Be everything they wish they could be.
Sliding up to the chest-high counter, I drum my manicured nails on the wood and announce, “Hi. I’m new and need to pick up my assigned classes.”
The woman behind the desk, Malorie, by the looks of her nameplate, glances up at me over the top of a computer, her eyes wide and frazzled. Maybe it’s her first day too.
“Hello! Welcome to Tourney Hill Academy. What’s your name?”
I utter my name and wait as she pulls up the schedule that should have been made a week ago.
“Okaaaay, Miss Dane, here it is. Unfortunately, since you are enrolling so late in the school year, no changes can be made to your classes.”
I take the sheet and set it down, going over each class and teacher thoroughly.
Advanced English- Mrs. Wallace.
Anatomy- Mrs. Ross.
Calculus- Ms. Carver.
Spanish 201- Mr. Rios.
Advanced U.S History- Mr. Ellis
Intro to Modern Art and Design- Mr. De Luca.
“Um, excuse me, there’s a problem. I can’t take advanced history. I was barely passing at my previous school.”
Malorie nods her head, lips pursed, before checking the computer. “According to your transcripts, you place for advanced history. That’s why the system put you there.”
“Well, is there any way I can squeeze into a normal history class? Please?”
“Sorry, sweetie. That’s all we have open, but don’t worry, you’ll like Mr. Ellis. Students say he’s a wonderful teacher.”
The bell rings as she’s letting me down. I squeeze closer to the edge as students rush to class, not wanting any of them to shoulder or crash into me in their haste.
Once the crowd somewhat thins, I step away from the counter with a disappointed thank you on my lips. Then, clenching the schedule tightly in my fist, I head toward the hallways lined with doors.
My first class, Advanced English, says it’s in room 207. Looking around, I only see doors within the one-hundreds.
I decide to follow the hoard of students through the halls, trampling up the stairs right on their heels. None of them try to talk to me, which I appreciate since nerves are beginning to bubble up again. They are all too invested in their own lives to notice a new girl walking through the halls. I wonder if it will stay that way or if their eyes will be back on me the moment I sit down.
As we reach the second-floor landing, students disperse in different directions. I’m left standing in the center, my eyes roaming over every door until I spot my class in the middle on the right.
To my horror, there are no students outside the door. The worst thing a new student can do is walk into class when everyone is already inside.
I don’t want to do it. I really don’t want to fucking go in there and have their stares glued to my face. But it’s that or linger in the middle of the hall until someone forces me inside.
Giving myself a mental shove, I stroll toward the door, doing everything to keep my steps light and airy, so my heels don’t click so loudly. Unfortunately, I find that it doesn’t matter how softly I walk because the minute I turn the handle, the roaring screech of the door draws everyone’s attention my way.
Please don’t let my face be red.
Please don’t let my face be red.
“Hello. You must be Scarlett! Welcome!” Mrs. Wallace exclaims excitedly, hands folded in front of her faded denim jeans as she rocks in front of the class. Her eyes are on me, just like everyone else’s.
“Hi. Yeah, that’s me,” I say, giving her a tight smile as I stand awkwardly in front of my new leering classmates. I wait for her to motion to one of the few empty seats. But she never does. For a minute, she seems to space out, smiling as she sees past my face.
“Mrs. Wallace,” a girl in the back prods, snapping the teacher out of her moment of blankness.
