The rain steadily dripped down as I looked out the passenger side window. How I dreaded days like this—not because I detested the rain. It was, after all, an essential necessity. No, I dreaded days like this because I would spend its entirety being judged, being weighed and measured against an unspoken standard that I most certainly would not live up to. And of course, there would be some invisible line I would cross at some point for nothing more than simply being me.
The new girl.
No one liked the new girl. Not really. Girls were either jealous or indifferent, never really allowing a new girl to infiltrate their folds; and boys were annoyingly attentive, only because they were interested in something new, something untouched by the rest of the male populous. At least for now, anyways.
New girl.
That's what I would be called...for God knows how long. Weeks, months, maybe even until graduation. Thankfully, that wasn't too far away. Wednesday had been my seventeenth birthday, and with all the unfortunate changes going on in my life, it was at least one day I had looked forward to. A year and a half was all that stood between me and NYU.
I wasn't new to the term: new girl. We'd moved several times since I started pre-school, but always to a bigger, better city; one that would further my father's career and, as he put it, broaden my educational experience. That's how he convinced himself he was doing this for me rather than him.
But this time, it was different. The circumstances that led us to Blackstone, Massachusetts, the town that my father grew up in, were different. Much different, but then again, so were we at this point. I imagined all people changed to some degree after going through a traumatic experience.
"Your dad wanted to be here," my Aunt Meredith began, "but...he had to go back to the city to square a few things away with work."
New York City.
Where our home was, where Theo was, where everything was. My father said it wasn't a punishment but it certainly felt like one, and in all my anger over the last few months, I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth—that no matter where he moved me, I'd always feel alone and my broken heart would never heal.
"I know," I replied quietly, forcing a half smile onto my face.
I continued to stare out the window as we passed house after house adorned in the most ridiculous Halloween decorations I'd ever seen. Some were noble attempts at the macabre, but most were just gaudy displays of cheap plastic and orange lights. But I did notice that each house had the same bizarre-looking metal wreath hanging on its doors.
"Why does everyone have the same wreath?" I asked, thinking there was some weird conformity going on that I wasn't aware of.
"Wreaths?" Aunt Meredith asked, quizzically, until I pointed to the oddities. "Oh no, those aren't wreaths. They're troll crosses."
"So what, they protect the houses against trolls?" I said skeptically, trying to stifle a giggle.
"Well, not just against trolls but all manner of evil spirits." She laughed as she saw my reaction to her words. "It's not just for Halloween but to celebrate the Culling of the Wicked."
"Oh, well why didn't you say so," I laughed, a sarcastic laugh.
She nudged me and continued with her story. "It's a weeklong celebration of remembrance for the humans who wiped out the wicked ones. The monsters were defeated on All Saint's Day, and each year Blackstone holds a festival in its honor, culminating in the parade a couple Tuesdays from now."
"You know that sounds utterly insane, right?"
"That's not the best of it," she grinned, and proceeded to tell me about an immortal army called the Ruffians, and how they were destroyed by mere humans. Apparently, our ancestors were total bosses.
I slid my pendant back and forth as I listened to Aunt Meredith tell her implausible story. I lost interest a few minutes in, focusing instead on my necklace. My mother had given it to me a couple months ago, and the zipping sound and repetitive motion of it gliding across the sterling silver chain had become my nervous tick. The charm fit perfectly in my fingers and I glanced down at it, falling into my own trance as I watched it move from side to side. It was just a replica of one of Solomon's forty-four keys, so my mother told me, but it meant the world to me, replica or not.
My reverie was cut short, though, as Aunt Meredith pulled her shiny, silver Audi Q7 flush with the curve of the sidewalk. The flashy car seemed natural against the backdrop of large colonial homes lining the street with white picket fences and oil lanterns on the front porch, but I suddenly felt very out of place.
All my life, everyone from my parents to my teachers had told me to just be myself, like being one's self was as simple as flicking on a light switch. But as we all know, we've been conditioned from the time we were toddlers to not be ourselves, but rather society's version of whom we ought to be. And after years and years of mastering the art of disguise, the art of fitting in, I'd lost myself somewhere along the way—my true self. Now, I was nothing more than a clone, nothing unique or interesting about me at all. Except for when I went to a new school.
Each move was like a game, a test of wits, if you will. It always took me a week or so to pick up on the standards that were set at each new school, the expectations of the norm. But once I clued into those idiosyncrasies, I'd fade into the background, invisible—a trait I was rather fond of.
"I'll pick you up this afternoon," she said as I opened the door.
"That's okay," I replied. "I think I'd like to walk."
Aunt Meredith hesitated but replied, "Okay, but...call me if you change your mind." She didn't know where the boundaries were between her and I so while every ounce of her wanted to wrap her arms around me like she did when I was a child, she did her best to treat me as a young lady. I appreciated that about her.
I nodded, throwing the strap of my backpack over my shoulder and closed the door, before turning around to face my new nemesis.
Blackstone High.
After making it to the overhang by the front door, I shook the water from my clothes and hair off as best I could and entered my new school. I walked into the front office, reminding myself that breathing was necessary and that everything was going to be okay. And if it wasn't, at least today was Friday and I'd have two days to myself before trying again.
A sweet looking lady with short, white hair was seated behind the desk as I walked in. She wore a nametag that read Mrs. Eleanor Adams, Secretary, so I knew I was in the right place. A polite smile and a nod from her indicated that I should take a seat and seeing that she was on the phone, I obliged. She eyed me up and down before spinning around in her chair, no doubt curious about my taste in clothes.
Weighed and measured.
I looked over the outfit I had picked out to make sure I hadn't made some fatal flaw I was unaware of when I left the house this morning. My dark jeans were roughly tucked into my black ankle boots, and a red plaid flannel button-up covered the white tank top I'd grabbed off the dresser. I checked my reflection in the window that looked out into the hall. My long, dark brown hair was done up in a messy bun and a few of the loose strands were now unattractively stuck to my check and forehead, thanks to the rain. I looked a little longer at the girl staring back at me. She no longer looked like the happy-go-lucky girl that I once knew. Maybe I'd never really been her at all. Maybe that was just another disguise I had convinced myself to be.
I searched through my bag for my ear buds so that I could tune out the lady's conversation about 'so and so's daughter running off to the city and getting a tattoo.' I snickered under my breath, but made a note that tattoos were apparently taboo here. Clue number one.
Feeling no rush by my presence, the woman spent another five minutes on the phone, and I, unfortunately, had left my ear buds at home so now I was fully involved with the local gossip happening across the room. Only after another woman walked in and knocked on her desk, giving me a knowing smile, did Mrs. Adams wrap up her small talk and place her hands firmly on the desk.
"And who might you be, dear?" she asked in the sweetest voice I'd ever heard. She, too, was playing a part as her voice had been much more deviant on the phone while she slandered the local misfits.
"My name is Abigail Thurgood. I just moved—."
"Oh yes," she interrupted. "You look just like your father!"
"Thanks," I muttered. I never knew what to say when people told me that. Indeed, my father was a handsome man, but I'm not sure how well that translated into feminine features. Besides, in reality, my father and I looked nothing alike. I always figured it was just society's way of trying to make one feel like less of a bastard. Thankfully for me, there was no denying my mother's heritage. I had been blessed with her figure, slender and curvy at the same time, so I didn't look like a complete tomboy. But the curves suited her personality better than mine. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, always so confident and classy, like Evita Peron.
"I was sorry to hear about your mother. She was such a sweet lady," Mrs. Adams continued.
I hated this part.
The part where people felt the need to console me, as if I hadn't lived through it, as if I didn't watch my mother's life slip away each and every day. I knew what it was like to lose her. I was there. I just hated having to relive it every time someone wanted to offer his or her condolences. It had become more of a chore, it seemed, having to offer my gratitude to someone who'd just reminded me of the worst day of my life.
I smiled half-heartedly—something I learned made others feel comfortable in situations like these.
"Elijah's going to show you around today," she said joyfully as if I knew who Elijah was. "Elijah Cooper, please come to the front office. Elijah Cooper to the front office." The piercing screech from the intercom's feedback made me cringe.
Mrs. Adams handed me a schedule and a locker number with a combination as we waited for the mysterious Elijah Cooper to arrive. As I looked over my courses: History for first period, Spanish for second, a break for lunch, PE/Health for third, and finally, English for fourth, I failed to hear the door open behind me.
The sound of someone clearing their throat made me jump, and I turned to see a blonde headed boy standing in the doorway. He was tall and cute, but in the 'I work at Abercrombie & Fitch' sort of way with his polo shirt and boat shoes. Not my type at all. He smiled and so did I as we traded pleasantries.
"So, it's Abigail, right?" he asked, timidly. It was a valid question. I certainly didn't look like an Abigail. And now that my mother was gone, most people thought I was adopted when they'd see me out with my father. But father/daughter outings didn't occur on any type of regular basis so explanations were not as necessary as they were when I was younger. I nodded to answer Elijah's question.
He walked out into the hallway and I followed him as a hoard of students made their way towards their first class. My caramel-colored skin was in stark contrast to the sea of ivory before me. Blonde hair and blue eyes seemed to be the common trait amongst my new classmates, and they stared at me as I walked with Elijah down the hall.
The new girl. An oddity for all to see, made so much worse by the fact that my minority status made up a majority of the minority around here.
I listened, sort of, as he showed me around the school, stopping at places of importance like the library and the lunch room, but walking next to him reminded me of my boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend now, I guess—Theo, and the thought allowed me to successfully tune out the monotony of what I liked to call the new student's walk of shame. 'Over here is the dining hall where we take our sustenance, and there is the lavatory. Cricket is played on the lawn after brunch, and tea will be served between ten and half past each day.'
In my experience, every student that was ever picked for the assignment of showing the new student around always tried to add his or her own flare to the mundane. I personally believed they only selected students who were eventually planning on running for office. They knew how to fluff up reality. Thankfully for me, all the school designers in all the United States seemed to have stuck with the same layout when building the nation's schools. Sure, there were variations, but usually libraries were found in the middle and gyms and cafeterias were to one end.
My thoughts drifted back to Theo. I missed the silly way we used to laugh at all this, the pomp and circumstance of the upper crust. When we found each other, he had moved tens time since kindergarten so he understood the pain of being 'the new kid.' That was part of the reason we clicked together so well.
Theo had been my rock during the whole mess with my mother, and when I learned that we were moving, I knew in my heart if anyone could make a long distance relationship work, we could. He dumped me by text the day before we moved.
Classy.
His lame excuse of the distance being too hard for him to handle seemed pathetic at best, especially once the rumors began to fly around our circle of friends that he had hooked up with Sophia, the new girl that came to us from Xavier High last spring.
Having lived through the loneliness, myself, of being left out because I was the new girl, I actually thought Theo was being considerate of how I had been treated when he offered, time and time again, for Sophia to join us. It's ironic, really, that the one thing I prided myself on being above as the new girl—taking someone else's man—would be the one thing that did me in. The heart is a deceitful and wicked thing.
"Watch it, freak!" a shrill girl's voice interrupted my musing. The petite girl that spoke so harshly had long blonde hair, and perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. She wore a pink pleated mini skirt and a white, short-sleeve polo topped off with a pink ribbon in her hair. I had to blink twice to make sure I hadn't traveled back in time to a 1950's sock hop.
"Don't mind her," Elijah said as the girl walked away. "That's just Lillian. She's not sure what to do since the rumors about your arrival began. She's afraid she's going to get knocked off her throne."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you're Constant Thurgood's great-great-great-great whatever," he smiled as he continued. "He saved our town from the wicked things so you're practically royalty around here. Ole Lillian, there, has been queen bee for the last three years and she's worried that's all about to change."
Great, that's just what I needed—opposition right from the start. Teenage girls were notoriously cruel and unforgiving when it came to their own kind, adding some antiquated competition for the right to rule over the lives of our fellow classmates just seemed unnecessary. Not to mention the enemies I would gather just for my mere presence. Being single and new meant my proximity to any male would be suspect to the interpretation that I was clearly infatuated with them and would seduce them as the succubus I was. It was easier to seem unsociable and have everyone assume I was just a bitch. At least, they'd leave me alone for the most part.
Elijah stopped at a doorway with the word HISTORY cutout in construction paper above it. He smiled at me and said, "Here's your first class. Mrs. Hilliard is a little kooky, but she's nice and her class is easy. Next block is across the hall." He pointed to another door with a similar cutout of the word BIENVENIDOS on it. Festive people, weren't they? "I'll meet you in the cafeteria for lunch, but...," he held out his hand with a small piece of paper tucked in it, "here's my number in case you need anything. Just shoot me a text."
He blushed and I smiled as warmly as I could manage considering I did not feel the same sentiment as he thought he felt for me. It was the 'shiny new play thing' syndrome. Not many people were immune to its effects, even when I tried my very best to seem uninterested and bitchy. Maybe that was my problem—seeming so uninterested. Oddly enough, maybe that made others interested. I'd try to remember that for next time.
As I walked into the classroom, I noticed a quirky-looking lady in her mid-forties with red-rimmed glasses, bright red hair and a mix-matched Bohemian skirt and blouse ensemble. She looked like she stepped right out of a gypsy wagon and into the classroom, but I liked her style. She wasn't conforming to the norm of polos and cardigans that Blackstone clearly was accustomed to. No doubt, something that caused her to be ridiculed with giggles and whispers behind her back. Clue number two – polos and cardigans accepted, gypsy-wear not.
I tried to quickly make my way to an empty seat, but the rasp of a ruler on the desk told me my grand introduction was about to be made.
"Excuse me. Excuse me, children," her voice was delicate and inviting. "Quiet down now. We have a new student that I would like to introduce." She grabbed me by the shoulders, repositioning me in front of her desk that sat in the middle of the classroom. "This is Abigail Thurgood. Let's give her a nice, big welcome." The room reluctantly and unenthusiastically clapped. Teenagers could be brutal, but Mrs. Hilliard smiled at me. "This is actually a great time of the year for you to come into our classroom! We are learning the history of the Culling, and as I'm sure you know, your family had a rather important part in all of it."
I looked at her in mild horror as I realized I was about to become the subject of the class. This day was not going at all how I had planned. I was supposed to be invisible, but in the first thirty minutes, I'd managed to piss off the queen bee and become the topic of the beehive. Thank goodness tomorrow was Friday.
"Have a seat, dear," Mrs. Hilliard said.
I walked to a seat towards the back, feeling the eyes of every student as I passed.
Weighed and measured.
Quietly, and thankfully not too clumsily, I took a seat at the last desk in the second row. A boy with light brown hair and glasses sat to my right, and a girl that could have been his twin sister sat to my left. At least they weren't blondes.
I waited patiently as Mrs. Hilliard prepared herself for the day's lesson. She sifted through a few notes on her desk as she sipped what I presumed to be coffee from an oversized cup. She seemed deep in thought, more so than the standard high school curriculum warranted and I wondered if she, too, felt lonely in this sea of dissimilar beings. The natives were getting restless, though, so she took another large gulp from her cup and rapped her ruler on the desk again.
"Settle down. Settle down," she began. "Alright, we'll start today out by talking about our ancestors. When most people think of the Puritans," she continued, writing the word on the dry erase board behind her desk, "they think about the Salem witch trials. But many would be surprised to know that those trials, which weren't just about witches, began right here in little ole Blackstone. The Thurgood's and several other prominent families such as the Adams' and the Hamilton's settled in this area back in 1642, and that is when Constant Thurgood encountered the first magical being: a Revenant. What's a Revenant, you ask? Well, it's something that has come back after death. We would think of them much like vampires. They are fast and strong and hard to kill. They drink the blood of the living just like the monsters we've learned about in books and scary movies, but the main difference between them and vampires are that Revenants can also shape-shift, mainly into animals but deadly animals nonetheless. Bears, wolves, lions. They are reduced to their baser instincts, their primal instincts. Overtime, strange occurrences began happening throughout the village, and ultimately, this lead to their discovery and to the ancient battle between good and evil."
Mrs. Hilliard babbled on for the next hour and a half about how Constant Thurgood and his trusty followers rid the town of evil, as she called it. I had the sinking feeling that the more likely scenario included falsely accusing outsiders, not so unlike myself and the kooky History teacher, and burning them at the stake without a fair trial.
The bell rang, cutting her monologue short but she managed to yell over the hustle and bustle of gathering books and backpacks to make sure we checked the local history section of the school library to learn more about the ancient battle and the struggle our ancestors endured. I doubted if any of the students cared, as throughout her entire sermon, most were texting or searching social media sites while two others were sleeping so hard I could have sworn I heard them snoring.
My next class went by much faster. Miss Martinez, a young thirty-something, seemed straightforward and down-to-earth. Spanish had always been a favorite subject of mine, and I did myself no favors in the friend's department when she quizzed me as to my comprehension level and I aced her test. A few sneers came from the back ridiculing the level of fairness considering my ethnicity, but I pretended not to hear them. Some souls were just destined to travel their roads alone, and even though I longed for adventure, I still needed to finish this path before that adventure could begin. And it would certainly be easier to do that if I had a friend or two.
When lunch finally came, the thought of eating in front of four hundred gawking eyes didn't seem to set well with my stomach, but I decided the polite thing to do would be to meet up with Elijah and, at least, try to appear social—being an introvert, every bone in my body ached at the thought.
"So...how was it?" he asked, greeting me with a big grin. I smiled as the thought of him making an excellent alternative for the spokesmodel of the Orbit's gum commercials, should they ever need to get rid of their upbeat, perky blonde and her signature neck scarf, crossed my mind.
"It was good," I lied. No need in breaking anyone's spirits on the very first day.
A familiar shrill came from behind me. "Eliiiiijjjaahh," she said, walking her fingers up his bicep and across his shoulder. He turned to watch her walk around him. My guess was, he tried with her before and had been unsuccessful because the second she said his name, he turned to putty in her hands.
I didn't mind, not in the slightest. It actually gave me the distraction I needed to make my escape, but just as I turned to join the line, she addressed me.
"You know if you're going to dress up for Halloween maybe you should think of something a little scarier than a Puerto Rican farmer?" she said, twirling a piece of her blonde hair.
I knew this would come up sooner or later—that my heritage or my clothes would make me the subject of ridicule. And yes, I was a little embarrassed in the beginning when my family went from shopping at high-end boutiques to sifting through racks at cheap consignment stores, but I was used to it by now. My father was a businessman and had been a really good one up until the recession. But he got laid off and that's when the moves got more frequent. He was always chasing something better, trying to make it back up to the top from where he had fallen so far.
My mother and I took the descent quite well, adjusting to the new lifestyle and actually even becoming closer in my opinion. But my father never could accept the defeat. He had come from money whereas my mother had not. We'd even make games out of it, my mother and me, trying to piece together outfits we saw in the magazines for pennies on the dollar. In fact, the very outfit I wore today was from our last shopping trip before the accident. God, how I miss her. She'd know exactly what to say to some pompous, arrogant goody-two shoes like Lillian. I smiled as the thought inspired me.
"Looks like someone failed geography. I'm actually half Mexican, not Puerto Rican," I retorted, keeping the venom that was building in the back of my throat in check. "Besides, you went through all the trouble to dress up as a Pink Ladies' reject so I'd hate to show you up. Are you trying out for Grease or Grease 2?"
She huffed and glared at me as she tried her best to not look flustered while she worked on her comeback.
"Well excuse me, I didn't realize Mexicans traveled this far north."
I raised an eyebrow, thinking to myself that that was probably the weakest retort I'd ever heard. Maybe it would be easier to dethrone the queen bee than I thought. Not wanting to get into a full blown brawl, though, I bowed mockingly and got in line for the food.
I found an empty table in the back and plopped my tray down, knowing that it was just for show—to seem normal—and reached into my backpack to pull out the current book I was reading: Jane Eyre. It seemed appropriate considering what I was going through.
Several pages into chapter three, I noticed out of the corner of my eye someone scooching their way towards me. I looked up to see a girl who looked to be my age, sliding down the bench. She smiled a knowing smile at me.
"Hi," she said. "My name's Hannah."
Her thick Boston accent let me know she came in peace, one outsider to another. She had reddish-brown hair and brown eyes smothered in thick black eyeliner, and she was dressed in black from head to toe.
"I'm Abigail," I said.
"That was awesome what you said to the Stepford wives' club leader," she said, settling herself into the spot next to me.
I gave a curious look. "Stepford wives?"
"Yeah, Lillian Adams," she laughed, pointing to where the 'Queen Bee' was sitting with Elijah and two other blondes, all wearing similarly obnoxious pink outfits.
We both laughed, and as if it had been timed impeccably, Lillian opened her Diet Coke and it spewed all over her perfectly coifed hair. We laughed louder, and the rest of the cafeteria joined in. Lillian glared at me. I was sure I'd pay for it later, but for now, it was mildly entertaining to know that I got under her skin.
The rest of the day went by heartbreakingly slow. Several times throughout third and fourth period, I seriously considered feigning an illness or simply asking to use the restroom, never to return. But instead, I was chicken and sat there, taking in all the stares and trying not to listen to the whispers. I hoped this would all be out of their system by Monday.
The walk home was more taxing than I thought it would be, and the weight of my backpack was considerable with the addition of four new textbooks that had not been in there this morning. The Thurgood family home, where we were staying, was only ten blocks away from the school, but I walked slow, trying to drag out the welcoming silence I was currently in.
I skipped the two steps that led onto the front porch and barreled my way into the house, expecting to see my dad. He hadn't been home since driving me up here, and with mom gone, I desperately wanted to see him—especially after the day I had. But instead, I heard Aunt Meredith's voice coming from the kitchen.
"Did you have a good day?" she asked sincerely.
The disappointment that my father was still in the city shouldn't have bothered me so bad. I mean this was hardly different from every other day we'd lived up to this point, but considering that it was starting to seem like I was the only one that had moved, my resentment began to build.
"Fine," I muttered, grabbing an apple off the counter and taking a bite.
"Your father—," she began in his defense.
"Don't bother," I interrupted and took my bag, heading up the wooden staircase that led to my room. The home was such a stark contrast to the reality I had been living in the past few years, I almost had to laugh as I passed priceless vases and gold-encrusted picture frames filled with portraits of my ancestors.
I threw my book bag onto the bed and collapsed on the window seat that overlooked the front yard. It was like looking out of a tower, high up in a castle where the helpless antagonist was locked away. But in my book, I wasn't the princess or a damsel in distress waiting for Prince Charming to come and rescue me. No, the fact was that my tower wasn't to keep me in so much as it was to keep others out.