I pointed at the door behind me. “I’m the new senior? Holly McCarthy? From California?”
She stood, clapping her hands. “Oh, honey! You’re our California girl! Welcome to Redwood High! I’m Miss Morrison. You’re going to be wanting your schedule, I suppose?”
She had bouncy brown hair done up in an elaborate, poofy, wavy mess. A checkered blue headband clung to the top of her head, and she had nails that looked to be about ten inches long. She looked at me expectantly, bangs fluttering in the breeze coming from a desk fan.
“Uhm, yeah. Yes. That would be me. And I wanted to ask about a parking pass too?”
“All right, honey. We can definitely do that for you! Now, your parents and your old school sent over all your records, filled out most forms, right? But there are just a few that I need you to do. And, for that parking pass, it’s $50. You’ll need your make, model, and license plate number, too.” She continued with a flurry of information that made my head hurt. I took the papers she held out to me on a clipboard covered in stickers and pen markings. I flipped through them as she talked, telling me about the school,my schedule, and my lunch hour. I looked up at her when she paused, to find her staring at me expectantly again.
“Huh?”
“I was asking if you wanted a tour? Or I could get a student ambassador to come show you to your classes?”
“Oh, no. Thanks. I’ll figure it out.”
She nodded, “Ok, then. Go ahead and fill out those papers for me. You’ll be a bit late for first period, but I’ll write you a pass.”
I filled out the forms as quickly as I could before digging $50 out of my bag and handing everything over to her. The bell had rung at some point, and I found myself standing in an empty hallway, glaring at a glossy map of the building. A freaking map. I hate maps. I had failed geography. Twice. The first hour was English, and I decided to just start up the stairs. Worst comes to worst, if I couldn’t find the room, I could go hide on the roof. The stairs were worn from countless feet, chipped in places, and gum permanently adhering to the surface in spots. I glanced at my schedule again.
The class was in 202, which had to be on the second floor, right? My locker number was 238. So, maybe I would get lucky and they would be near each other. I huffed as I continued up the stairs. Evidently, public schools couldn’t afford elevators. Sigh. When I got to the second floor, I shoved the door open and was met with a woosh of cool air accompanied by the smell of bleach. Delightful. Each side of the long hallways was lined with doors, and glancing at the numbers next to them, I opted to go right. Sure enough, at the very end of the hall, I found 202. No hideaway roof time for me. The door was open and I could hear a man droning on about Shakespeare.
When I knocked on the door, the teacher stopped midsentence and turned to me. He was small and pudgy, a hideous tweed suit and a bulging belly pushing the buttons of his white collared shirt to the max. Every head in the room swiveled in my direction. I was quite used to being the center of attention, having lived half my life on a stage, so I looked over the curious faces to the man staring at me. He blinked owlishly at me over a pair of glasses, “Yes?”
I held my hall pass aloft like a weapon or a shield. “I’m your new student.” He eyed the pass in my hand like it might bite,then made his way to me. As he took it from me, the room was quiet except for a few errant whispers until he looked up at me again.
“Holly McCarthy?” I nodded. ‘Welcome to Redwood. I’m Mr. Brown. I believe there are a few extra seats in the back.”
In the back. Through the throng of teenagers. I nodded again, and he watched me as I picked my way through the mess of bags tossed haphazardly on the floor. A few girls looked me up and down with a sneer. Some smiled at me. The guys either completely ignored me, stared at me, or, in the case of one brave yet foolish soul, winked suggestively. I found an empty chair in the middle of the back row and plopped down in it.
Let the games begin.
Once I had my seat, Mr. Brown continued his speech on the fine qualities of Shakespearean writing. I took out a notebook and pencil, to pretend at doing something, and stared resolutely at the whiteboard. No one spoke to me. And I was just fine with that.
First and second period passed by in a blur. I made my way to my locker, navigating the cramped hallways and evidently giving enough of a fuck-off vibe that no one stopped me. My locker looked like it had been through World War Iand had the battle scars to prove it. Of course, the stupid thing wouldn’t open. I cursed at it. Kicked it. Yanked on the little handle like it owed me money. I was standing there scowling at it when an overly bright “Hello” startled me out of my staring contest with the worn red metal.
A group of girls stood behind me. Tiny skirts, tight tops. Perfectly done hair. Great. Cheerleaders. I offered them a tight-lipped smile. They were exactly the kind of girls I had been hoping to avoid. “You must be Holly!”
Another tight-lipped smile, my eyes darting around for an exit strategy. “Yup, that’s me.”
“Welcome to Redwood!”
God help me if one more person said that I was going to hurl. “Thanks.”
The girl was oblivious to my discomfort. “I’m Miranda. This is Jazzie, or Jasmine. And Taylor and Megan.” The three girls gathered behind their leader waved at me in unison, and I eyed them warily.
“Can I just say you aresopretty. Like, for real.” Miranda’s friends all nodded and I was blinded by too-white smiles. “You havegotto try out for the cheer squad. I know it’s senior year, but you’re an athlete. I can tell. I can totally make room for you. It’ll be like my little welcome gift. I’m the cheer captain.”
Yeah, no shit, Barbie. I picked that up the second you cornered me.I glanced at my watch. “Um, thank you. That’s sweet. But I’m really not a cheer type of person.”
Miranda’s fake smile faltered, and her friends stared at me like they were shocked I’d dared to turn down their queen. But she recovered quickly and reached for my hand. I jerked it back like I’d been burned. I hated being touched. After everything, it made my skin crawl. I rubbed at my hands like I could erase the feeling.Deep breaths, I told myself.You’re here. He’s there. In and out.
She nodded like she understood. Something I highly doubted. “Yeah, of course. I am so sorry. It being your first day, I’m probably just overwhelming you! Silly me. You think on it, and just let me know, ok?” She turned to her friends expectantly and held her hand out. I watched them scramble before one of them—Taylor, I think—put a pen and paper in Miranda’s hand. Miranda scribbled something on it before handing the paper to me. I took it. Reluctantly. A quick glance showed a series of digits in an elegant script. Her number.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” The lie was smooth off my lips.Now, please go away.Thankfully, they did, and I breathed asigh of relief. I had neither the time nor the energy to hunt down the cafeteria and face that fiasco, so instead I made my way to Sally. Hunkering down in the back seat, I pulled a granola bar and a bottle of water out of my bag. Not exactly a five-course meal, but it would work. I scrolled through my phone, ignoring the friend requests that my inbox was full of. People from back home, and even a few from today. Since when did passing someone in a hallway warrant friendship? Maybe I was too cynical.
I lay there for a bit. The back seat was tiny, but if I curled my knees to my chest, I could steal a moment of quiet. The sun beat through the windows, warming the black leather and filling the air with that rich, comforting scent. Mixed with the soft sweetness of my coconut air freshener, it was oddly soothing. Familiar. Safe. Just for a second, it felt like home. And it soothed my fraying nerves. My alarm went off on my phone, signaling fifteen minutes before third period. I was halfway through my day. I sighed, crawling out of the seat which stuck to my thighs.
As I dug my schedule out of the bag, my eyes found that group of now-familiar bikes. I glared at them, but was grateful that I had yet to run across their riders. Returning my attention to the crumpled paper, I scanned it for where I was to be next. Room 117, some elective I needed to graduate. I was halfway to the stairs when movement under the front alcove caught my eye.
