Excerpt of Prom and Prejudice by Elizabeth Eulberg

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single girl of high standing at Longbourn Academy must be in want of a prom date.

While the same can probably be said of countless other schools across the country, prom at Longbourn isn’t just a rite of passage – it’s considered by many (at least those who matter) to be the social event for future members of high society. Longbourn girls don’t go to the mall to get their dresses. No, they boast couture from designers whose names adorn their speed dial.

Just look at the glossy six-page spread dedicated to more than a century of prom history in Longbourn’s recruitment brochure. Or the yearly coverage in The New York Times Sunday Style section… or Vanity Fair… or Vogue. Fashion reporters and photographers flock to the Connecticut campus to scope out the fashion, the excess, the glamour of it all. It is Fashion Week for the silver spoon set.

The tradition started in 1895, the first year Longbourn opened up its doors. Originally set up as a finishing school for proper ladies, the founders realized they needed to have an event to usher their students into the elite world. And while girls nowadays don’t really need to be formally “welcomed” into society, nobody wants to give up a weekend-long excuse to dress up and attempt to outshine one another. Friday night is the reception where the couples (consisting of Longbourn girls and, for the most part, boys from the neighboring Pemberley Academy) are introduced. Saturday night is the main event and Sunday afternoon is a brunch where reporters interview the students about the previous evening.

Students become fixated on prom from the day they get accepted. To not attend, or have the proper date, would be a scandal from which a young girl would never be able to recover.

Imagine the chaos that erupted a few years ago, when a scholarship student not only snagged the most sought-after boy at Pemberley, but showed up in a dress from Macy’s (the horror!) and caught the eye of the New York Times reporter, who ended up putting her, and her story, on the cover of the Style section.

Up to that point, most students tolerated the two scholarship students in each class. But this was too much.

The following year, hazing began. Most scholarship students couldn’t last more than two years. The program only continued because the Board of Trustees was adamant about diversifying the student body (and by diversify, they meant having students whose parents didn’t earn seven-figure yearly bonuses). Plus, the scholarship students, often called “charity cases,” helped boost the academic record and music program.

Given the opportunities, education-wise, the scholarship students try to put up with the behavior. After all, this kind of experience couldn’t have happened at home. So there was a price to pay for the best teachers, resources and connections. That price– condescension, taunts, pranks – got old pretty quickly.

It’s not easy, though. It only took the new scholarship girl in the junior class two days before she broke down into tears. Fortunately, she was alone in her room and nobody saw her. But it happened.

I should know. Because that was my room, and my tears.

I was a scholarship student. A charity case.

One of them.

There was a giant target on my back.

And I had to do everything possible to avoid getting hit.