Becoming Anne Again

Chapter Twelve

So here it is, a super long chapter, so I'm sorry if that bothers some of you xD To be honest this is probably one of my favorite characters, and I get to introduce to you one of my favorite supporting characters in here :)

Anne wanted to feel strange in her new clothes, a fresh pair of jeans and a ruffled, lacey shirt. Despite Marilla's insistence that Samantha not coddle Anne, she had bought the clothes nonetheless, and brand new, teal converse sneakers that went well with her eyes—real converse sneakers. She liked to think she had gotten accustomed to her life of ragged tee shirts and musky jeans, but when she did her hair up in a crown braid, she felt the closest to pretty that she had ever felt.

She was not pretty, of course. She knew she was too skinny, had freckles all across her face that was nothing like the creamy skin of beautiful girls. And she hated her red hair.

But that would have to do.

"It's going to be okay," Matthew said, gently putting a hand on Anne's shoulder. "These things tend to work out somehow."

"I don't know," Anne said, biting her lip. "They don't seem to work out for me."

Matthew wasn't exactly sure what it was he was supposed to say at that point. Not that he was ever truly sure, but at that moment, even if it was Rachel Lynde Anne was talking to, Matthew was fairly sure even the town's gossip would be at a loss for words. Well, at least at a loss for words that were actually helpful at all.

Anne wasn't truly expecting him to answer; it seemed to be nothing more than a statement that was irrevocably true. So she simply stared ahead at the middle school, watching as young teenagers huddled around the building, forming cliques that Anne knew all too well. There were the girls in leggings and flower shirts, with globs of lip gloss on their lips and garish blue eye shadow. Then there were boys in low hanging sport shorts and nike sneakers that were too big for them, and girls in low cut shirts with contour on their chests to show off non-existent cleavage. There was not, however, a group for orphan teenagers caught in the system.

"Well, I'll be thinking about you," Matthew said slowly, and Anne responded with a simply nod. If she thought very hard, and truly let her imagination run wild, than the brick building was full of all sorts of imaginative things—and perhaps teachers were working undercover for the FBI, completing some top secret mission, like maybe trying to find a Russian spy in their midst.

But that wasn't true, and Anne sighed as she shouldered her backpack. "Okay. Are you going to pick me up?"

"Yeah," Matthew said, gripping the steering wheel as she stepped out of the car, gripping tightly onto the straps of the backpack. "Are you going to be alright."

"Yeah," Anne replied, looking over at Matthew, and because she felt she should, she faked a smile. "Bye."

"Bye, Anne!"

She nodded again, before forcing herself to walk towards the school. She kept her head up, her chin jutted out as she stared at the building.

"Hey. Hey you!" Anne could see the girl from the corner of her eye, a slim girl with blonde hair piled up on her head in a messy bun. When she opened her mouth, she revealed purple braces, but that didn't seem to bother her as she had the most delightful eyeshadow palette filled with purple colors that could form great gradients. These were, of course, applied by her sister, but semantics.

Anne rolled her eyes, turning around, because truly she wasn't afraid of blonde girls with purple braces and eyeshadow to match. "Yes?"