Song: Masterpiece by NONONO
***
"Mom, where did you put my chemistry book?" I ask, whispering as I pop my head into her bedroom. The early morning sun comes through her curtains in streams, but I can't make out her face in the dark.
I hear her shuffle under her covers and roll over. "It's on the counter. I laid out a few snacks for you too," she mutters, her voice muffled by her lone, tattered pillow.
"Okay," I say, latching my fingers around the doorknob. "Thank you. See you later. I love you."
"Love you too, hun. Have a good day at school," my mom mumbles.
I hurry back into the kitchen, where I find my chemistry book resting just where my mom had said it to be. As soon as I scoop it and the snacks up, I shove it into my backpack with the multitudes of other books, pencil cases, and old gum wrappers.
I race to the door, fumbling to tie my shoes. My jacket rests on the coat rack, and I only give it a fleeting glance before hurrying out the door. It may be mid-November, but it's still seventy degrees out.
The fresh dew on the grass soaks through my shoes as I bolt across the front lawn and into the garage. We only have one car, so even if I could drive I wouldn't be allowed to take it to school. But I refuse to ride the bus - which leaves walking or biking. So, ever since my first day of high school, I have been biking to the school.
The breeze whips my hair all around and into my face as I head down the road, and multiple times I have to reach up and pry it from my eyelashes or mouth. The weight of my backpack between my shoulders has always made the trip harder, but after the first few months it's not so bad. I just keep reminding myself that by June this trip will be a piece of cake.
I go uphill. And downhill. And uphill again. I try to focus on breathing, forcing myself to take a breath every other time my left foot pumps downward on the left pedal.
By the time I arrive at school, my lungs feel as though they've collapsed. Taking deeps breaths doesn't seem to even be doing much at the moment. So, I decide to rest a moment before I lock my bike onto the bike rack. I seat myself on the grass beside the bike rack and pull the water bottle out from the side pocket of my backpack.
"Ally!" Nadia, one of my few friends, calls. Her curly, brown hair flows free over her shoulders and back. But it's not quite long enough to cover the Ralph Lauren logo on her shirt, or thick enough to hide the scent of her Chanel perfume.
I brush the flyaways away from my face and stand up. "Hi, Nadia. So what's up?" I ask, my breathing finally returning to normal as I walk with her towards the school building.
"Oh, nothing much. Are you auditioning for the musical this week?" she inquires, and a lump starts to form in my throat.
I attempt to swallow it down. "Oh, probably not." Reaching up for the straps of my backpack, I tug the grey bag closer to me.
"How come?" Nadia asks innocently.
"I don't have time," I say nonchalantly, and she nods in understanding.
Truth be told, I just have no interest in the musical. I can't sing, hate performing, I can't play instruments, and I am so clumsy moving sets is even out of the question. But I've never told Nadia any of that. Every year I just come up with some new excuse. For instance, last year I decided to be "sick" the day of auditions. I'm more of a writer, a reader. I'd rather be writing the script than performing it.
Nadia on the other hand lives for performing. She has the voice of an angel and is a natural when it comes to acting. Last year she even landed a lead role, and she was phenomenal. Everyone loved her for it, and she got so much attention.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little jealous.
***
"I just don't undertand Mrs. Reinhart sometimes," Phoebe says as she shoves an apple slice in her mouth during lunch. "Like, why make us translate it from Spanish and then BACK to Spanish?"
Landri rolls her eyes. "No idea. But I don't know anyone who even likes her as a teacher. Well, except maybe Ally."
"That's only because she's smart," Marina snickers, knudging me with her elbow. I shake my head, turning back to my book as the girls continue to chatter.
I'm surprised I'm even allowed to sit at this table, honestly. These are some of the most popular girls at the school and here I am among them. I know the only reason I'm even allowed to associate with them is because I'm friends with Nadia, otherwise I'd probably be banished off to a lonely corner somewhere.
My attention is drawn from my book when I feel a light tap on my shoulder.
"Hey Ally, do you mind if I ask Mike to sit with all of us? I know you've never met him," Nadia asks.
I glance up from my book. "Mike who?"
"Michael Biggs," she whispers, leaning forward with her palms pressed on the table. "You know. . . Him."
"Oh," I raise my eyebrows, "the Michael Biggs you have a crush on." I shut my book, setting it on the seat beside me. "Sure, go for it."
Nadia jumps with excitement and hurries over to where Michael Biggs currently stands, talking to one of his friends. She taps him on the shoulder so gently I'm sure he couldn't feel a thing, until he turns around to look at her. Her lips move rapidly, but I can't hear a word she says over the buzz of the crowded cafeteria. Surely it went well, because soon enough she approaches with Michael.
"Ooh, get 'im, Nadia," Phoebe says in a low voice, earning giggles from the other girls.
Michael is on the football team, so it's no surprise he and Nadia know each other since they're both quite popular. His hair is naturally scarlet red and he has some of the darkest brown eyes I've ever seen. He's tall and has an attitude as strong as his cologne. Most of the girls around school consider him to be the most attractive boy here. Which means, pretty much every girl but me has a major crush on him.
The problem is, he's not such a great person. But he hides it extremely well. I, for one, know that during free period he goes outside around the back of the school to vape. There are also rumors circulating that he's slept with nearly every girl in his grade, and even some from mine.
"Ally, this is Mike," Nadia says with a grin as Mike seats himself at our table. He smiles and nods.
I smile lightly. "Nice to meet you. You're on the football team, right?" I inquire, making small talk although I am genuinely uninterested.
He nods over-eagerly. Just as he opens his mouth to respond to me, Marina leans forward and covers me from his view. "I heard you got four strikes the other night!" she squeals with excitement, and I stifle a laugh.
"Well, seeing as there's no such thing as strikes in football, I didn't," he says with a chuckle, his voice low and deep. Marina drops her gaze, evidently embarrassed. "But seeing as you're on the cheer team, I wouldn't expect you to know much about football," he adds, getting Maureen to glance up and grin.
Phoebe noticeably arches her back as she sits beside Michael, pressing her chest forward and her hips backward. I swear I even spot her pull down her bandeau slightly. "So, Mike, is it true that you caught Alejandra cheating on you?" she purrs, and I almost excuse myself from the table to vomit.
Michael's eyes dip dangerously low for a moment before raising back up to meet Phoebe's eyes. "That's right," he says. "And for the first time since freshman year, I'm single."
I swear every single girl at the table inches inward.
God, I hate high school.
I roll my eyes and flip my book back open, hoping to get in a little bit more before it's time to head back to class. Reading, as I've learned, is a great way to tune out everything around you.
And evidently make you lose track of time. Without realizing how much time has passed, I glance up to see everyone standing and gathering their things.
All of the girls have left the table by the time I pack up, except for Nadia. As I slip my book into my backpack I say, "You didn't have to wait for me, you know. You could have gone with them."
"I know, but they were all chasing after Mike as he retreated to his friends. I didn't want to bug him or leave you here alone," she says with a shrug.
I stand up and we begin walking, my eyes locked on my feet. "You know," Nadia starts, "you really should consider joining Phoebe's club, especially since she invited you."
"You mean the slut club?" I say, wrinkling up my nose. "No thanks. It's because of her that I wish the Dress Code Act of 2027 gets repealed."
Nadia huffs in frustration. "It's not a slut club," she says defensively.
"Then what is it?" I ask. "Because all I ever see on Instagram and Snapchat are pictures and videos of drunk sophomores and juniors making out with guys whose names they don't even know."
Nadia tilts her head and blinks slowly. "It's not like that, okay? Just. . . think about it. At least consider it."
"Fine, I'll consider it - no," I insist, and Nadia giggles.
"Look, nothing bad has ever happened during a club meeting," she adds.
I raise my eyebrows and press my lips into a thin line. "Oh really? Then what would you call the time Gabbi went to do 'it' with a guy, forgot she had a tampon in, and ended up in the ER? A minor inconvenience?" I challenge with a smirk.
Nadia rolls her eyes and grins. "Okay well besides that, nothing bad has ever happened."
"But still," I continue, "it's not okay that fifteen and sixteen year olds are in a club like what Phoebe's made."
Nadia purses her bottom lip. "It's not anything new. Teenagers have been this way since, like, 2010."
"Does that make what they're doing any more right, just because time has passed and society has let issues like this slip through their fingers?" I press. "Not to mention that now, kids losing their virginity and girls becoming pregnant at age fifteen is a 'societal norm'. Does that not seem even slightly wrong to you?"
"Ally, if you're going to tell me that this has something to do with all of this overpopulation shi-"
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Nadia! My dad's been saying it for years, hasn't he?" I say, turning my head briefly to look at her. She stops in her tracks, staring at me with widened eyes and a shocked expression.
When I realize why, I lower my guard. "Or it's what he did say," I mutter, brushing those pesky flyaways away from my face once more. Then, I begin walking again. "Come on, we've got to get to class."
***