My first day at Brookings High School. My mom had to be at work earlier than I had to be at school, so I drove myself. Lynn (my mom) worked at the university, which is why we moved in the first place. She was working at the college in Maryland, but she got a better offer from South Dakota State.
So we moved.
As she rushed out of the house, she kissed my cheek briefly, saying, “Good luck, Lena. Have fun!” Then she was gone. The door slammed shut, and I was left in silence, except for the sound of the car backing out of the driveway. I dumped my cereal bowl, gathered all my books, and followed shortly, although I felt the exact opposite of “fun.”
It was times like this that I wished for some of Aimée’s hyperness and constant sense of euphoria. Aimée had been my best friend through middle school and my freshman year. What time we didn’t spend together, we spent online on the Writers’ Spot, a website for writers where you could post your work and have it reviewed.
So far, I’d posted six poems, two short stories, and was currently in the process of writing a fantasy about dragons. I discovered I had a strong interest in them when Lilian Flip released a new book: “The Dragons of Souril.” I ended up buying it from the Barnes & Noble in Sioux Falls, reading it, and was hooked.
Now I was looking for all the books, both fiction and nonfiction, that contained anything about dragons. According to Lilian Flip, dragons were mythological, and were classified by the areas of where they lived in the world. For instance, the dragons of Asia were black and well-adapted to the cold; the dragons of South America were tinted green and were the rulers of the jungle; the dragons that lived in Africa were brown and could survive for weeks on end without water, and so on and so forth. Soon after, I started researching and writing a story about them.
I recalled all this as I drove the fifteen minutes to school. It helped keep my mind off the upcoming day. All too soon, though, I reached the school and pulled into the west parking lot. From this vantage point, I had a clear view of the new addition to the school. The old lunchroom was much too small, and students had to eat in the classrooms, or in the hallways. Or, they went out to eat. Now, however, they were all required to eat in the lunchroom.
As I climbed the stone steps, I began to see other students milling around, and butterflies blossomed in the pit of my stomach. I hoped I wouldn’t get sick. That would just make this day perfect.
I was greeted by a hallway lined with lockers, with a view of classrooms farther down, and the slight smile of a senior boy. He had dark brown, almost black, hair, and eyes like pools of brown ink. He looked friendly, even though it was difficult to tell, because he wore an expression that made it almost impossible to guess what he was thinking.
“Let me guess,” he said, looking down at a sheet he was holding, “Eleni?”
I blinked, shocked. “You got it right!” His smile brightened, and he said, “I have a tendency to get names right on the first try.”
Not knowing what to say next, I stood there awkwardly, playing with the strap of my bag that was slung over my shoulder. After a few seconds, he said, “My name’s Trey. Trey Meyer.”
I smiled. “At least I’m not the only one who has an uncommon name.” I’d never heard that name before.
He laughed, then asked, “Do you need help finding your classes?” His expression still unreadable, I couldn’t tell whether he wanted me to say yes or was simply being polite.
“Um,” I hesitated, looking at my schedule and then at the clock. Ten minutes until first period started. “Yes, I think I do.”
“Okay,” he said, standing up from the desk he’d been sitting at. “What’s your first class?”
“Advanced Algebra 2, with Hill.”
“Well, that’s easy.” He smiled again, showing perfect, white teeth. “Her classroom’s right down this hallway. Come on.”
After showing me that, Trey then proceeded to show me where the Honors’ English II, Art, biology, geography, advanced writing techniques, and study hall rooms were. Overall, he was polite, kind, and seemed perfectly content to talk on and on about how good the classes were, and that he was amazed I had gotten into the advanced writing class, while I listened intently, slipping a few words in here and there.
The ten minutes ended all too soon, with the first bell sounding like a doorbell, with a “ding-dong” sort of sound. Trey dropped me back off at my algebra class, with a smile and a request to eat with his group of friends at lunch. I pondered this as I walked to a seat in the back of the room. Boys at my old school had been about half as friendly to me as Trey had been. Probably because they had seen me grow up in the awkward stages of middle school. I counted myself lucky, though, that I hadn’t had to have braces or glasses.
My most embarrassing trait in my pre-high school years was probably the horrible acne problem that I’d obtained in seventh grade. Luckily, though, it had started to dissipate in eighth grade, and by ninth, it was completely gone.
With long, straight brown hair, dark brown e yes, and pale skin, I’d still always thought of myself as a medium. If I was standing in front of a mirror, and I looked long and hard enough, I could sometimes find flecks of green in my otherwise plain brown eyes. Not always, though. I was also extraordinarily shy and quiet. I’d even had teachers in the past that asked my mom during conferences if I ever smiled.
So, it was a bit of a surprise that at least a dozen people (both girls and boys) were bold enough to introduce themselves to the plain, new girl during my first four periods alone. A few of them asked if I had a place to eat at lunch, and I replied with a, “I think so,” even though I still wasn’t sure if I was going to take Trey up on his offer. It wasn’t until the lunch bell rang, and, stomach growling, I made my way to the lunchroom that I considered taking up Trey’s offer. The huge mass of students inside made up my mind for me. It was a typical high school lunchroom: loud, noisy chaos, bits of food on the floor, but this addition to the school already had a mural on the wall. Instead of the typical bobcat I’d expected, I was surprised with one complex, continuous picture. I saw a lake with a crocodile, a building made of cubes, a blonde boy painting, clouds, and multiple other things, all centered around the color purple, for some reason. It wasn’t that the entire painting was in shades of purple, it was that the background was dark purple, and everything centered around that.
After examining the mural for a few long seconds, I got in line to get my food. Luckily, this school served sub sandwiches, so I didn’t have to deal with the other gross main courses. Today was spaghetti casserole.
Ick.
It took almost five minutes to get my food. When I was finally out of the line, I started scanning the crowd for Trey. After a few seconds, he spotted me and waved me over. I started walking towards his group, which consisted of Trey, two other boys, and half a dozen blonde, skinny girls who looked like they could be cheerleaders.
I sighed. Cheerleaders. I hadn’t had any good experiences with cheerleaders yet. In fact, my only experiences consisted of watching them lead ridiculous-sounding cheers at the homecoming week pep assembly and football game, which Aimée had forced me to go to.
Their faces were friendly, though, as I approached them and timidly sat down next to Trey.
“Guys, this is Lena, who I was telling you about earlier,” he said. There was a chorus of “hi’s” from all around.
“I love your hair, Eleni!” one of the blonde girls said, flipping a strand of it. The other girls agreed enthusiastically.
“Um, thanks,” I said, feeling slightly awkward. “Do you think you could just call me Lena? I’d prefer that.”
“Lena?” one of the boys asked, as if he’d never heard the nickname before, which, truth be told, he probably hadn’t. I nodded.
“Okay, sure!” everybody agreed. The girl who’d complimented my hair introduced everybody.
“Holly, Emma, Jessi, Steph, Lauren, and I’m Sarah,” she started off with, “and that’s Liam,” she pointed to the boy with dark curly hair, “Evan,” the boy with light brown hair and bright blue eyes, and glasses, “and you already know Trey.”
I smiled nervously, but sat up straighter. “Nice to meet you.” They all cheerfully replied, but it was the blue-eyed boy that held my eye. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was just something about him that intrigued me.
All right, I will admit that he was pretty hot. Maybe that was it. He had on a coral blue shirt that brought out his eyes so well.
I blinked a few times and forced myself to concentrate on the food and conversation swirling around me. Trey was still the person who was easiest to talk to, but the blue-eyed boy, Evan, started a conversation with me when he asked about where I’d moved from. After a few minutes, I discovered that he was very funny, and it was just as easy to talk to him as it was to Trey.
About halfway through the lunch hour, one of the girls, Holly, asked me if I was going to join band. I said no, and it was then that I found out that the girls all belong to the colorguard portion of the band. Trey was in the pit, Liam was on drumline, and Evan was head drum major.
It was easier to socialize with the girls after I learned this seemingly trivial detail.
The lunch period ended all too soon, and I headed off to geography, and then Advanced Writing Techniques. Both classes were enjoyable and passed without incident. However, the geography teacher, a middle-aged track coach who was starting to lose a bit of hair up top, did tend to go off and lecture about things that sometimes were barely related to the original topic we were discussing. It made for a very amusing class, at least until he handed out the test outline sheet, promising that they would be hard.
I was hoping that I wouldn’t have very much homework on the first day of school, but I was wrong. Luckily, I had a study hall at the end of the day, and I intended to use every possible minute I could. Then, when I got home, I would be able to take my laptop outside and see if Aimée had found any other articles on dragons for me to use.
When I walked into the study hall room, though, every thought vanished from my mind. I saw him, and forgot everything else. In truth, he wasn’t unbelievably gorgeous by definition, and there wasn’t anything extraordinary about him at first glance, but something held me there. It was the feeling with Evan all over again.
He had light brown hair, flat and short; brown eyes, though I wouldn’t find that out until after he turned around, because he was sitting with his back to me; and he was skinny. You could tell just by looking at him that he was a runner.
Slowly, I forced myself to go sit down and stop staring at him like an idiot. The power of my gaze forced him to turn around and meet my eyes. That was what finally forced me to drop my eyes, blushing.
I turned my attention to the pile of books awaiting me on the table, but after a few seconds, I heard a chair scrape, and somebody sat down in the seat to the left of me.
I froze. Slowly, I lifted my eyes. Of course it was him. However, I didn’t see the expression I’d expected. Instead of confused or perplexed, I saw humor and amusement. When I met his eyes, his smile grew, and he said, “Hi, I’m assuming you’re Eleni.” I nodded mutely. “I’m Nick.”
My name stirred me out of the reverie I was in. “Actually, could you just call me Lena?”
“Only if you don’t call me Nicholas.” He made a face. “I hate my real name.”
“Me, too,” I relaxed a minute bit, “Well, I don’t hate it, but people can never pronounce it right, so I just go by Lena. It’s a lot easier to pronounce.” I stopped myself, realizing I was starting to babble a bit.
“Uh, I hate to disagree, but I think my name is a bit worse than yours is.” He smiled. I returned it with a broad grin. “No, mine’s worse. At least you have a common name. How many people have you met that have the name ‘Eleni?’”
Nick laughed. “True.” He thought for a second, then shook his head. “None other than you.”
From there, the conversation flowed effortlessly to names of pets, old friends, what Maryland was like, classes, what type of weather I preferred, and we were in the middle of a debate on whether Patrick Rothfuss would ever the publish the sequel to “The Name of the Wind” when the final bell sounded.
“So, did you enjoy your first day of school here?” Nick asked as he walked me to my locker.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Lena!” I turned and saw Holly coming towards me. She fell in step next to me and asked, “Are you doing anything this afternoon?”
“I don’t think so,” I said hesitantly, “why?”
“Oh, I was wondering whether you had anything to do,” she said breezily, “because if you wanted to you could come watch the colorguard practice.” Then she spotted Nick. “Oh, hi, Nick!”
“Hey,” I looked at him, surprised by the tone of his voice. His expression was a mixture of confusion, and was that tension? He covered it up with a small smile, though.
“So, how ‘bout it?” Holly’s voice broke through my puzzlement.
“Oh, um, sure, I guess.”
“Great! Let’s go!” Seizing my hand, she then proceeded to drag me down the hallway, towards the band room. I glanced back at Nick and smiled. He gave me a half-hearted wave.
If I’d looked back a second longer, I would’ve seen Nick’s face contort with tension, and him bit his lip, then rush off in the other direction. But I didn’t.
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Watching the colorguard actually turned out to be pretty interesting. I found out that it was more than just tossing flags around and walking aimlessly on a football field. First, you actually had to know the proper way to march, which you first learned on concrete, and then grass. This is because grass is much harder to march on than pavement. Then, you need to know the proper way to handle a flag: holding it, turning it, tossing it, where to position you hands, etc. Then, you had to memorize fifteen minutes’ worth of complicated formations on the football field. The members of the band had it worse, though. They had to learn the marching techniques, how to hold the instrument they played, how to march while playing, plus the fact that they had to wear a bulky, sweaty uniform. In addition to the formations they had to memorize, they also had to know the music from front to back.
In short, marching band is complicated.
Another thing, Steph told me that they had actually started band camp two weeks before the school year started. Colorguard and the drum majors started a week before that, even.
After about half an hour of watching a dozen girls toss around red and blue flags, I decided that I’d better head home.
As I drove out of the parking lot, I could’ve sworn I saw Nick in my rearview mirror, but when I looked back, he was gone. I was getting more and more perplexed by his actions.
(I love smileys.)
