by the time I was in London, in search for the things I would need for school, that I'd gotten into Attwood. Mum had stayed at home, telling me I would do better on my own, but I knew the real reason: she was too tired.

I rarely went into London, least not on my own. The first reason being it was far away; the second being I simply couldn't afford the capital's ridiculous prices, not when Mum couldn't work anymore so all our income was due to me.

I didn't have a degree. I couldn't work a proper job, and earn enough money to keep us safely afloat. The only reason our house wasn't a shack, was because it had been my grandmas. We would have had a lot more money— if my dad hadn't run away with it all, likely having gambled it all away.

I tried not to think of him. I could barely put a face to his name, and even that I couldn't be sure of. I kept his last name, though. I knew it wasn't because I just hadn't 'gotten around' to changing it, and was instead because I wanted to keep ahold of something of him, even if it was no more than a piece of paper binding us together.

The streets were teeming with people, as usual. They bustled about, alongside the stream of cars, and jostled me this way and that. I desperately tried to keep control of my breathing, in and out, in and out. Being from quite a bit further south, it got busy, but not nearly as busy as this. I struggled to not topple over when I was shoved particularly roughly. I knew a Saturday probably wasn't the best day to be coming up here, but I didn't have much choice.

The uniform shop was tucked away from the major stores, which I supposed was a good thing. Not nearly so many people drifted down the side road on which it stood. I didn't know why they'd put it there at first, but then realised this is where many of the students would live— in one of the large houses in Chelsea or Kensington.

I passed a business woman, decked in a pantsuit and simplistic, yet overly expensive, jewellery. Her hair was styled as professionally as her clothes and as she passed, I pretended not to notice her glance at my own attire. Maybe I didn't wear designer, tailored cut things, but I still put effort into what I wore, if only a little. I liked to think that even if I had all the money in the world, I'd still choose my ripped jeans and oversized jumper.

Above the store read in large, elegant letters: MICHAELSON & CO. I wondered how often this Michaelson actually went to the shop. I rolled my eyes at the obvious answer, never. They probably sat at home, in their country manor or even city apartment, counting notes as they rolled in.

I went to push on the door, before realising it wasn't openable from outside without a key. I looked to my right at the small keypad and pushed the call button. The lady on the desk looked up at me from behind her glasses, and raised the phone to her ear.

"Yes?" She asked, making it obvious she was scrutinising my appearance as she gazed up, then down again at me.

"I'm here for Attwood Academy... urm... uniform?" I hadn't meant it to sound like a question, or stutter half as much as I did, but with her gazing at me with such distaste, it made my knees tremble.

"Do you have your acceptance letter?" She looked clearly bored, and I could hear it in her voice.

"Y-yes," I stuttered, once again. I took the envelope with the letter inside it from my bag and held it up to the window, unsure. She pushed a small button under the counter. I jumped when a drop box suddenly opened. She motioned with her hand, and I gingerly placed the paper in.

It closed promptly after, and I watched as it reappeared with her. She looked at it closely, bringing it impossibly close to her face and even going so far as raising a magnifying glass to it.

Her shocked eyes raised to my own. She covered it quickly, preferring to raise her eyebrow instead. Another button must have been pushed as the door swung open soon after, and I was hit with the delightful aroma of the shop inside.

I stepped over the threshold, feeling as if I'd stepped through a portal into a different world. A world so contrasting to my own, one in which I didn't belong in the slightest.

Overall, it looked... expensive. That was the only way to describe it. That, and: pretentious. Not that I'd ever set foot in a gucci store, nor would I ever, but I imagined that's what it resembled. It's cream flooring bore not one scratch or patch of discolouration; each item was arranged perfectly; and it screamed, to me anyway, 'You can't afford anything.'

The woman at the desk motioned to a girl, not much older than myself, to me. They had a silent conversation as her eyes drifted towards me, once again being under scrutiny. I stood, awkwardly, transferring my weight from one foot to the other several times.

"May I help you?" She asked with a tight smile.

I struggled to maintain eye contact with her light eyes, those surrounded by a thin line of dark eyeliner. She stared at me again, and I clocked that she was awaiting my answer.

"Oh, right. I'm looking for school uniform."

She began to wander away, so that I could now see her bleach blonde hair, tied neatly in a low bun. She threw a look to the older woman, still behind the desk, as she passed. I hastily followed after her.

We both stepped down a level, one with glass casing propped against each wall, and two circular seats slotted together in its centre. She told me to wait where I stood, and went away again. I stepped towards one glass casing. Inside it, there were what appeared to be several ornate glass shapes.

"Don't touch the glass." Her voice made me almost leap away from it. I looked down, cheeks tainted red as I muttered an apology.

She had a satchel in her hand, the school's double A symbol sewn into its leather. She thrust it towards me, and I ran my hands over it. I didn't really know what made leather high quality or had to differentiate between the good stuff and the not so good, but I knew this must be on the top end, and so nodded appreciatively.

"I didn't know I needed a bag, too," I said. "Does everyone use this one?"

"Many get theirs customised, but the rules state this customisation must be kept to a minimum, so I suppose, yes, everyone does use this bag."

I bit my lip nervously. "I don't think I have enough for the bag and the uniform. I only have what they gave me."

"Oh, I should have known you were on a scholarship," she said, rolling her eyes at what I imagined was her own stupidity. "I suppose we may have one thing. Yes, a girl came in, having lost a drastic amount of weight, and so subsequently had to buy another." I had no idea whether she was talking to me at this point or herself, but said 'thank you' anyway. She spoke as if she was writing a well-articulated letter, and made me sound even more common than usual.

She returned quickly from the room she'd disappeared off into. The door shut firmly behind her, showing her in her full black attire with a collection of black and red in her hold.

She handed me the clothes draped over her arm, and showed me into a slightly smaller area and towards a thick curtain. Pushing it aside, she held it open and I went in.

"I'll be alright, thank you," I said, upon realising she was preparing to help me with the clothes. She seemed almost glad. I closed the curtain on her nodding and stepping back slightly.

I quickly undressed, and put on what she'd given me. Several times, I had to support myself with the wall in order to stop falling over. She could probably hear me hopping around and squeaking as I only just caught myself.

I turned towards the floor length mirror.

I gasped.