Interchangeable

0.5 The Middle

High school, the bane of every teenagers' existence. Every teenager, it seemed, but me.

    I walked down the crowded hallway filled with lockers as I entered the school, observing the people around me. With summer vacation just a few days away the school seems a bit louder than it usually is, with the students rushing around like ants in an anthill. The lights overhead gave everything a yellow-green tint and gleamed off the floor's fresh wax coating that still managed to look filthy. As annoying as it is that cliches exist, my high school is one. But, then again, to give credit to cliches, they usually have some sort of basis founded on the truth.

    I glanced over by the stairs and saw the creative kids, the kids involved in theater, in graphics, yearbook, and of course, the art classes. I walked over and greeted some of them, making small talk, then continued on my way past them.

    The same thing happened as I passed by almost every other stereotype cliche, from the jocks to the nerds, I stopped to say hello as I floated around. Not one group was really my own, but yet I fit into every group. Never truly belonging to one space or another, I suppose my status could be described as 'loner' even with my social attributes.

Eventually I found my way to my locker, reaching up with my fingers to turn the dial to the right, then left, and back to the right. Lifting my finger to pull up the metal latch, the locker door creaked open. I began reaching inside for my textbook while giving everything in my locker a cursory glance to make sure that everything was how I left it. Post its and faded band stickers on the inside of the door, with books in the top cubby. Satisfied that everything was in it's place, I took my jacket off to place it on the hook.

    Suddenly a tapping grabbed my attention, my gaze turning right to see a hand with pink manicured fingernails. Following the hand to it's owner, I was unsurprised to see my best friend Olivia. Our styles often clashed, from her pink manicure to my chipped fingernail polish. I didn't really care to put an effort into my appearance like she did. We were two opposites, but she had attached herself to my side a year ago and somehow remained a constant in my life. I had met her shortly after starting to date Trent, who was in the drama club too.

    Plus, suffice to say that fitting in while always being on the outskirts in high school didn't exactly bring many close friends. Maybe I was just trying to fill an emotional need, or maybe I was just accustomed to her by now. Either way, she held the position of my best friend.

    I focused in on her expertly outlined brown eyes, signaling to her that she had my attention.

    She smiled really wide, asking, "Do you remember what tomorrow is?"

    I looked at her, knowing that it was the opening day of the school musical. I could understand why she might be excited about it, she had the lead role. But I don't understand why she was asking me, she knew that I had nothing but absolute disdain for musicals. They made me cringe and I considered them a form of torture.

    Peering into her face, sensing something hiding behind the too-wide smile, I say, "The musical. Why?"

Something akin to dread was already wrapping itself around my heart.

    "I want you to come." she answered.

    "You know how much I hate musicals. I've come to every other play that you've starred in, just let me sit this one out." I plead with her.

    "Come on. I need you there, you're my good luck charm. Besides, Trent needs you there too" she begs, widening her eyes pleadingly.

    "Okay, fine," I relent, "but I can't guarantee I will make it until the end" I caution her, giving in.