The Girl Who Wore Jordans

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

       It was Dylan.

       “Hi…” I said, noticing that his basic style hadn’t changed very drastically from Saturday morning to now. He had on a pair of scuffed up jeans, a T-shirt, and Jordans.

       “Holy crap, you look fucking different,” Dylan observed. “What the hell happened?”

       “Eh. Everything was packed away,” I half lied.

       “Oh no. Please don’t tell me that this is how you normally dress,” he groaned. I shrugged my shoulders, my eyes darting about at the stares and gaping mouths sent my way. What a fun day this’ll be!

       “Where’s room five-twelve?” I asked.

       “Down that hallway,” he said, pointing.

       “Thank you,” I said, walking in the direction he had pointed to.

       “Wait, wait, wait!” he said, coming along side me. “You’re in homeroom 512?”

       “Uh… I think so,” I said, amazed that this school had lacked all creativity and originality to name the homerooms after the number of the room in which they were held. Last year, the different homerooms were named after different animals found in the state. I was in the longhorn one. Yeah, I still don’t have a clue what a longhorn is...

       “Oh shit. Babe, I hate to break it to you, but that’s the bitch homeroom,” he said, patting my shoulder in consolation.

       “Excuse me?” I said, as we made our way down the hall.

       “All the bitches are in that homeroom,” he said.

       “I don’t get it…”

       “There’s a group of girls, you’ll meet them, and they’re bitches. The teachers group them together because one year they were broken up and complained to their parents. It was a whole thing,” he explained.

       “Oh…” I said simply, looking at the plastic numbers placed on the centers of the doors as we passed them.

       “Look Liz, I know you’re hot and all, but please, don’t become one of them,” he said. I had to roll my eyes at that one, not that I think he noticed, but come on! Calling me hot? No. When I was a freshman, some idiot had the audacity to call me hot, and I told him I wasn’t a temperature, and then I socked him in the eye. We didn’t talk after that incident.

       “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. “By the way, I know I’m the new girl and all, but why are people giving looks as though they want to kill me?”

       “One, you’re hot, and they’re jealous. Two, who are you walking with right now?” he said.

       “Uh… you,” I answered, unsure of how this related to the resentful looks I was receiving.

       “Who am I?”

       “Dylan…” I said, still very confused.

       “You know what, let’s start over, and reintroduce ourselves,” he stated, nodding his head as if to agree with himself.

       “Okay…” I said, silently searching for room 512 as if my life depended on it, which at this point, it just may have.

       “You start,” he said.

       “Umm… I’m Elizabeth Turner; the new girl who hates labels,” I said, realigning the backpack that was weighing heavily on my shoulder.