Uno

Chapter One

Put on your happy face, in seven hours you'll be home, eating ice cream with your best friends. I think to myself. I knew the moment I broke my alarm clock trying to shut it up that today was going to be one of those days where I just want to say, “Screw it, kids, take out your iPods or whatever, we're not doing anything today.” But nooooo, there's a 'curriculum'.

“Hey guys! Sorry I'm late!” I say, rushing into the classroom just as the intercom beeps for the Pledge of Allegiance. After that, the announcements, and attendance. This is my first year teaching, and I guess I love it. When I was fourteen I wrote a poem that I can recite to this day, and its actually what today's lesson is about: dreams. This is sort of part of the curriculum, it's going to be writing skills, but my way.

I write out the poem on the board in black dry erase board marker.

“I want to fall in love for just a day,

but then ride from him after a passionate kiss in the pouring rain

off into storm I'll mourn for my lost lover,

but then I'll just find myself another.

I want to fall in love with the city streets

find beauty in every swirling oil leak.

Then when I become to attached,

rip myself away and force my wings to flap.

I want to fall in love with the salty sea breeze

and lounge under shady palm trees

but then when the beauty of the sunset becomes too much

I'll fly until I can't feel the heat's lingering touch.

I want to fall in love with the Northern lights

and gaze at them for endless nights

until they've lost their luster and shine

and I'll soar away until they're no longer mine.

I want to fall in love with the land and the seas

but someday when my wings lose their feathers and my eyes lose their gleam,

I'll no longer be able to fly.

Just Stuck. Sedentary. Waiting to die.

I'll miss my lover,

and relive our kiss in the rain,

I'll miss the city with a smog cover,

and the sounds of whistling trains.

I'll miss the sunsets

painted in orange and red,

with many regrets,

I'll miss the green dancing lights overhead.

In my last days I'll have one wish in my heart,

That I could be immortal, never have to depart.

After I've seen everything in the world I could wait,

settle down for once, watch the world change.

In a few hundred years I'd have an entire new place to roam,

New things to love, new things to loath.

But I know I could never wait all that time,

my heart wouldn't allow it, this wandering heart of mine.”

The kids take notice of my writing and I turn around, capping the marker.

“Dreams. Not the sleeping kind,” I say, rapping the marker lightly on Jason, who's sleeping, head, “But goals, things you want so bad they make your heart hurt. I wrote the poem that's on the board when I was a freshman in high school, fourteen years old. In the middle of Algebra, over my notes. I had and have too many dreams for one lifetime, it's a problem,” I laugh, “and one of them, was to actually be up here, talking to you guys. Well, not you specifically, I really didn't know you existed then. Wait, did you even exist? Oh god! I sound so old! Please, tell me when I sound old. If you couldn't tell,” I gesture to the poem, “I'm afraid of growing up. But I want you all to read the poem, write it down if you want, but today I want you all to write something about dreams. It can be a poem, a short story, an essay if you want to be boooooring, anything, really. Talk about your dreams though.” I say, a few hands go up.

“Cassie?” I call on one girl.

“What if you don't have any dreams?”

“Everyone has dreams, I promise.” I answer, “Just think really, really hard about what you want.” They all look at me blankly. “You need examples, don't you?” They nod. “Fine, you're all going to know me too well after this.” I turn to the board and write a list of my dreams:

Publish a book (I put a little triumphant check next to that one)

Travel the world

Become a teacher

Fall in love

Don't get boring

Keep my friends that are worth keeping

Have said book become a best-seller

Have said best-seller be turned into a movie

Don't become a cat lady

“So how's that for you? It's almost like a bucket list.” I say, and I see one girl, Hayden, has her hand up. She reminds me of how I was when I was in eighth grade. Quiet, but the potential to be loud, average looks, but will grow up to be pretty, nose in a book, a few really close friends.

“Hayden?” I call on her.

“Is this your book?” She asks, holding up a book. My mouth drops open, “OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!” I scream, running over to her. “What part are you at? Who's your favorite character? Do you like it? It's not awful, right?” She laughs a little, but it's February, they're used to my antics. She opens up the book to where she is, near the beginning, two of the characters haven't even met the other six.

“My favorite so far is Wren, for the guys, but my favorite girl so far is Airborne, she's just really easy to relate to.”

“My favorites changed so much as I was writing it.” I laugh. “Sorry! Off topic, focus, Sophie, focus. So those are examples of dreams, they don't have to be major, like becoming a super star, they can be small, like getting a 4.0 average in high school.”

The door opens, “What's all the yelling?” Brooklyn asks.

“Sorry, Miss Anderson, Hayden here is reading a very special book called One of Eight.” I say, grinning.

“You're joking!” Brooklyn says, smiling too, she rushes over to Hayden, “What part are you at? Who's your favorite character? Do you like it? 'Cause Nox-”

“Shush!” I say, clapping my hand over her mouth, “She's not at that part yet!”

The students are used to our bestfriendism, as I dubbed it in eighth grade. I actually made it a vocab word and put it on a test: Bestfriendism- noun- 1.) when you and your best friend are being awesome. 2.) Your best friend is also called a bestfriendism, like organism but for friends. Brooklyn and I have been friends since sixth grade, though we're not really sure what happened, because it was a gradual thing then, unlike my friend Alicia and I. We met in kindergarten and her friend (also my friend at the time) and I had done a puzzle and she offered to help clean it up. It was pretty much instantaneous from then on.

“You're getting paint on the desks!” I say when she lifts her hand and I see a blue splotch on it.

“Oh, I am? Sorry, I'll go now!” Brooklyn's the art teacher.

“You have your stuff right? For the sleepover?”

“Duh.” She says, and then closes the door.

“So, get to work! If you have any questions just ask me.” I say and sit down at my desk. I look around at the students and wonder what all of them are thinking, what their secrets are. I've always been like that, I'd look at a couple holding hands walking down the street and then this is how my thoughts would go: Aw, they're so cute! I wonder how long they've been together. I wonder if he's cheating. I wonder if they've done it yet.

I seriously would think like that, I'd try to get every detail out of the backs of their heads and their fingers. I'm a strange one.

The day goes by and I teach half a class more, which is split by lunch. I head down to the teachers room and rummage around in the fridge for my lunch.

“Hey Sophie.” A voice says.

“Hi Gilbert.” I sigh. Gilbert is a seventh grade math teacher, he's married and forty-nine and has been trying to get in my pants, and in today's case, pencil skirt, since the first day. Curse this pencil skirt, I'm sure he's getting a nice view from behind me while I'm bent over looking in the fridge. But if I squat I won't be able to get back up. Why am I so unathletic? Oh that's right, because I'm lazy. I finally find my lunch and look up to see Amanda walking in.

“Amanda! My savior!” I let slip, clapping my hands over my mouth and giggling. Gilbert didn't seem to notice though. Amanda is the school guidance counselor, she's been my friend since eighth grade, and having been through a lot when we were younger, she wanted to help kids who might have the same problem.

“Hey, Sophie, I was wondering if you wanted to go out this weekend.” Gilbert asks, grabbing my attention again. Normally I'd make up an excuse about how I was busy, but finally it's the last time he'll ask.

“Gil, you're a nice guy, but you're old enough to be my dad and you're married. I'm sorry, but maybe you should take your wife out.” I reply. He looks downcast, “You're right.”

It's kind of a nice change from my school days, being wanted. No one liked me in middle school, and I got my first boyfriend in junior year of high school, we stayed together until the middle of senior year when he wanted to seal the deal and I wasn't ready for that, and so he broke up with me. I might've said yes had he not pulled me into the janitor's closet in the four minute amount of time we have between classes, I mean, what does that have to say? Our first time in a janitor's closet during school for less than four minutes? And when I described it to my friends, I believe I used the term, “Haaaaaaiiiil to the naw.”

But then in my senior year I got really pretty. (I mean, I didn't think so, but a lot of people told me so.) I didn't date anyone, because I had really liked him, but for prom a popular guy asked me. Me! I seriously almost screamed when he asked me, but I managed to not. I said yes, but we didn't stay together, I had already been accepted to Southern Maine University with Brooklyn and he was going to like, Ohio or something for football.

And then college, oh college me was quite different from high school me. In short, I was a w***e. I mean, I had standards though, I'd date the guy first, but it actually did cause a big rift between Brooklyn and I for the first year of college, but eventually I got used to the freedom and toned it down. Though she still refused to be my roommate again in sophomore year. God, that's mortifying. I honestly can't even remember all their names. Wow, that's really terrible.

My face must turn red as I'm eating because Amanda asks, “What are you thinking about?”

“My college years.” My ears burn. She laughs, “Don't talk about it til the sleepover! It's time your... expeditions were discussed, it has been two years since we were in college.”

“That's a nice word for it: expeditions.” I laugh.

The door bursts open, “I'M HEEEEERRRREEE!” Lyndsey bellows, throwing out her arms.

“I've noticed.” I laugh. Next to arrive is Brooklyn and Melanie, who is actually married now to her boyfriend since eighth grade, Joe. Then Amanda, Hannah, and finally Kaylee. There's one face we're all missing, Courtney. But she moved to New Hampshire in the summer going into sophomore year, visited a lot that year, then in junior year less, and in senior year not at all, maybe once or twice for birthdays. And then she went to California to go to college to become a forensic scientist, but we still miss her.

In freshman year of high school, Lyndsey had gone to another high school, and we didn't hang out as much, but by junior year, we all had a mid- high school crisis simultaneously and slept over Hannah's grandparents house, which really got us close again. We all sit around the living room of my condo eating junk food.

“Oh my god, you know who I saw the other day?” Lyndsey squeals.

“Who?” I ask.

“Jared Robert!”

“No way!” Kaylee laughs, “Remember when he asked me out by going down on one knee in eighth grade and I laughed?”

“That's all I could picture when we were talking.” Lyndsey laughs.

“What's he like?” Brooklyn asks.

“He's... beardy.” Lyndsey decides.

“Beardy?” Amanda asks, laughing.

“Yup, like a ginger version of Santa Claus.” She cackles, clutching her stomach while laughing.

“You've got to be kidding!” Hannah laughs. Lyndsey shakes her head, laughing wordlessly.

“Oh my god, I can't stand it. Find him on Facebook or something, I need to see this.” Kaylee says gaspingly. Lynsdey opens her laptop and soon she finds a picture, which all sends us reeling into laughter again, rolling around on the floor.

“He so does look like Santa!”

“Oh my god, Sophie totally verbally b***h-slapped Gilbert, you know, the creepy guy that looks like Mr. Sweet from seventh grade, today at lunch, it was hilarious.” Amanda says.

“I did not verbally b***h-slap him! I merely told him nicely to f**k off.” I laugh. “His wife is one unlucky woman.”

“Oh, Sophie, you're expeditions?” Amanda reminds me.

“Oh god. We're going to need some alcohol for this.” I laugh, getting up and getting the margarita shaker from the freezer. Another thing Brooklyn and I discovered in college: being drunk. The first time sucked. We threw up on the same guy, both flirting with him, simultaneously. But then, it brought Brooklyn out of her shell, and eventually she was out of her shell all the time, she's a very happy, very confident sober Brooklyn.

I bring in the drinks and sit down.

“So... College. I have never told you guys this but, I, uh-” I start.

“You were a s**t?” Brooklyn helps.

“Yup, pretty much.” I laugh, taking a sip.

“Whoa whoa whoa, what do you mean by 's**t', exactly.” Mel asks, practically choking on her drink.

“I moved out of our dorm. Neither of us got any sleep, though for different reasons.” Brooklyn laughs, still a little bitter about the lack of sleep she got those few months.

“No way! We always said it was going to be the quiet one!” Kaylee laughs, doing her clapping thing that she does.

“Told you I'm not the ho of the group!” Lyndsey says.

“Wait, Brooklyn, how much of a s**t?” Hannah asks.

“Let's just say I never met the same guy twice...” She laughs at my embarrassed face. “Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't jump Gilbert right there.”

“EW! EWWWWW! Oh that's gross!” I squeal, covering my face. “Make that go away! Make me think of something better!”

“GILBERT'S PENIS!” Kaylee shouts in my ear over and over again, making us all collapse into fits of laughter.

“I need another drink.” I say, once I catch my breath, “I need to forget that image. Hannah, you sure you don't want one?” I ask, she hadn't wanted any when I first got them.

“No thanks.”

“Are you sure? C'mon, its fun!” Lyndsey urges.

“Peer pressure!” Brooklyn shouts, cackling.

“Fine! Fine! I guess I have to tell you...” Hannah sighs, “I'm... pregnant.”

I'm pretty sure Australia could've heard our scream.

Author's Note

welp, this is pretty much us in a nutshell. I'm not a slut, but I seriously think I will be. I don't plan on being, i feel like its just going to happen and there's nothing I can do about it.
reviews please!

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A very interesting opening chapter. Started with description of hope and ended with a pregnant girl. Where do you take this tale now? Thank you for sharing the excellent opening chapter.
Coyote

[Amanda]

Like we always say, it's always the quiet ones.
Umm i remember aving something comment on but I forgot while I was reading, so...yeah :)

JUAN THE TACO

[M Garcia]

Interesting. I hope to read more