Song of a Sophomore

CHAPTER 33 - Dreams

Six months later

The carpet scratched against my legs as I sat at the front of the classroom before a flickering analog television set. The 1992 film adaptation of the classic novel Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte played from a VCR tape. It was one of my favorite stories, although it filled me with a longing and loss I could not quite wrap my teenage brain around. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Leo standing up and walking to his desk. It was nearly time for us to pack up our things and leave seventh period English. At the front of the school, a bus would be waiting to transport the Meadow Wood High Forensics team to the district competition.

I waited for him to leave the classroom before I got up and walked to my desk to collect my things. Oddly, my English book lay open on my desk to the poem, "To the Virgins, Make Much of Time." I raised a suspicious eyebrow and read the opening stanza:

Gather 'ye rosebuds while ye' may,
Old time is still a flying
And the same flower that smiles today,
To-morrow will be dying.

A smile tickled the corners of my mouth as I recalled Leo's smooth talking and even smoother dancing at the masquerade ball. It felt like ages ago. I avoided talking to him since our fight the morning after the dance, except for the occasional group project where we were forced to interact for academic purposes. I could tolerate that on occasion. Today, he would ride the bus with me to the Forensics competition and I hoped he wouldn't try to rekindle our friendship--if you could call it that. He was still the same old jerk obsessed with climbing the social ladder and flirting with all the ladies. I planned to keep my distance, as usual.

When I flashed the teacher my early dismissal pass, he waved me on and went back to grading papers. I wandered into the empty hallway and stopped at my locker, put in my combination, and popped open the door. A small mirror hanging inside bounced my reflection back to me, and, for the first time in a long time, I liked the person staring back at me. Under the mirror hung a photograph of four smiling girls: Jordan, still looking a little like the singer Lisa Loeb in her cool cat eye glasses; the strawberry blonde beauty with brains Courtney, who was my biology lab partner and confidante on the J.V. cheerleading squad; Sam, the drama diva and clarinet player with a fiery personality and dyed burgundy hair to match; and me. They were my new tribe of friends. Real ones. The kind that pass notes in the hallway, giggle about boys, and have sleepovers.

I slammed locker shut and quickly adjusted my outfit, a preppy, pastel purple ribbed cardigan with short sleeves and a flared polyester skirt almost the same color, and white, open-heeled loafers with chunky high heels—and speed-walked out to the front of the school. Luckily, the shiny yellow school bus rattled right there at the flagpole with the door open. I passed a row of blossoming dogwood trees and leapt inside.

"Good afternoon, miss," the wrinkled and gray man driving the bus said with a nod as I climbed aboard. "Take a seat."

I searched for an open spot. Any spot would do, as long as it was far away from Leo Goodwin. I spotted him sitting in the middle of the bus on the right side. As if he could sense my stare, Leo raised his head and the shock of his gaze shot down my spine like electric current. I dove into the first open seat I saw.

That was close.

The bus rumbled out of the parking lot. A substitute teacher, who looked well beyond retirement age, sat behind the aging bus driver, snoring. Mrs. Tuttle was not back from maternity leave yet—the baby came two weeks late, a healthy little boy nearly ten pounds and all red in the face like his father. For the past month, I practiced my speech with the substitute after school on Wednesdays, but it wasn't the same. The sub had a theater background and coached me to use more inflection, well-timed pauses, and hand gestures.