The Girl Who Wore Jordans

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

      “Dylan!” I yelled to the boy a few feet in front of me. He turned around and smiled, walking back over to me.

      “Hey, babe,” he said.

      “Do you know where AP Biology is?” I asked, hating the fact that I had to lift my head ever so slightly to look him in the eye. I hate it when people are taller than me.

      “Aren’t you going to get arrested for talking to me?” he asked, eluding my question.

      “No,” I shook my head.

      “Where do you need to go?”

      “AP Bio,” I repeated, hoping that I wouldn’t have to seek help of yet another individual.

      “Yeah, I think I know where that is,” he nodded. I smiled, picking up my pace so we matched strides. “So, how was your first full week at Madison? How far did it not exceed your expectations?”

      “Actually, it was good,” I said lightly, thinking back to how the week had flashed by. I had spent majority of my time with Lauren, Tara, and Alice. They were nice. Not whom I would generally choose to spend my free time with, but they were nice. A little on the strange side, but they were nice. I would’ve been more in my element talking to someone like Dylan, but I survived.

      “You’re lying,” he commented, half catching me. “On a scale of one to ten, how sucky was it?”

      “One being the suckiest?” I questioned, as we continued to walk down the long length of halls.

      “Yeah.”

      “Uh… four and a half,” I answered.

      “That good?” he asked skeptically. I laughed, as a thought crossed my mind. If Dylan knew who I really was, would we seriously be having a conversation about my week right now, or would we be talking about the best basketball players of all time? It wasn’t worth it, but what if…

      “The people here are very… nice,” I determined.

      He let out a low laugh, as his entire face was engulfed in the emotion of joy and disbelief. “No, they’re not.”

      “Maybe the ones you know aren’t, but so far I’ve only had positive interactions with others,” I said, putting the other strap of my backpack over my shoulder, something rather atypical for me.

      “Who? The three bitches and the Prince of Prepville?” 

      “Lauren, Tara, and Alice are all sweethearts, as is Eric. They’re nice,” I said, having a surprisingly strong defense to people I barely knew.

      “I’ve known each of them since kindergarten, and believe me, they’re not ‘nice’,” he said, nodding at someone as we passed.

      “They are,” I objected.

      “You’re cute, you know that?”

      “They’re nice,” I reiterated, ignoring his comment.

      “Like really cute.”

      “Shut up or I’m not going to talk to you,” I threatened.

      “Most girls would say thank you.”

      “I’m not most girls,” I said firmly.

      As we went through the multiple corridors, turning every so often, we discussed the pros and cons of the school. Dylan wasn’t a fan of the people, teachers, or institution itself. I claimed that it was an okay school with okay people and okay teachers (which was partially a lie). It wasn’t the best school in the world, but it wasn’t the worst. If I had to survive ten months, I could. It wouldn’t be that hard.