Forever & Always

Chapter 3

Speaking of football players, our third stop on the high school social tour are the jocks, including football players who's main goals are to get in as many girls' pants as possible (because what do they care about college and academics, they've got athletic scholarships...if only they had brains too...), lacrosse bros (who you can spot off the field because at some point, they all decided that hats backwards, Vineyard Vines shirts and that look of "My father will hear about this" are the proper attire when not suited up for a match), tennis players (who actually are, most of the time, the smartest people in school...no correlation, just an observation), and the baseball players (the happy medium between the douchey lacrosse kids and the dense as a wall football player: just as much ego as a "lax bro", and just a hair bit more intelligent than their pigskin throwing counterparts). 

Following them are the emo kids. The ones that dress in all black, almost every part of their bodies are covered in tattoos and piercings and they talk about death a lot. I can't really judge them. Middle school was cruel to them, and in high school they stopped giving a fuck about other people's opinions about them, so they were on their own. Plus, they kind of scared me, so I'm not about to talk shit on people that are fascinated by death. 

The goths are followed by the band kids and by extension, the music kids in general. They are always a mixed bag. Choir kids can be really stuck up or really dramatic or really nice, depending on who you are talking to. Orchestra kids seem to hold a grudge against everyone because they play third to the band and choir when people talk about the music department. And the band is like the choir, always a mixed bag. You could have a really nice, smart band kid, but you could also be talking to one of the ones that sleeps around in the tuba section so much that it seems like incest because of how much time is spent on band camp. You just never know. 

Then, finally, you have the rest of the general population, like myself, that had one goal in mind: blend in. Once again, as if it were some unwritten rule, the moment someone stands out as different, there's an issue, so we are taught early that we need to fit to a certain standard. Us normal people do our best to get done what we need to do to get done, keep our heads low, and if we're lucky, get to walk home knowing you made it through the day completely invisible. That's high school for you. The land of (the death of) opportunity. 

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I made it past a sea of people to get through the front door. By the time I made it inside, I felt like I had just parted the Red Sea, except when Moses did that, he was trying to save people. In my case, I was on my way to the mortal world's equivalent of hell on Earth. Nothing makes sense in high school. And it doesn't matter which high school you go to, the stagnant smell of stifled hopes and dreams lingers throughout all hallways in a secondary education building. It's true! I followed the small, engraved signs posted on the walls to get to the main administration office. I needed a copy of my class schedule and my locker assignment before my day could truly start. 

After a couple of twists and turns, I found the tiny little office on the opposite side of the building from the main entrance. Was that counterproductive, to have them be so far apart from each other? Yes, but like I said, nothing makes sense in high school. I walked into the heavily fragranced office and walked up to the main secretary, who at the moment was on the phone with someone. She glared at me over her cliche librarian glasses when I came in, and she wasn't even talking to whoever she was on the phone with. She just looked like she was about to fall asleep with the phone in her hand. I figured I should just wait, so I stood there while she remained in that position, looking down while apparently listening intently, and then stealing glances up to glare at me again. 

After what seemed like ten minutes, she pulled the phone away from her mouth and said, "What exactly do you need?" 

I leaned over and said quietly, "I'm new and I need my schedule and my locker number and combination."