First Period: English - Dr. Reid - Room 109. I was relieved that my first class would be English, but embarrassed at having read the words “first period.” English was my best subject. I simply loved reading, especially the classics. Probably because I, myself, had so much in common with many classic heroines. Surrounded by pain and suffering and stereotypical hopeless people who look up to me, I bear their burdens without complaint and remain strong for the benefit of my people. At least, ever since I moved to Spoons, that’s what I do.
The halls were beginning to fill up with generic-looking white people, and I made sure to walk all the way to the right so they could clearly see the left side of my face. I passed room 108, 110, and 112 before I realized that 109 would probably be on the other side of the hallway. My heartbeat drastically increased with this new anxiety. How embarrassing would THAT be, to just turn around and start walking the other way? Much too embarrassing. Everyone would know that I was the new girl. I would stand out! The boys would all notice that my overly pale skin was actually “ivory” and thus beautiful-- and all the girls would be jealous of me. I just couldn’t do it. So I walked backwards to avoid attention. But just as got to room 110, I changed my mind. Instead I walked on until I found a women’s restroom. I went inside, used the mirror to practice a few different faces-- smile, scowl, shrug, that inside-joke type of grin-- and then went back into the hallway.
I was so ready for 109 when it came. I KNEW it was going to be right after 111, because I had done the math in my head while I was walking. I never was good at math, but I gave it my best shot. I took a deep breath, shook back my naturally luscious curls, put on a smile, and then changed it to a scowl at the last minute as I stepped into the room.
I was one of the last people in the classroom, because I had wasted so much time in the hallway. There were only two seats open. One next to a nerd and a loudish bubbly girl, and the other next to three jocks. My brain froze for a moment as I tried to analyze the situation, and while I was standing there looking dumb, another jock walked in and took the seat I had just decided to sit in. Story of my life. Ya know? Just when I decide I want something, I can't have it anymore. I must be the unhappiest girl in the world. You're so lucky you're not me.
I took the only remaining seat, and prayed that no one else would walk in, because then they would probably confront me and ask me to get out of it. I knew I was safe then, because God always answers my prayers. Sometimes I think he's the only one who really understands me. And that makes me think, you know, maybe I'M the only one who truly understands him, too. Maybe that's why he loves me so much. As if in direct response to my prayer, the bell rang to start class. The nerd opened a copy of Wuthering Heights to chapter 7 and looked up expectantly. The bubbly girl quickly placed her enormous purse open on the desk in front of her, and used it cleverly as a secret cave in which to play with her cell phone without the teacher seeing. I hoped one day I would have cell phone too. The temptation to raise my hand and tell on her was quite powerful, because I knew that texting in class was wrong. But I managed to stay quiet by convincing myself that she probably had it coming to her anyway.
English was exactly what I thought it would be. My teacher was what I expected, some non descript character placed in the background while I mused about how bad my life was. He droned on about “Wuthering Heights”, which I had already read. It was clear that this teacher, who I only have to describe as wearing a plaid shirt, wasn’t going to teach me anything I didn't already know. I already had last year’s book report, called “How the Bonus Features of American Pie is better than Wuthering Heights” so I sat there worrying about my own situation. I was stuck making dinner for a gloomy, morbid character who bought me things and protected me. And what of the shiny Volvo? I compared that shiny new fiberglass beacon to my own orange steel car. My car was strong and could withstand anything that stood before it. Maybe that was me. Maybe I was strong like that car. Yet, it would be so easy just to have that shiny, new Volvo. Maybe the owner would just let me drive it because I was pretty? My inner monologue was shattered by the clanging of the bell. I looked up in despair. No one had even talked to me and I had been in the school for an hour. They must be jealous. They had to be.