This upload is pretty much on time! :p I hope you guys like it!
And the external link is to my tumblr for all my 'writer's ramblings' posts in which I, well, ramble or rant or talk about something to do with my writing :) if you care to take a gander at any time :)
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Chapter 6
Don’t judge a book by its cover.
That’s what people always say. Like it’s a law to live by or something. But does anyone actually ever really listen?
In my case, nobody ever listened.
We all do it, though, I guess. You turn your nose up at the mangy cat by the Dumpsters, or you think that guy in his Prada suit with his Rolex and a BlackBerry plastered to his ear is some snooty businessman who thinks he’s better than you.
People know not to judge a book by its cover.
But people also say it’s important to make a good first impression.
Which is exactly why I spent almost my entire weekend trying to decide what to wear on my first day of school.
The suburbs around here are all the higher end of middle class; big houses, pristine front laws and shiny cars on the driveway. I get the feeling a lot of the kids around here have fairly rich families. But Midsommer High is a public school.
I kind of wish it was one of those schools that made you wear a uniform. You know, the kind of school you have to pay to get into, where the science teachers are all ‘Doctor’ or ‘Professor’. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry endlessly about what the heck I was going to wear on my first day.
I never used to worry so much about what I wore to school. I mean, there was that one year when I did try, after I lost all the weight. I made an effort to look good, to show everyone that I wasn’t Fatty Maddie anymore.
Needless to say, it didn’t work – nobody noticed, and if they did, they didn’t care.
Monday morning, I get up an hour and a half before school, so I can do my hair and put on a little makeup, and still have an hour and twenty minutes to decide what to wear.
It’s hot out, and humid. I’m so glad for once that my hair is the kind to hang limp and flat rather than frizz up, because with the humidity here, I’d practically have an afro otherwise.
I pick up a pair of white denim shorts, but hurl them back into the closet. White isn’t the safest color. I’m not even sure why I let Mom buy me those shorts.
What were the other girls going to wear? What if I was too dressed up? What if I wasn’t dressed up enough? What if what if what if?
Mom knocks at my door and pokes her head in.
“You’re up early,” she says, but walks in and puts a mug of herbal tea on my nightstand.
“I have nothing to wear!” I cry in frustration, tugging at the ends of my hair.
Mom takes in the clothes I’ve thrown back into my wardrobe and the ‘maybe’ pile scattered over my bed… And she laughs.
I grit my teeth. She’s so not helping!
Then she tells me, “I never thought I’d hear you say that, Madison.” But she sounds almost… well, she sounds practically proud when she says it.
I just huff loudly, and turn back to my closet. Surely there’s something in here that’s perfect. There has to be. Something casual, but something that looks good.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Mom says, backing out of the bombsite that is my bedroom. “I have to leave for work in a minute. But make sure you clean this up before you leave.”
“Yes, Mom,” I say testily.
Before she leaves though, she gives me a kiss on my cheeks and squeezes my shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Dice, don’t worry about it. You’re a tough girl.”
I smile, but it’s a sad kind of smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
*
I’m thirty six minutes early.
Dad drops me off, because I don’t really know the way so I don’t want to walk to school on my first day just to get hopelessly lost and turn up late.
But I’m genuinely shocked when I check the time on my cell phone and find out I’m so early to school. The gate across the main entrance is open, but as I walk up to the front door there’s nobody around.
There’s a field on one side, with a whole bunch of painted black wooden picnic benches. On the other side is a parking lot. There are a few cars there, but I guess most of them are the teachers’.
The gravel on the main path up to the school – which is plenty wide enough to fit a car – is uneven, and I teeter in my one-inch black stilettos. They’re not excessively fancy or high shoes, quite casual, really. But I don’t walk in heels. Even little ones.
It’s harder than I anticipated.
In the end, I opted for a pair of denim cut-offs, and a white tank top. I’m wearing a chunky brown and gold beaded necklace, too, just to add something to my outfit. I figured if it came off as too fancy, I could always take off the necklace.
I look okay, I guess. Not too fancy and not too casual. At least, I hope that’s how it actually looks.
I’m over-thinking it, I know, I know.
But I’m scared.
And when you’re as scared as I am, it’s hard not to be totally paranoid about every little thing.
I have an earphone in my left ear with my iPod in my pocket. I may be a heck of a lot happier and more confident here than I ever had been in Pineford, but I’m still too insecure this morning to go without what I can only call my security blanket.
Back in Pineford, I’d taken to wearing an earphone all the time around school, even in class. I wouldn’t necessarily be playing music all the time, but it just made me feel a little better. When I had music on, I could tune out the rest of the world, ignore the sneering, joking comments thrown my way, the people pushing into me.
I am determined not to have the earphone in all the time here. But I need it right now. At least just for this morning.
Now, I let the guitar and bass and drums and vocals fill my ear. The music covers up how hard and loud my heart pulses and how the gravel shifts slightly under my feet.
I don’t even know the car’s there until the horn blares.
Jumping, I yank out my earphone and spin around. I barely even noticed I was walking in the middle of the road – I was just trying to stay on my feet in these darn heels.
“Didn’t your mom ever tell you to look both ways before you cross the street?”
The driver leans out of the window as he calls out to me, and then I realize why it sounds like he’s mocking me.
Of course.
Just my luck.
It’s Bryce.
“Yeah,” I say, because he’s waiting for a response. “What’s your point?”
I automatically wince inside at my sarcastic response. Why do I have to be so blunt? Why am I such a complete dork around people?
I wish I could just act cool for at least once in my life.
No second chance at a first impression, Madison. Too late now.
Bryce laughs, though, still leaning out of his window. I take a look at his car. It’s silver, and really shiny. So shiny, in fact, I can see myself in it. Literally. It’s a convertible Lexus, and it looks like it cost one heck of a lot of money.
“You’re here early,” he says eventually, after a long pause. I stand there kind of awkwardly, one hand holding my bag on my shoulder and the other holding my earphone. I stand like that, not moving, partly because I’m not sure whether to move or not, but partly because I’m sure he’s checking me out.
I can feel a blush start to rise, and I try to fight it back.
I don’t let it show that my heart hammers a little erratically at actually being checked out. Instead, I retort, “Guess so. Looks like I’m not the only one, though.”
Bryce twists in his car seat, looking behind him, and it hits me that maybe he’s not the sharpest tool in the box.
Or maybe he’s just trying to be funny.
Either way, I blurt, “I meant you, you know.”
“Yeah, I am a little early…” he laughs sheepishly, looking back to me. He looks kind of adorable with the sheepish smile on his face like that, I think distractedly. “But hey, at least I can show you round the school a little!”
“Uh…”
Come on, say yes! He’s interested! Guys like him don’t talk to girls like you unless they’re interested! Say yes! At least smile, for Pete’s sake!
I smile.
“Yeah, sure, that’d be great!” I say it so fast he looks confused for a moment, trying to decipher what I’ve said. I bite the insides of my cheeks in annoyance.
“Awesome. I’ll meet you by the steps at the front of the school, once I park up.”
“Okay.” I walk to the side of the road so he can drive past, and once he’s past me I carry on walking up to the school doors.
Midsommer High is one big, brick building. It looks kind of daunting, because it’s about four stories high and a pretty long building, too. I read on its website that it was built around the 1800s. Grey stone steps lead up to the school, and at the top there are huge wooden doors – oak, I think – with big ornate black iron handles on. The windows are all gleaming in the early morning sunlight. It’s a pretty impressive building – but totally intimidating.
Just what I need for my first day, huh?
I don’t walk very quickly, since I don’t feel very safe walking on the loose gravel in these shoes. I only make it to the bottom of the stone steps when Bryce is suddenly standing next to me.
“What’re you listening to?” he asks as we head up the steps. Before I can tell him a song, he’s grabbed hold of my spare earphone and is listening. I try to yank it back, but – I’m too late. He’s already recognized the song.
“Jessie J?”
“It was My Chemical Romance,” I mumble. Louder, I say, truthfully, “My sister bought the album and she –”
Before I can finish telling him she snuck it onto my iPod and I actually found I like a single one of his songs, Bryce cuts me off.
“Nothing wrong with a bit of mainstream, Lonely Girl,” he laughs, grinning a 100-watt smile that probably gets girls swooning over him. It sure made my heartbeat pick up.
“Sure,” I say sarcastically, “say that to the transfer from Maine.”
Bryce laughs again, realizing just how funny ‘mainstream’ is. “Mainstream. I think I like that better than Lonely Girl. You still haven’t told me your name, you know.”
“I know.”
I feel more than see him looking at me. Stealing a glance out of the corner of my eye, he’s smiling at me, amusement glimmering in his big brown eyes. I smirk, biting my lip a little.
I actually feel kind of… kind of cool. Almost flirty. Like someone who knows how to talk to a guy like Bryce, who’s Mr. Popular.
I lift my head higher from watching my feet carry me uncertainly up the steps to smile at him, and I open my mouth to say something when –
Smack.
I groan. “Ouch…”
I knew I should’ve just worn flats to school. Darn heels!
I push myself up off my face, and touch a hand to my nose, to check it’s not bleeding. I narrowly avoided having a wardrobe disaster this morning, I did not need to have a broken nose today, too!
Bryce’s hands are on me – the small of my back and at my elbow – supporting me as I get to my feet again. “Are you alright?”
“Beyond humiliated,” I laugh shakily, still prodding at my sore nose, “but I think so…”
“You sure?”
“No.”
I say it so bluntly, we both laugh. I catch sight of his dimples again. I shake my head a little. I like his smile though; the dimples are cute. I notice then that he’s still holding me up, except now there’s no reason for him to, and I glance at his hand on my elbow. He has to get the hint, but he doesn’t move away or drop his hand. He just shoots me another smile.
So I smile back.
And secretly, I’m wishing very hard that I don’t fall over again today.
Bryce takes me to the office, telling me that everyone will get their timetables for the year in homeroom, having been told before summer which homeroom they’d be in. The office is pretty much there straight in front of you once you enter the school doors.
The carpet on the floor is dark red, and I’m surprised it’s not covered in old chewing gum, and aside from being worn, it’s in great condition. The walls are all a pale shade of cream, and the ceiling is high, and everything smells clean. It’s a heck of a lot nicer than my old school, that’s for sure.
There’s some middle aged lady sipping coffee and sorting papers behind the desk we walk up to.
“Hi, Mrs. Willis,” Bryce says pleasantly to the lady behind the desk. She looks up, startled, and then smiles.
“Hello, Bryce. How was your summer?”
“Not too bad,” he says politely. “This is, um… a new student. Transfer from Maine?”
“Madison,” I tell the lady quietly, when she looks at me. “Madison Clarke.”
“Oh, yes, I know! I’ll be back in a minute,” she says, smiling encouragingly – I guess I must look a bit shy, or nervous. “I just have to find your transcript and make sure everything’s in order.”
“Okay,” I reply. She walks off into the office spread out behind the desk and rummages through filing cabinets, which clank and clatter noisily as they open and close.
“So.” Bryce leans on the desk and twists his torso to me, raising his eyebrows at me. “Madison Clarke.”
“Yup.”
He holds my eye for a moment, and I look away, and run a finger over the shiny edge of the desk.
“I think I’ll stick to Mainstream,” Bryce tells me, and I glance back up at him. “It’s cute.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” I say indifferently with a shrug, but my heart does a strange skittering thing in my chest, and I bite back a smile that I’ve got a nickname. Not a derogatory nickname, either. It is, like Bryce said, kind of a cute nickname.
“You seem pretty friendly with the secretary,” I carry on, nodding my head in the direction of a clanking filing cabinet.
He laughs sheepishly, and shifts his stance slightly. “Yeah...”
“Care to elaborate on that?”
He laughs again. “My stepdad’s the school principal. How’s that for family connections?”
“Oh.” I laugh a bit, and smile at him. “Guess the teachers can’t give you too many detentions, then.”
Bryce laughs louder at that, shaking his head. “Oh, yeah, I wish! My stepdad’s crazy strict over that stuff. Detentions, late homework, grades… No special treatment at all.”
“That… kind of sucks,” I laugh awkwardly, not knowing what sort of response I’m supposed to give to that.
“Alright! Here you go, Madison.” The lady reappears behind the desk with a few papers in a neat pile for me. She staples a couple together before putting them back in the pile and pushing them across the desk to me.
“So here you’ve got your class schedule… And a map of the school. This is a list of all the extra-curricular activities, in case you’re interested, and the school rules… And your locker combination.”
“Okay.”
“Bryce, will you show Madison around a little? Or at least to her homeroom,” the lady asks. To me, she adds, “I’m sure you’ll make friends no trouble, and someone will be able to show you to your next class.”
I nod, but I’m feeling pretty dubious about the whole ‘make friends no trouble’ part.
I scan over my schedule, just to see what subjects I’ve been given. Art & Photography, Algebra II, French, English Literature, AP World History, Gym, Biology and –
“Oh, crud,” I whisper.
“What?” Bryce asks.
“Is something wrong?” The lady behind the desk turns back to me curiously.
“Yeah, I have a slight problem…” I put the paper with my schedule on back on the desk and turn it around so she can see it. “AP Physics.”
“Yes,” she says, nodding. “On your transcript it said –”
“No, you don’t understand,” I interrupt. I can feel a pulse throbbing frantically in my wrist, and panic begins to settle in the pit of my stomach. “I don’t do physics. I barely scraped a B last year. I can’t do AP Physics.”
The secretary frowns, and then says, “Two minutes, I’ll see if there’s space in any other classes at that time.”
I step back from the desk and run a hand through my hair, but drop it quickly, in case I mess up my hair, which is the last thing I need right now. I let out a shaky sigh.
“It’ll be fine,” Bryce tells me. “There’s bound to be something else they can fit you into, don’t worry.”
I sigh again, and gnaw on my lower lip. I can’t do physics. Let alone AP physics. I’ll fail class. I’m not the smartest person, but I promised myself I’d put in the effort here with my studies. Problem is, I don’t think I can even pass AP Physics no matter how much effort I put in.
If Bryce says anything else trying to pacify and comfort me, I don’t hear him over the blood rushing in my ears. I don’t hear anything until the secretary clears her throat. But it’s an ominous kind of throat-clearing, like she’s preparing to give bad news.
“I’m sorry, Madison, it looks like there was a mix-up on your transcript. The only other classes I could fit you into at that time are AP Trigonometry or American History, but you’re already taking history, and –”
“I got a C in Trig.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Madison, but there’s really nothing I can do for you without redoing the entire schedule, and with most classes already oversubscribed... I may be able to fix something up for next semester, though by then I’m not sure it’ll be wise for you to switch…”
I want to hyperventilate and freak out and insist that she works out my class schedule somehow so I don’t have to take AP Physics (or Trigonometry) no matter how long that will take or how busy she is, but I don’t do any of that.
Instead, I take a deep breath, I smile politely and say, “That’s okay. Thanks anyway.”
“Sorry about that,” she says, sounding totally sincere. “I’ll have a look and see if I can rearrange your schedule at all, but if it takes too long I’m afraid it’ll be too late for you to switch classes.”
I nod. “Alright. Thanks.”
I start walking off, and a moment later Bryce falls into step with me.
“Damn,” he says. “That sucks.”
“Mm. Whatever. There’s not much I can do about it now, so no point in making a fuss.”
Bryce laughs. “You’re a very strange person, you know.”
“Is that bad?”
He stops walking, and so I stop walking, too. He considers me for a long moment, just looking at me with a small smile playing at his lips that just hints at his dimples. I stand there staring right back into his eyes, like I’m fearless and confident and not still freaking out inside about AP Physics.
“No,” he says. “It’s definitely not a bad thing.”
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what do we all think of Bryce now, hmm? :) I'll upload again on Saturday, maybe, or Sunday :)
Let me know what you think! :) x