I walked briskly through the wide doorway of 331. The drafty air hit me like student loans hit a Harvard allumni. I trained my eyes to the ground and dashed to the back of the room, sliding into a grungy old desk and dropping my backpack besides me. It made a loud thump and a few heads turned around to see what had caused it. I looked at the desk. Didn't want to make eye contact, any way. There were about 13 people in here, all chatting loudly about inside jokes that I didnt understand or activities I'd never be a part of. A paper airplane wizzed over my head and I bent my head down to allow passage, as the girl who threw it ran to the back, only to throw it again. Oh joy, I thought. A girl named Veronica breezily sauntered in, carrying a low handbag made of leather and wearing a skirt that barely passed her hips. I'd like to punch her, but at the same time I wish I was as pretty, or as confident. She wore a band T-shirt of some cool hip band, that I'd pretend to like because I couldn't afford to buy the album and I didnt have time to find it on YouTube. I rolled my eyes, pretending that I was cooler. She smiled at me, oblivious to my hatred. I grinned back. What a bitch.
She sat down next to me and began doodling or something. I stiffled a laugh. Calling myself a 'talented artist' may be a little unhumbling, but it was true. I was very gifted. My binder was covered with slips of illustrated paper, pictures of crying girls and headless boys with devil horns. I drew what I felt like, and most of the time, I felt like crap. So my art reflected that quite well. My eyes slid over to her. She was contently guffawing at some boy sitting cowgirl on his chair in front of her. He had flippy hair. He had a nice smile. I wish I had a nice smile. She flipped her black hair over her shoulder. Ugh.
After tapping my pencil in symphosis for about two minutes, the teacher waddled in and slammed the door behind me, startling me. I jumped. Veronica didn't move. Neither did the lawn mower man, who I was watching from the window besides me. I didn't realize that one's pants could hang so low.
"Ampora." Mrs. Theodora droned, her throaty voice like a bullfrog in the classroom. A shallow, "here" rang from the front row. Adrian was obnoxious, to say the least. Always convinced he belonged in higher level classes. Well guess what, buddy. You didn't make the cut for Algebra 1, live with it.
"Jensen." She croaked, her big green eyes drooped over her cheekbones, a disgustingly melted structure, covered in blue eyeshadow. A phlemgy "here" came from the small girl in front of me. I didn't know her but she was very quiet.
The lawnmower man was now kicking the lawnmower. To see if it would turn on, maybe? To see if it was alive?
"Stuck." She droned, her eyes darting around like little flies in a globe.
Wait, Stuck? Thats after me. I raised my hand. Her head turned slowly to me, her body un moving the rest of the time. "Speak, Eleanor." I coughed.
"You missed me." I said. Shrinking in my chair as several people turned to look at me, Flippy hair boy and small quiet girl included. I swallowed. She looked down at her little pamphlet.
"I called your name, Stark." She hissed. "You were probebly spacing out." She smirked. I sighed. "You'll have to go explain to the office why you were missing first period." I groaned, and some front row kids made an 'oohing sound'.
Jerks.
