STARTING AT A new school is terrible. But starting at a new school in the middle of the semester, when you know absolutely nobody— with the exception of your irritating little brother— is worse.
Rock Valley High, home of the Ravens, is the chosen secondary educational institute of the two hundred or so teenagers of Rock Valley and the surrounding areas. The school, apparently built a hundred years ago or something, stands in the middle of town. Only two stories and about the size of a friend's house in the Hamptons, it's incredibly underwhelming for a girl accustomed to going to school in a district full of historic landmarks.
For the first time in my seventeen years, I'm forced to walk to school, with my brother. I've never even gone to the same school as Jayden; I've always attended all-girls schools, and he's always attended all boys schools. So this public co-ed education things is new to us both.
Also new? The lack of cars in the student parking lot when we arrive. There's only a handful of old cars— nothing newer than 2010– and a couple of trucks that had seen better days.
"It's like stepping into the sixties or something," I mutter under my breath as Jayden and I continue down the sidewalk towards the front doors.
He snorts a laugh as he hitches his backpack over his shoulder. "We're not in Manhatten anymore, Pey," he says, shaking his head at my theatrics.
"Obviously. Have you seen what everyone is wearing?"
A few dozen students are huddled up out front of the school, talking in groups. Practically every one of the boys is wearing jeans and button ups, the odd one in a hoodie instead— my baby brother included. The girls, on the other hand, all look the same in leggings or jeans, long sleeve shirts and plaid scarves.
Jayden looks around quickly, shrugging his shoulders. "Everyone looks the same."
With a sigh, I wrap my one arm around his shoulders, leaning against him playfully. "Because they probably bought their clothes at Target."
"So, you're making fun of them because their outfits cost them about as much as your tights?" He chuckles, pointing at the black tights I'm wearing under my grey pleated skirt.
I shove his arm as we reach the door. "It's about quality, Jay. Something you've never quite grasped if your previous girlfriends are any evidence."
He shoots a glare in my direction, before stepping in front of a blonde girl walking past us. "Hey, sorry, my name's Jayden. I'm kinda new here. You think you could tell me where the office is?" He asks her with a lazy smile.
She stares at him for a moment, with a familiar look of awe on her face. It's that one girls give cute guys when they think they're flirting with them. It's ridiculous, considering I know for a fact my brother isn't even trying to charm her. He's just looking to prove some stupid point of his.
"Sure," she smiles, finally finding her dignity again. But she ruins it when she bites her lip and pops her hip out just a bit. "Better yet, I could show you. It's this way," she says, back away and motioning for him to follow her.
"Sucker," Jayden mouths in my direction before sauntering off after a girl whose name he doesn't even know.
Scoffing, I shake my head and adjust my bag before heading off in the same direction he went.
As I walk through the halls, I try to take in my surroundings in as little detail as possible. Grey lockers, tacky linoleum floors, off-white walls. Every now and then I pass a poster stuck to the the wall— some announcing tryouts, others an upcoming dance.
I don't talk to anyone until I reach the office. Jayden is taking his schedule from the secretary when I walk through the door, the blonde girl shamelessly talking his ear off. I smirk as he passes by me, bumping me in the shoulder as his new friend drags him down the hall.
Smiling to myself as my brother's last eat mistake, I walk up to the lady at the front desk.
"Hello there, dear, what can I do for you this morning?" She smiles, dimples in her plump cheeks showing.
"My name's Peyton Church. I was told you'd have my class schedule?"
She adjusts her glasses on her nose as she leafs through the papers on her desk. "Oh yes, I just saw it a moment ago when I was looking for that young boy's. Your brother, I assume?"
I nod my head, looking up at the clock above her head. Classes start in seven minutes, and I have absolutely no idea where I going. Not that the school is big, because it's not, but I've always been bad with directions.
"Ah! Here it is!" The secretary cheers, pulling a sheet of paper out of a folder and holds it out for me. "Your locker assignment is in the top left corner, and your homeroom is the first one, in bold. Do you need any help finding your class, dear? A map?"
I take the paper from her hand hurriedly, shaking my head. "No thanks, I can find it. Thank you!" I call as I walk quickly out of the office.
Looking down at my schedule, I find my first class— AP History in room one-fourteen. Noticing my locker is also on the first floor, I decide to drop my bag off there before class.
I follow the numbers on the lockers, backtracking down the hall, the tiny heels on my shoes clicking in the quieting hallway. Rounding a corner, I know my locker should be right here.
But, stupidly, I decide that this is the perfect time to check the time on my cellphone.
With my eyes on my phone, I don't realize I'm about to run headlong into a solid wall of flesh and muscle until I'm already stumbling backwards from the impact.
"Jesus, is that skirt shorter than your attention span or something?" A low voice growls in front of me.
Steadying myself with the wall beside me, I blink, looking up into a set of annoyed blue eyes. They belong to a guy just the slightest bit taller than me— which is still pretty tall considering I'm five foot nine. He's wearing a pair of worn jeans, a knock off grey Henley and a very pissed off look on his face.
Here's the thing. I had single-handled the mastered the ability to walk and text on a busy New York street when I was thirteen. Even though I've always been tall for a girl, and rather thin, I am not a klutz. I should be able to walk down a hallway with the grace of a runway model.
But somehow, I had managed to body slam this narrow-minded, mildly attractive jerk and narrowly avoid falling on my ass in front of the handful of students heading off to homeroom.
A great start to a great first day.
"What?" I snap, my senses finally coming to me when I tear my eyes away from staring at him and realize he's just insulted me.
"Do you seriously not know how to look where you're going? I mean, it's a pretty simple concept," he growls, his blue eyes shooting daggers at me as he rubs one hand against his jaw.
The first lesson I learned as a young girl was that one couldn't succeed in high society if she didn't know how to stand up for herself. I'd had a lot worse thrown at me by girls I called friends than by this random guy in front of me, and I quickly learned that words meant nothing if you didn't let them.
So it takes more than a couple of weak insults to offset Peyton Church.
"Look, you ass," I sneer, taking a step closer to him. "I'm just trying to get to my locker so I can get to class. Which is probably where you should be heading too, if there's enough room inside your head alongside your ego to actually learn a thing or two about something. So if you would kindly get the hell out of my way, please, it would be greatly appreciated."
The guy stares at me blankly for a second before arching one of the brows on his perfectly chiselled face.
I can see his eyes giving me a once over, taking in my long legs and acceptably short grey skirt like he thinks I don't notice. I'm certain that if the white scarf around my neck wasn't covering the majority of my chest, that would be his next stop.
"This is me acknowledging the fact you're checking me out not two minutes after questioning my intelligence," I state, my tone disinterested as I cross my arms over my chest impatiently.
His eyes finally look up to meet mine again and he flashes me a lazy grin that would probably melt the panties off most girls my age.
Too bad guys like him are a dime a dozen where I'm from.
Rolling my eyes, I take the high road and shove past him, finding my locker easily right behind him.
Following the directions on my schedule, I spin the lock around and pop open the door. I pull out my binder and a pen, tossing the rest of my bag inside before slamming the door and turning on my heel to head off to class.
"Oh shit," I curse as I nearly collide with the same smug looking asshole again. Taking a small step back, I fix him with a well rehearsed glare.
"So, you're new then, huh?" He drawls, leaning up against the locker beside me.
"What gave if away? The schedule or the fact I'm not falling for your bullshit like I'm sure every other girl does?" I smile sweetly.
He chuckles. "The attitude, actually. None of the girls 'round here are that quick with their tongues. Well, least not when it comes to talking," he smirks again, nodding his chin in my direction. "Where are you from?"
My eyes threaten to fall out of my head with the intensity of the eyeroll I give him before I shake my head in disgust. "You're awful," I scoff. I start to back away from him just as the bell rings over head. "I'd say it was nice meeting you, but I'm not a very good liar," I call out, before hurrying off to find my homeroom.
Apparently, being branded as the new girl is unavoidable in such a small town. Especially when both your history and math teachers insist on making you introduce yourself to your classmates by standing you up in front of your entire class.
By the time lunch rolls around, I'm already sick of the spiel.
Hi, my name is Peyton Church. I just moved here from New York. I like shopping and Instagramming every detail of my life because people seem to like that kinda thing.
"This is high school, not a dating app," I wanted to say. If I wanted people to know who I am, I'd introduce myself to them and have an actual conversation with them.
It isn't hard to find the cafeteria when the bell lunch rings, I just follow the sounds of gossiping teenagers. That's one thing that isn't different, no matter what school you go to.
The students are all the same. You've got the jocks— even though I've only seen posters for a track team and a football team. Then you've got your band geeks, your loners, your honor roll kids and your troublemakers. And, of course, the popular girls. Even though this school is in the middle of no where, I can pick out the different cliques as easy as I can take a breath in the fresh mountain air.
Those cliques are even more obvious when I walk into the small, packed cafeteria. Straight out of Mean Girls, each group is sitting together at their very own little table. A group of guys sit together, a few of them are wearing black and white letterman jackets, stuffing their faces with cafeteria food. Some others sit together, with books out on the table as they scribble away at their notebooks. A handful of kids are sitting along the fringes, reading books or listening to music and completely ignoring everyone around them.
I sigh at the cliché of it all, joining the line at the side to wait for my unappealing lunch.
For the most part, I'm ignored. No eyes staring at me, no whispered rumors flying. For once, nobody paid me any mind.
I got my lunch, a bottle of water and a tragic looking salad, and headed for the nearest empty table. Back at Spence, Mia, Natalie and I had always sat at our own table in the middle of our dining hall with the handful of girls we deemed worthy to sit with us. Other girls looked on, gossiping about things in our lives they had absolutely no way of knowing or devising elaborate plans to gain our attention and, more importantly, a seat in our inner circle. The peace here is almost welcome in comparison.
But, unfortunetly, it never seems to last.
"So, you must be the new girl," a high-pitched voice states, dragging me out of my memories and back into the present.
I turn to see a slim girl sitting down in the chair next to me. She stands out from the crowd of girls in the room in her green ribbed choker shirt, ripped black jeans and ankle boots. And, of course, with her flaming red hair she has half-piled on top of her head.
Looking at her out of the corner of my eye, I take a sip of my water. "Yeah. That's the consensus anyway."
She grins like a Cheshire Cat, showing off rows of perfect white teeth and a pile of bullshit kindness. "It's Peyton, right?"
I nod my head, taking a bite of my poor excuse for a salad. "Yeah."
"I'm Clarissa Lester, but everyone calls me Clary."
I can't resist. "Like the books?"
"Yeah, sure," she dismisses me with a wave of her hand, telling me she honestly has no idea what I'm talking about. "Anyways, I heard you're from Manhattan. Must be a big change here."
I shrug my shoulders, continuing about my eating my lunch and trying oh so subtly to tell this girl I have no interest in continuing this conversation.
"Say," she starts, leaning over and placing her hand on the table in front of me. "Did you have a habit of hitting on other girls' boyfriends when you were at that fancy prep school of yours, too? Or is this just a little something you've started up on here?" She smiles, oozing insincerity by the gallon.
A muscle in my jaw ticks as my eyebrow arches and I turn to face her faux-intimidating stance head-on. "I'm sorry?"
"You heard me, bitch," she snaps, dropping her nice girl act and in turn showing her true colors.
Looks like I've met the resident head bitch in charge.
"Actually, my apology was only meant to give you a chance to check your attitude. Because you're spewing a bunch of lies you have no base to think are true," I state matter-of-factly, turning back to my lunch.
"As it would happen, Peyton, my very trustworthy friend here, saw you this morning," Clarissa states, waving her French-tipped hands in the direction of a skinny blonde behind her. "So there's no use you denying it."
My eyes flit over to her briefly as I rack my brain for all of the boring details of my morning. The only thing that sticks out is...
"Wait, that asshat I bumped into this morning?" I laugh in disbelief. "That's who all of this is about? Seriously?"
Her overcaked eyes narrow into slits. "You know, that whole tanned, skinny model thing might have worked for you back in the city, but listen to me when I tell you I don't care what kind of trust fund princess you used to be there," she tells me, standing up and leaning down beside my head. "I am the queen here, and you will never take my thrown. You are nothing unless I say you are, bitch. So remember that the next time you try flirting with my boyfriend."
Like I said, it's all the same no matter where you are. High school is a monarchy ruled by girls who enjoy tearing others down in order to climb higher themselves. But little does this girl realize she's taking to a seasoned pro, who has survived her own fair share of coups.
"I have no interest in your so-called thrown, sweetheart," I scoff, twirling my fork around my fingers and giving Clarissa a quick once-over. "My only interests are in finishing this year and getting the hell out of this insignificant little town before all of your cheap knock-offs and ratchet makeup give me hives."
Clarissa backs up quickly, eyes still glaring down at me like she thinks they can actually do any damage. She lets out a frustrated growl from between clenched teeth before turning on the heel of her boot and stomping away from my table, her mini-mes trailing dutifully behind her.
Once Clarissa is out of sight, I pull out my phone and plug in my headphones. If taking public transit twice in my life has taught me anything, it's that having headphones in significantly lowers the chances of strangers hitting on you— or in my case, annoying mean girls accusing you of hitting on their boyfriends.
Turning on the first playlist I open, I blast Taylor Swift's latest and finish up the rest of my unfortunate lunch in peace.
It's Day Four of NaNoWriMo, guys, and I'm almost on target to be finished on time. I'm doing my best to get you frequent updates, but Writer's Block and the common cold have been working against me. But I'm trying!
How about you guys? Any of you taking on the challenge this month? If so, how far along are you? I'd love to hear how you're fairing!
Until next time, enjoy this gif of our lovely lil' Peyton.
Lots of love...