This World That Divides Us

The long, pebbled drive stretched before me, seemingly endless, as my dad's car crunched its way towards Sinclair Prep. My stomach churned, a knot of nerves tightening with every rotation of the wheels. The building loomed in the distance, a gothic monolith of pointy roofs and stone walls, its emerald green and white flag waving mockingly in the wind.

"You okay over there?" Dad's voice cut through my thoughts, a gentle concern I appreciated but couldn't quite meet.

"Fine," I muttered, forcing a quick smirk his way before turning back to the window. My legs, however, were shaking uncontrollably.

He knew. Of course he knew. "Just nerves," I added, as if that explained the tremor that had taken root deep in my bones. Sinclair Prep wasn't just a school; it was a battleground, and I was stepping onto it with nothing but a white backpack, a floral lunch box, and a desperate dream of Dartmouth.