy, yet she sucks the little bit of confidence I had right out of me.

"What province are you from?" I say. She could be from Clermont, most models live there. Probably everyone here is a model, actor, or dancer, as expected for the Prestige.

"Kent," she replied with a smile. Huh. The jobs popular in Kent are lawyers and scientists. Her parents probably wanted to avoid the fame of being a Prestige, I realize approvingly. Now less nervous than before, I'm able to finally stop sounding like a robot and talk like myself.

"Oh, cool! I'm from Likely." She looks relieved that I can actually talk normally. "Do you know where we're supposed to go? Orientation is today, right?"

"Yeah, I think we're supposed to go back down to the lobby once everyone is here, but I'm sure people are still arriving." She smiles again and I notice that she's wearing less makeup than the other girls I've seen. She looks more real, actually recognizable for who she is.

"Great, thanks. I forgot to read the schedule on the way here," I said a little sheepishly.

"Oh, trust me, I just read it because I got super bored on the plane. It's a long ride from Kent." She laughs.

"I bet!" I exclaim. "Well, I'll see you at orientation, Elizabeth! I'm really glad I met you." And I genuinely mean it.

As the doors of the elevator close she calls, "Oh, by the way, you can call me Beth!"

I smile. Maybe I can have a friend here after all.

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