GLOW

(two weeks earlier) CHAPTER 1

"AARGH!"

Heads turn my way as everyone hurries to class. The warning bell rings and I know I have only two minutes to get my uniform and school books and book it (haha, get it?) to gym. Everything had been going wrong today. My egg landed on my skirt during breakfast and I had to change, falling over and bruising my shin in the process. The mascara wand had decided it wasn't going to cooperate with me, to which I said, "Pfft!" and tried to use it anyway. I could have sworn it grew fingers and jabbed me in the eye. On the way out the door, I tripped (again) over my untied shoelaces and got a new bruise on my forearm. I was almost late to the bus and had to flag it down like a hitchhiker. And now, a malfunctioning locker door? This has got to set some kind of world record for "Worst First Day of School Ever."

I hear the second bell ring as I draw my foot back for what has got to be the millionth kick. I sigh and slide down my traitorous locker door, sitting on the hallway floor. Now, on top of everything else, I'll be late to my first class?

I lean my head back and it somehow manages to find and hit the lock. "Ow!" I yelp as I turn around, only to be bashed in the face with a swinging locker door. "OWW!" My eyes start to water. The whole left side of my face is stinging and red. Oh, fun.

But at least my locker's open.

I grab my stuff and started to run to gym. Room...155? 168? My watering eyes make it hard to tell. I squint at the page, willing it to focus, then turn a corner and run headlong into...

Wow. So that's what a movie star should look like.

He has shaggy white-blond hair, perfectly tanned skin, white and straight teeth, a lean body, and dark brown eyes. I'm sure we've all met those people who seem so confident, they seem to glow from within. Oakland is just like that. He's got a sort of charisma, an irresistible pull to him.

Just like Ravenna!

My mind slips into my earliest memory, ten years ago, when I first met my best friend back in New Mexico. I had been sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair in my kindergarten classroom, puzzling over my addition work, when my teacher, Mrs. Zhang, had skipped into the classroom. I looked up at the noise to see her hold a dark hand out towards the doorway and see another girl, one with void-black hair and milk chocolate-colored eyes, walk - practically strut - into the classroom. Under normal circumstances, I would've been irked by her show of confidence, but I could tell that there was something special about her. Mrs. Zhang had clapped her hands and said, "Class, this is Ravenna Morales. She's a new student this year. I expect that you all treat her with respect, all right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Zhang," we had all chorused. Ravenna had smiled at our teacher, then skipped to the only empty seat in the classroom, which had happened to be right next to me.

My eyes followed her to my seat. The first thing she had done when she sat down was hold out her hand and say, "I'm Ravenna. What's your name?"

I had stammered out, "Esmerelda Ward." Having just watched Aladdin, I added, "You look like a baby Jasmine."

Older me cringes at that memory. She didn't - still doesn't - even look like Jasmine. Her eyes weren't big or slanted enough, and given that she was Hispanic and not Middle Eastern or South Asian, it was probably borderline racist. Thankfully, all she had done was throw back her head and laugh. Weirdly enough, her laugh hadn't sounded like the tinkling bells usually associated with a beautiful person and more like a normal person's. I had let go of a bit of the tension in my limbs after hearing her laugh, feeling relaxed enough to giggle along.

A few minutes later, we'd had to leave for lunch. The menu that day had been chili, surprisingly good chili. The only problem was that my hair had just grown past my shoulders, and it kept getting in the soup.

Ravenna had noticed my predicament and said, "Do you need a ponytail?"

I nodded, gratefully accepting the hair tie. Out of the blue, I had blurted, "Do you want to be best friends?"

She had smiled her blinding smile and said, "Of course!"

All this goes through my mind in a moment as I stare at Oakland. How could someone look so perfect? I suddenly feel self-conscious of my rod-straight black hair, "alabaster" (read: pasty) skin, buck teeth, scrawny ten-year-old-boy physique, and blue(ish) eyes.

"Oh, hey," he says in a deep, rough voice that immediately reminds me of Shan Yu from Mulan.

I clear my throat and try to cover up my incessant staring with concern. "Uh, hi. Are you...all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." His brow furrows. "Hey, aren't you the new kid?"

I take a deep breath and draw a hand down my face. Here we go again. I straighten up, meet his eyes, and say, "Yep. And I know your questions. No, I didn't come from India or anywhere super-exotic. I came from New Mexico and yes, I speak fluent Spanish. Yes, I am white, white, and a bit more of a different kind of white. Don't ask, I guess I just have wacky genetics. And - this is always the big one - yes, I am a year younger than everyone else." I draw another breath. "Please lodge any original questions, comments or other statements at the main office." I wait a second, then put on a big, fake smile. "You have now arrived at the main office." I blink expectantly and raise my eyebrows. "Any statements?"

He stares at me for a bit, looking utterly confused, and then shakes his head, his eyes steeling. He looks like a statue, glaring at me like that. He suddenly convulses and bends in half, shaking uncontrollably. I take a step forward, unsure of what to do. What is going on?

"Whoa! Hey! Are you okay? Should I get someone?"

He straightens up, to the point where I can see that he's - laughing? I made someone laugh! Probably one of the cutest guys in school, too! Emboldened, I stretch out my hand. "I'm a sophomore. My name is Esmerelda Ward - spelled E-S-M-E-R-E-L-D-A, which was supposed to be E-S-M-E-R-A-L-D-A, but it got misspelled on my birth certificate and it stuck, so here we are. People like to call me Esme, Esma or maybe Relda, which is my personal favorite. What's yours?"

He wipes his eyes, still chuckling. He shakes my hand with his soft, cold – Holy Jeez! His hands are colder than a refrigerator! "I'm a sophomore, too. My name is Oakland Adams. And I know all your questions. My hands are cold because I just washed them and I like washing my hands with cold water. My bathroom visit took longer than expected, and that's why I'm still in the halls. Also, my eyes are naturally brown." He smirks. "I just have wacky genetics."

Oakland glances around, then down at my feet. "Oh - your shoes are untied."

I look down. "Ugh." I drop to the floor and start retying my shoe.

Oakland's voice drifts down to me. "Are you...lost? Or something? I can help you find your first class, if you want."

"Yeah, that'd be great. It's gym, and I don't really know where to go."

"Okay. So, here, I can walk with you, but for future reference, hang a left here, and just go straight till you see the gym on your right." I nod, filing it away, and we set off.