the story summary is in the writers corner of the community forums. and i apologize if the tab isnt working and it all appears to be one big long paragraph, i know. please bear with me!
Breathe, Camilla, breath. It's all right, you can do this. You can do this.
I stood outside the classroom, on my first day. My first day of high school. My first day of ninth grade. The beginning of a new era.
It was a rare, cold August morning, and as I procrastinated going into the classroom, the cold wind and icy air bit at my cheeks and stung my eyes, causing my whole face to go bright red.
On one hand, I didn't want to go into the classroom, on the other hand, I did. My brain was reflexively telling me "no," but something in my heart was telling me "yes."
I set my right hand on the cool metal of the door handle, turned, and opened.
I breathed in a waft of warm air coming from the vent in the ceiling, and looked around. It was your typical ninth grade History classroom, with a whiteboard, TV, overhead projector, and other random goodies in the front, teacher's desk in the corner, a sink and counter with underneath cabinets lining all of one wall, blank colored posters placed randomly throughout the room to staple up projects, about 30 or so desks for the students, and then I saw the analog clock above the teacher's desk. It read 7:20 AM. I had a full 40 minutes until the bell rang and school started, so I set my backpack down at a random middle-of-the-classroom desk and walked up to Mr. Alston, my homeroom and History teacher.
"Good morning," I struggled up my throat and out of my mouth.
"Hello, you must be Miss Camilla Trousdale. Hi, I'm Mr. Alston. I'll be your homeroom teacher this year as well as I'll be teaching History. Please, leave your backpack where it is. You may sit wherever you want in my homeroom class." I mumbled back to him a quick thank you and rushed out of the classroom and into the ninth grade quad. In this entire 5 minutes I'd spend in Mr. Alston's room, half of the entire quad had become populated. Immediately, I spotted my best friend since kindergarten, Jemma Green.
"Hey, how was your summer, best friend?" Jemma inquired as she gave me a great big hug and hello. She'd always been that happy-go-lucky always optimistic girl.
"Oh you know, the usual. Recreational swim competitions, cute boys, the mall, staying home all day and watching TV, playing computer, texting, all the good stuff. And you?"
Jemma went on to tell me some big long story about how she visited her relatives in Britain and stayed with them all summer. I knew to just nod my head and throw in a few "mhms" and "oh yeah!" and "sounds fun" every few seconds, to make it seem like I'm paying attention when I'm really not.
My eyes wandered around the quad, looking for familiar faces or even voices. I spotted a few people from my eigth grade class last year, and some I'd known longer than that. After a few minutes, a boy walked around the corner that I could swear looked familiar, but I thought I'd never seen him around before. He seemed to walk in slow motion. His hair was short, light-brown, and his eyes were the most gorgeous shade of intense electric blue I'd ever seen. He looked about the same height as me, and an average weight for a 14-year-old boy as well. I had an amazing first impression of him, until he walked up to a group of other boys that had none other than my ex-boyfriend from seventh grade, Jeremy Brandt. (Why he's an "ex" is a whole other story. Let's just say, he's "the crazy ex.") This didn't harm what I thought of this new boy as much as it harmed what I thought of that whole group in general. I listened in more on them, and learned that this new boy's name was Austin Lockwood, and he had in fact attended the same middle school as I had, (but later in the day when I got home I flipped through my yearbook and indeed, Austin looked so much different in his yearbook pictures, where he had glasses, spiky hair, and polo shirts with dorky designs on them and chest pockets. I much preferred what he looked like now than before.)
I drifted back into the great British world of Jemma, and somewhat payed attention now, whilst thinking of Austin. Jemma Green, my best friend, was a transfer student from England, who came here to America when she was just 5 years old, and she'd never lost her British accent. She had shoulder-length, straight jet-black hair and fair skin with green eyes. We'd had all of our classes together since we met in kindergarten, and that included this year as well, thank goodness. I would not be able to get through freshman year without Jemma.
Before I knew it, the bell rang. Jemma came into the classroom with me and sat down on one side right next to where I'd set my backpack down, and who else walked in and sat down next to me on my other side, none other than Austin Lockwood.
Welcome to freshman year, Camilla.....
