first day

I REMEMBER the first day of third grade, when we have moved from Bethel, Maine to Richfield, Connecticut where we lived for eight years. My mother, Heather Singer, took me to school that day, and I was so nervous in my pink sweater and purple corduroys. She had been telling me I was going to make friends fast, and not to worry while she was driving me in the old family Dodge Caravan.

The school looked huge, it was a world of elementary and math and English, and I didn't think I could do it. There were kids older and smarter than me, and unfamiliar crusty teachers who didn't know me.

Before we walked into the large glass double doors, mom knelt down in front of me, and put her hands on my shoulders.

          "You, my dear..." Her green eyes stuck to mine and she tucked her long hair behind her ear. "will do great." She kissed me square between the eyes with her bright red lipstick, and led me inside. 

We met the principal, who gave me my classroom and teacher, Mrs. DeVano, and then it was time for my mom to go, and for me to go to class. The principal held me by the hand and walked me down the clean hallway, while my mother left, going through the glass doors, giving me one last wave before power walking to the car.

                                                                         

          "If you haven't notices already, we have a new student."

First period chemistry, Mr. Louts. The most I know about him so far is that he hasn't looked up from his grade book, or list of student names, or whatever he was holding yet. He was ten minutes late to class, and I was sitting in the back, where I was getting side glances from the students who've been in this school for nearly two years now, and for me, ten minutes.

          "Laurie Singer, class. Class, Laurie Singer."

I felt obligated to give a brief half-assed smile to 95% of the class that turned around to look at me, and 15% smiled back.

           "Now, moving on..."

Second period wasn't any less awkward. I saw in the back again, which was a bad decision done twice, with that weird first introduction, and the stares from strangers in the room.

I got through gym  and painting class easy where both teachers told me to sit out and wait for the next unit or project to begin. Nobody in my classes so far have cared I was here. And even through the excruciating pain of math and chemistry, painting and gym, what I dreaded most was lunchtime. Lunchtime started at 12:01 at Bratsford High School, at which time students would plow themselves into the school cafeteria, uniting with their cliques. I walked in alone, smelling that smell of undercooked french fries, peanut butter and jelly, and the over powering stench of ketchup. It was pretty much a normal high school cafeteria. Tables were scattered all over the place, and you could instantly point out the cliques.  At the far left, closest to the kitchen, there were the band geeks. Normally, one wouldn't tell they belonged to the high school band because you'd think everywhere they went they'd be holding their trombone case or drums strapped to their chest, but no. It would usually be a group that looked less than popular, besides among themselves. And what points them out more than the others is that they are always making out with each other. It's disgusting. Next to them were the juveniles, which consisted of five to ten to a large table, who'd sit closely and barely say a word to one another while they ate. Then, a giant step up, the jocks and the cheerleaders, who are always the loudest and most obnoxious at lunchtime. You'd have the guys, who are at the age where they will eat until they explode, so they buy double lunch, eating away. Then the girls, who split an Izzy drink or a bag of Chex Mix even though they are starving.

Moving on to the very far right, there were the well-respected girls who weren't nerds or popular, but liked all around.

But, I didn't want to be in here. I felt so stupid standing there watching the room with my brown paper bag. I notices a teacher watching me, like I was acting suspicious or something, and almost like instinct I pretended I was looking for someone. I scanned the room, stopping at the jocks table, squinted, and shook my head. I then scurried out of the cafeteria to find somewhere else to eat.

This school was so populated. Kids were sitting in the hallway eating their lunches, a huge swarm in the lobby; I just needed to find somewhere quiet, somewhere deserted. At first it seemed that there was nowhere I could go and keep to myself, but then I saw it. There was a long hallway with large windows spilling out of it and glowing the entire hall. I picked up my speed and walked down it, noticing the pictures of previous school plays in each one. Annie, 2001. Les Miserable, 2005.There was a mural on the wall of a marching band in green and white. Although there were a few people around the music fall, there weren't many of them, and they were in small groups. I walked past them, clutching my small paper bag and watching their eyes follow mine. The hallway got brighter as I walked further down, heading for the large window. I found my spot, under a poster of a bunch of hands reaching out for a cello, hands of all different colors. Sitting down, I opened the bag and pulled out a neatly folded sticky note.

Have a nice day, Sweetheart. 

I almost got sad then, someone as sweet as Aunt Rachel taking me in, and I just didn't want anything to do with anything. The sandwich she had made for me was turkey and cheese, and she put in a juice box and a granola bar like I was a little girl.

A girl down the hallway shrieked, and I looked down at her who had been swept up by a boy with a nose ring, who was kissing her neck. I turned away and started ripping pieces of my sandwich, chewing at intervals and swallowing slowly.

                "I don't think you should worry, Miss Singer. The material up to this point has been something you've gone over at your old school, I'd guess. Your seat is right over there," Mr. Hanna pointed at a seat in the second row on the left side of the room, squashed between people. I sat down, noticing the explicit drawing at the top of my desk, and covered it with my day planner.

              "Class, this is Laurie Singer." 

Mr. Hanna was fairly young with blond hair, and a crazy-a*s tie that was dark blue with a billion Gumbies printed on it. He seemed fun... skippy and smiley.

               "Now, kids. I want you to treat Laurie like family. 'Cause English class is one big happy family, right?"

Someone from the back shouted, "Hell no!" And everyone in the class giggled.

              "He's just joking, Laurie." Mr. Hanna said to me. "Now, I would love to spend this whole class getting to know you, Laurie, but unfortunately the district wants me to teach eleventh grade English."

The class laughed again, and I smiled nervously.

             "Partner up! I want you to discuss what you've read in Huck Finn so far! Laurie, join Gigi and her partner. You'll catch up. Ready, set, go!"

The whole class turned to the person beside or behind them, and started talking. The girl in front of me turned around and waved. Her hair was flaming red, and she had a petite, gorgeous face. If that wasn't enough, her fashion pushed all gates open. It was colors all over the place, but somehow it worked. Pink skinny jeans, white shirt, and colorful bracelets and necklaces, Kanye West glasses on her face.

         "I'm Gigi. And I have to pick another partner... Brandi!" She yelled across the room to a girl with short black hair, a piece in the front died blue. She was also pretty, and got up to walk to our group.

          "So, you're the new girl?" She asked. I could smell the Bazooka Bubblegum she was chewing.

I nodded, and tucked the hair in my face behind my ears. 

           "You'd look good with shorter hair." Brandi said, smacking on her bubblegum.

             "But getting on with the chapter discussion..." Gigi said loudly after Mr. Hanna looked over at us.

            "I haven't read the book." I said.

             "That's fine." Gigi put her Kanye glasses on the top of her head. "Me neither."

              "Ooooh," A boy from the back of the room said. He came prowling over to our desks, looking at Gigi. His hair was dark brown, like mine, and he had a Twizzler hanging out of his mouth.

             "Miss Gigi didn't read?"

              "Screw off, Jaimie." Gigi waved her hands in his face.

             "Language! He gasped, holding a hand to his chest, and somehow his speech unharmed by the long strawberry candy.

              "I read," Brandi sighed. "but didn't understand a damned word."

             "Language!" Jaimie repeated, same look on his face. He then looked at me, sort of confused.

           "Who's this?" He pointed, the other hand still on his chest.

           "Don't you listen to Mr. Hanna? Like, at all?" said Gigi.

            "None of you do, apparently." Mr. Hanna said, suddenly appearing behind me. 

He laughed, and Jaimie quietly returned to his chair.

            "Gigi, what does Huck say about his father in the chapters you've read?"

I looked at her, who was making a face like How The Hell Am I Supposed To Know?

            "Right." Mr. Hanna returned to the front of the classroom and started to review the first couple of chapters to us. 

            "So Laurie..." Gigi whispered to me. "Where are you living?" 

I made sure Mr. Hanna wasn't looking before answering. "Rain Street."

Brandi popped her gum. "Really? I think Jaimie lives there. I went to a party of his a few weeks ago for the end of summer. Hell of a party."

I looked back at Jaimie who wasn't listening to Mr. Hanna either, but talking to his friends around him. Could he possibly be...?

          "Laurie," the teacher said my name, and I jerked my attention to him.

          "Yeah?"

         "I'll give you a book at the end of class. Just read up to chapter four tonight." The bell rang, and everybody picked up their bags and stood up. "Have a nice day!"

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