Chameleon

Prologue

The car hits a bump, and my hot tea spills on the carpeted floor. I move my feet ASAP to avoid it.
"Shit," I mutter.
Mom looks at me through the rearview mirror. "What was that?"
I groan. "Nothing, Mom."
She looks back at the road, and I mouth another swear word as I scoop up my backpack and set it down on the empty seat beside me. It flops over against the opposite window. I pull my jacket off my shoulders and set it down over the tea spill, pushing it down with my feet to help soak up the liquid.
It can't be that cold, I think. It'll be fine.
Mom hits another bump, and we pull into the driveway of WellBrookes High School. I look the place up and down. Not too different from East Pond, or Luis, or any of the other schools I've been to. It's tall, probably 3 stories, with brick walls and double glass front doors. The sign above the doors says WellBrookes High School.
I sigh. Here we go again. I find the strength in me to pull myself from my seat, forcing away the feeling of dread invading my stomach as I climb out of the car with my backpack.
Mom smiles at me. "Are you ready, sweetie?"
I give her a half-grin; it's all I can manage at 7:00 in the morning. "Yep. Prepped and ready."
"Just call me when you're ready to go home, okay?"
"Can't you just pick me up at carpool?"
"Your principal emailed me. Clubs start today. Try to join one, okay? You've got no hobbies whatsoever."
"Damn, Mom," I say, thinking about the many sketchbooks and journals filled with bullshit stacked up in my room.
"Sorry to say it, honey, but you don't. Most kids your age are doing extracurricular activities every day after school. They've got a community."
"Please. Most kids my age spend all their time thinking about sex. And it's kind of hard to find a community when I'm constantly changing mine."
Mom purses her lips, gripping the steering wheel and staring at the road. "Go ahead inside. I don't want you to be late on your first day."
I sigh again, defeated. Another classic Mom-Doesn't-Want-To-Talk-About-It maneuver. I sling my backpack over one shoulder and slam the car door shut. I begin to make my way through the crowd of people heading into the school, avoiding eye contact by staring at my shoes.

The second bell rings as I sit down in one of the empty desks, trying to ignore the feeling that everybody's watching and judging me. I become "the new kid" at least once a year. It's nothing new; I always feel like the odd one out. It's like when you wake up and there's just one hair sticking up off your head. I'm that annoying-ass hair.
The teacher, a tall, thin blonde woman, walks in and stands before the class. She leans against her desk and folds her hands in front of her. She doesn't smile. Not once. Her round thin-rimmed glasses add to her intense, scary look. "Good morning, students." She scans the classroom without moving her head, saying, "I'm seeing mostly familiar faces, except..." She pauses on me. "You."
I feel the entire classroom's eyes all turn to me. I freeze, my face going red.
The teacher narrows her eyes at me. "Your name, miss?"
I clear my throat, but my words still come out scratchy. "Allie. Saldana."
"Well, Ms. Saldana, my name is Mrs. Delie."
"Her sandwiches be ass, though," one boy snickers from the back of the room.
Mrs. Deli doesn't seem amused. "Hilarious, Darian. Perfect way to get on my bad side on the first day. Now," she turns back to me. "Do you have your schedule?"
I nod and lift up the piece of paper from my desk for her to see. It's crumpled at the edges from me squeezing it when I'm nervous.
"Perfect," Mrs. Delie approaches me and snatches it from my fingers. She examines it, then looks to one of the girls in the front row. "Lana, come sit beside Allie. The two of you have the same schedule, evidently, and I'll need you to help her find each of her classes."
The girl, a blonde with brown eyes, stands up and picks up her backpack. "Yes, ma'am." She sits down in the seat beside me and thrusts her hand at me. "Lana. Pleased to meet you."
I shake her hand awkwardly, hoping that my palm isn't sweating. "Hi. Allie."
"I know."
Mrs. Delie slams my schedule back down on my desk. "I said to show her to her classes, Lana, not to chat."
"Sorry."
"Thank you."
She walks back to the front of the classroom and starts the lesson.

Once it's over, I get up, shove my schedule into my back pocket and leave the room, knowing that I have free period next. I find my locker and start to zone out while staring at the open door.
I snap out of it when someone slams the locker beside mine. I gasp and look over. I relax when I just see another student there. She's short, with brown hair and blonde highlights. She wears glasses and has thin lips—like, extremely thin.
"Sorry," I say in response to the questioning look she's giving me. "Just...got startled."
She shrugs. "Are you new or something?"
"Um, yeah, actually, I'm Allie."
"Hm. That explains a lot. May. Lovely to meet you." She pops a bubble in her gum and walks off down the hall.
I turn around to see Lana from first period English there, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. "What was that about?"
"I honestly have no idea."
"Good. Y'know, a year ago, she had sex with a teacher."
I pause from putting a notebook in my locker. "Oh...okay, then."
Lana nods. "Mm-hm. Disgusting, right?"
"That's..." I breathe out through circled lips, making a "hoo" sound. "Yeah."
I turn around, but look over my shoulder to say to Lana, "I'm gonna go check out the auditorium. There's not a class in there right now, is there?"
Lana shakes her head. "No."
"Nice," I say, closing my locker and speeding down the hall. I hear Lana ask if i need directions, but I just have to get out of there.
You did not just make friends with a gossip, I chide myself as I practically run down the hall. I pause outside of two wooden double doors. From inside drifts a person's voice; a singer. I gingerly push the door open and step inside. The auditorium. A girl is standing on the stage, belting her heart out. I feel my jaw drop and my eyes widen as I watch her.
She's pretty, too. Curly copper-colored hair and icy blue eyes. The front of her hair is pulled back to make a half-up, half-down bun, and her face is freckled at the cheeks. She wears overalls over a striped T shirt. Her light skin is illuminated by the light from the tech box built into the wall on the opposite wall from her. She looks into it, closing her eyes to hit higher notes. The stage is cluttered with boxes and equipment, but the way she sings, she might as well be on Broadway.
She finishes her song, and I stand there in awe.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles; a cute smile, excited, energetic, puppy dog smile. Then she notices me and gasps. "I-sorry, I was just...sorry." She leans over and tries and fails to lift a large speaker.
I rush up the stairs to the stage to help her. I scoop the speaker into my arms. "Why are you apologizing?" I ask. "That was amazing."
Her face goes red. "Oh. Really? Thanks. I'm just...well, I'm not supposed to be in here singing," she laughs a bit, making me smile.
She picks up a cardboard box and motions for me to follow her into the wings. "I'm Genevieve, by the way."
"Allie," I say, setting the speaker on the platform beside her box. "Do you go here?"
She shakes her head, shoving one hand in her pocket. "Nope. Just volunteer work. And you?"
"Just started today," I admit. "Are you here often?"
She shrugs. "Depends. I go where there's work to be done. Wellbrookes needed it's auditorium cleaned out. I think they're redoing it or something."
We walk back into the stage and pick up more boxes, placing them onto the platform.
I set my fifth box down on the platform. "So, where do you go?"
"What?"
"What school do you go to," I clarify.
"Oh. I'm homeschooled. How about you?"
I raise an eyebrow at her, and she laughs. "Oh. Right. Here. Sorry."
"You seem to apologize quite a bit," I point out.
Her face reddens. "Oh, yeah. That's just how I am."
I grin. "Cool."
Once all of the boxes and equipment are on the platform, I help her push it out the back door, down the ramp, and into the parking lot, where two men in coveralls thank us and load the platform into the back of a truck.
I check my phone. "Crap, I gotta go," I tell Genevieve. "Class starts in 3 minutes, and I still have to find the classroom."
"What class do you have next?"
"Um..." I pull my schedule out of my pocket. "History with Mr. Ramsey."
She smiles. "Once you leave the auditorium, head straight, take a left, it's the third door on your right."
I widen my eyes, then raise an eyebrow. "You don't go here?"
"No, I helped Mr. Ramsey with something a few months ago."
"Oh," I say. "Well, I guess I'll see you around?"
"Sure," Genevieve says. She winks. "If you're lucky."
I feel my face flush as I turn and run down the stage steps and out of the auditorium.
I thought about Genevieve a lot since that day. Funny, considering how much she was about to matter.