“That’s nice, honey.”
I quietly sighed at her lack of joy for my endeavors.
“Amy, how’s studying going for your big History test tomorrow, dear? Gotta keep those grades up for UVA, we can’t lose that scholarship.”
“We?” I asked with raised eyebrows. “Mom, Amy got into UVA on her own. She’s going, not you.” Mom shot me a how-dare-you look.
“You know, Allie, you could be focusing a little more on your own grades instead of playing games. Colleges aren’t going to take you seriously if you don’t take academics seriously.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” I said as the microwave beeped and I strode out of the room, angry at once again being dismissed for my passion. My Mom had never taken my athletic accomplishments seriously. Amy was her shining star, even though I had led Country Town Prep to three State Championship titles. To her, it was all just ‘games.’
I shut the door to my bedroom door louder than necessary, then got in my pajamas, and stood in front of the full-length mirror. I looked different than I did at the end of last year. I was glad that my strawberry blonde hair had finally grown out from the chin-length cut with bangs required by my mother from when I was young. It now cascaded in soft waves down past the full chest that I did not have at the beginning of summer. I grabbed the tips of my hair and pulled them just to see how long it had really grown. It hit just below my nipples, but sprang back just above them when I let go. I swore I would never let someone force me to cut my hair again. Then I leaned in close to the mirror to look at my eyes. My mom always said they were blue, but they were definitely light green. For some reason, they turned the color of the Caribbean Ocean when I cried.
When I was younger, I hated my freckles, but now I love the way they danced from cheek to cheek across the bridge of my nose. I removed my earrings, placed them in my jewelry box, climbed into bed, and turned out the light. As I lay in bed, I looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling that I found at Natural Wonders in the mall. My mom hated the sticky putty that I used to attach them, and she complained that they were going to leave a mark when I took them down, which I had no plans to do.
My room had two windows on either side of my bed that were smaller than the windows in the rest of the house, and they opened to the roof above the sunroom. When I was younger, I used to climb out there to hide when my parents would have their blowout fights. More recently, I loved to lie back on the cedar shingles and look up at the stars.
At night, sometimes my imagination would get the best of me, and I would worry that someone was out on the roof looking in, so I always had to have the blinds shut in order to fall asleep. As I lay in bed, I rolled over, set my alarm for tomorrow, then closed my eyes but opened them again. The Aiwa stereo on my bookshelf was loaded with a Dave Matthews Band CD, so I grabbed the remote and switched it on. I knew that if I turned it up too loud, my mom would come knock on my door to turn it down, so I kept it just low enough that I could hear the opening snare drum and guitar of #41 play. That song always helped me focus on a wall of nothingness. As the song played on, I could feel the familiar waves of sleep wash over me.
2
“Allie! Let’s go!” Amy screeched from the bottom of the stairs.
“Shit!” I blurted out, as I jumped out of bed and pulled on my jean skirt and t-shirt, ran the braided belt through the loops, and slid into my Birkenstocks. Then I ran for the door, grabbed my backpack and field hockey bag, and stopped by the bathroom to brush my teeth before racing down the stairs.
“Seriously?” Amy said in disgust. “How do you sleep through that alarm every morning? I swear you could sleep through an earthquake. If I’m going to drive you to school every day, you’re going to have to get up earlier. I’m tired of you always making me late. I can’t wait for your car to be done in the shop so you can drive yourself and be as late as you want. Here,” she said as she shoved a blueberry bagel with cream cheese into my hand and then walked out the door. “Eat it in the car. Let’s go!”
I put the bagel in my mouth and held it there as I climbed in the car, clicked the seatbelt, and raked my fingers through my hair. Good enough.
“You’re so lucky, you have the most amazing hair,” Amy said, as we made our way up the steep hill to the main road and turned right at the stop sign onto Mooreland Road.
“Well, I’m jealous of your tan skin. I wish I were able to tan like you,” I said, as I looked down at my fair legs and longed for them to be golden brown like Amy’s.
“Whatever, your skin is so beautiful, just wait, one day you’ll appreciate it.” Amy was always good at keeping my self-esteem in check.
We pulled into the school parking lot of Country Town Prep and found a spot near the soccer fields, even though there were still plenty near the front of the lot. I knew Amy parked there because she liked to watch the soccer team practice after school.
“You’re so predictable,” I said, as I gathered my things and got out of the car.
“And you’re so boring, all you care about is field hockey. When are you going to start noticing boys?”
Amy made top grades and had already been accepted to the University of Virginia on a full academic scholarship for the fall. My mom was proud of her. Meanwhile, I made B’s and C’s, but was the youngest student to ever make the Varsity Field Hockey team. By the time I was in the 9th grade, I was the captain of the team, yet my mom had never attended a game. She remained unimpressed, even though I was likely going to go to college on a full-ride athletic scholarship. Academics weren’t really my thing.
We walked quickly down the long sidewalk to the Upper School building, and I pulled open the heavy glass doors to the locker hall. It was filled with a gauntlet of teal green slamming metal doors as everyone grabbed their books for the day. I found locker 317, which was a tornado of my books and messy papers. Most kids had decorated the insides of their lockers with pictures of boy bands, mirrors, or fuzzy stickers, but mine was bare. That’s how little I cared about school. I shut my locker, spun the lock, and zipped up my backpack.
As I walked down the hallway, I counted the blue and green alternating squares on the floor to avoid eye contact with others. I made it my mission to make it through my days at school without being noticed or drawing attention to myself. That’s why I always sat in the back of the class to avoid being called on, because it made my chest feel like it was going to cave in. I arrived at my first period, French class. It was my favorite. Madame Holly always mixed me up with my sister and called me Amy, but I didn’t mind because I knew who she meant. She had been doing it since the 7th grade, and at this point, I had let it go on so long that it had become a joke to see if I could graduate before she noticed.
I walked through the door and glanced around the room to see that my usual seat in the back was taken. Damn. I quickly scanned the room to see that the only seat left was next to a tan boy with dark waves of hair that I had never noticed before. My heart was already beating a little faster at the possibility of class participation, but with no other choice, I made my way to the seat and sat down to get my homework and books out. Suddenly, I heard a tap on my desk and looked up.
“Hey.”
“What?” I blurted out. “Sorry, hey?” I replied as a question because I had no idea who he was.
“Do you know where we are?” he whispered with a smile.
“Yeah, French class,” I whispered back, and then he reached over and grabbed the bottom corner of my book. Surprised by his nerve, I yanked my book away and glared back at him. “Excuse you!”
“I’m just wondering where we are in the book, no need to be rude,” he said with wide eyes. He looked surprised by my annoyed reaction.
