First Day Catastrophe

Suffice it to say, my first day of high school didn't go quite as well as I had hoped. When I arrived at school that morning, the sun was shining and the birds were singing in the autumn breeze. It may seem cheesy, but I actually had a good feeling about this place. I'm not delusional or anything, and as anyone who's met me will tell you, I'm not a fan of getting excited over nothing. I mean, as a kid who’s had to deal with moving schools a lot, I know how hard it can be. I've been stuck in some pretty nasty public schools in my time. But this year, I hoped, would be different. My best friend was moving to the same school as me. 

His name was Hank Rodriguez, and he was the only person I knew who had transferred to this school, Oak Rivers High, along with me. He was also the first friend in a long time who I hadn't had to cut ties with at the end of the school year. He's the biggest nerd you'll ever meet, and I love him for it. He spends a lot of my time drooling over Pokemon games or ranting about the newest season of Doctor Who, (both of which he totally got me hooked on in the first place). And, though I'll never say it to his face, I rely on him a lot for stability. Having moved around so much for so long, I find it really hard to cope with being settled one place now that Dad's out of the military. Hank's a great dude, and I trust him with a lot of my secrets and problems. He's basically the best friend ever. So, even though I was super nervous about starting high school, I figured I at least had a chance as long as he was there with me.

Well, just my luck, because the first thing I noticed when I entered the auditorium was that my best friend wasn’t there. That's right, Hank's seat was completely empty, his name tag hanging limply by a lone piece of Scotch tape in the third row. He had texted me last night saying that he was feeling sick, and since his Mom has to go to work really early at the bank, it was pretty safe to say that if he wasn’t here before me, he wasn’t coming in at all. Brilliant. The school year was off to a great start. 

When I finally found my seat, I peeled off my misspelled name tag only to find that some immensely talented young artist had thought to scrawl “THE FAG SEAT” in permanent marker across the backrest, along with several charming drawings of penises. I couldn’t help but groan internally. This was definitely not in the online description of the school. Quickly covering the graffiti up with my jacket, I flopped down. I was one of the few people at school on time, so there wasn’t much activity. As I scanned the octagonal room, I couldn’t help but note the grey, lumpy floor tiles and flickering fluorescent lights. All in all, I have to say that the general atmosphere of the grounds felt more like a penitentiary than a school building, with its grungy, yellowing walls and the revolting smell of burnt rubber lingering in the air like a plague. Charming place, right? It's always a good sign when your new school looks like it cries itself to sleep every night.

Already getting bored, I rifled under my seat for something to look at. I found a pamphlet crookedly tossed underneath, along with a truly distressing amount of fossilized chewing gum. I carefully extricated the pamphlet, trying not to touch the revolting crust of gum. On the front in bold print, it said "ORIENTATION PAMPHLET." I made a mental note to only read it if things reached critical levels of boring.

After most of the students had filed in, talking and chatting, an old woman with a permanent scowl hobbled on stage. Her apron and hairnet were the same color as the faded carpet underneath our feet. She barked at us to all sit down and shut up, and the din of chatter faded away. She then raised her ancient hands and croaked into her microphone onstage, “Welcome, Freshmen, to Oak Rivers High. This is where you will receive a quality education for the rest of your school careers. I am Mrs. Grears, the lunch lady. Now, please give a big hand to your principal, Mrs. Faulkner.”

There were a few cautious claps from the audience, but most of us stayed silent, trying not to draw attention to ourselves. A polished, professional-looking blonde lady walked out onto the stage, smiling like it was her fricking wedding day. She walked up to the podium and began talking in a high-pitched voice, in the way you might talk to a baby or a dog when you’re congratulating them on not pooping on the rug. Her face was disturbingly over-animated, like a Barbie doll brought to life, and her grin was all perfectly-sculpted white teeth. She had obviously dished out a lot of money to stay looking like this, as her face was at least 60% plastic and botox. To be honest, it was hard to look at her.

As she continued squawking out the guidelines, I started to zone out. To stop myself from falling asleep, I picked up the handout I had found under my seat again and tentatively opened it. It was my class plan for the week and a booklet of school rules, which I shoved into my bookbag. Thank goodness no Einstein had managed to doodle on this thing. With the way my morning was going, this schedule would be my lifeline to the world of normalcy. I scanned through it and tried to memorize the classroom numbers, but before I felt confident with them, the bell rang and we were dismissed to our Homerooms.

After that, the morning was a blur of new people, new rooms, and new stenches. Each teacher felt the need to do a cute "introductory" lesson, in case we forgot what history was over the summer, then piled us with homework half a mile high. To be honest, I had been so nervous about being bullied by my new peers, I had completely forgotten that I was going to be bullied by my teachers, too. There was paperwork to be signed, seating charts to be arranged, uniforms to be rented, and homework journals to be kept track of. Even the elective teachers had a some kind of death wish for us, slamming us with a truckload of permission forms and supplies that we needed to bring from home. On the plus side, I had spoken to several of the kids in my classes, and even though we weren't even on a first-name basis, the crazy schoolwork gave us something to bond over. I cracked some jokes, we chatted in between classes, and I generally felt pretty welcomed. One girl had even shared a tiny container of Pringles with me under her desk. I was used to being the new kid, sometimes even coming in halfway through a semester, but here, we were all the new kids, trudging off into a new phase of life together. It felt pretty awesome, being accepted.

I hummed one of the new songs from choir to myself as I got in line to buy my lunch. The burnt-rubber smell of the so-called “food” the lunch ladies were making was worse than ever, but even that couldn’t pull me down from my high. I was going to eat whatever they served me, and I was going to like it. The courtyard outside was just as sunny and warm as it had been this morning. My fears about feeling isolated had been assuaged. This school was going to work out fine after all. But as I sat down with my tray of the radioactive slop at an empty table in the corner, I couldn’t help but notice that I was attracting stares and whispers from the other freshmen. Oh god, I thought, this can't be happening again! Every damn time. Was this outfit too much? No, that can't be it. It’s dress code, after all. Just some shorts and a nice top. Wait, I don’t have something stuck to me, right? Or in my teeth? Did someone put something on my back? Oh, no. Is it my pimple? God, I seriously need to do something about that stupid thing. What is it?

I didn’t have to wonder long, because just then, a group of girls a few years older all walked up to me, snickering and whispering loudly. Apparently, the older grades were filtering in to have lunch now, too. And that meant trouble for me.

“Hi!” I said cautiously, trying to be polite. These did not seem like girls you wanted to offend. The way they walked told me all I needed to know. I’d seen their type in every school, strutting around like they owned the place because they did. If I could just stay an anonymous loser in their eyes, I’d be golden.

“Hey, Lesbo, you do know this isn’t a queer-inclusive school, right?” drawled one of the girls, glancing at me with her cold green eyes. Her golden-red hair was perfectly styled, and I could tell she was the leader of the pack by her clothes, which were the kind of ratty that could only be bought at high-end stores.

A bolt of terror went down my spine. This interaction was already not going well. "What are you talking about?" I croaked. "I'm not a lesbian."

"Is that so, dyke? I don't remember asking for your opinion," she crooned, batting her perfectly made-up eyes innocently.

“Look, I'm sorry to disappoint you,” I muttered into my phlegm-y meal, fists clenched, “but I’m not gay.”

“Mmm-hmm,” She said icily, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah. Sure, hon. But a little birdie told me that you’re the one who sat in the Fag Seat this year. And with those jean shorts and that hair? I don't know if I believe you're telling the truth. Are you, now?”

I felt panic welling up in my throat, and my cheeks heat up like a spotlight. I knew she was just being a jerk, but I couldn't help but feel bad about it. I tried to steady my voice. “I don’t like girls, but thank you for your interest. Look, I’m really hungry, so if you’d just--”

But before I could finish, the girl grabbed my chair and spun me around like a top. Everything was going wrong. Oh, god, where are teachers when you need them? She spat into my face, “Yeah, I don’t think so, dyke. I think we need to teach you a lesson to make sure you don’t get any ideas about messing up our school.”

The other girls giggled and surrounded me, pushing and shoving. Someone clipped my food tray and spent it spinning across the floor, spilling everywhere. Hands were all over me, tugging at my shirt, my shorts, my hair, my arms, knocking me around like a tidal wave, pushing me over onto the floor. I tried to call out, but the hands were everywhere, holding me down. 

One of the girls' voice hissed, "Now let's smear the queer!" Someone gave me a swift kick in the ribs. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I groaned in pain from underneath someone's fingers. Another pedicured foot struck out, catching me across the cheek. Another kick, and then another. My side was on fire, bruises and welts rising up all across my back and sides. I was sobbing silently. The only thing I could see was the clamoring mass of legs and bodies, whirling around, laughing and jeering. Oh, why did I choose such a far corner of the courtyard to sit in? Why wasn't anyone helping me? 

"Smear the queer! Smear the queer!" they chanted, circling me like a pack of glamorous wolves. Kicks and taunts rained down around me. Soon, there were people throwing stones and gravel, pelting me with a thousand tiny fists. Everything hurt. It was too much, too much... 

Then, suddenly, a voice boomed through the courtyard. “Hey! Assholes!”

Each of the girls whipped their perfect faces around, freezing in place. Through the gaps in their legs, I saw a pair of combat boots approaching. They stomped across the tarmac, footfalls ringing in the silence.

“Last time I checked,” said a dangerously quiet voice, “I am the local queer. Getting beaten up is my shtick. You seem to have confused me for yet another innocent freshman this year, Brittany. This kid didn’t do anything. So let her. The hell. Go.”

The mob of girls immediately scattered, fleeing to a safer place free of this madwoman. A big, warm hand reaches down and helps me up. I was covered in food, orange juice, and dirt, and my face was red with shame.

“Are you OK, kid?” said the voice, kind and low. The girl kept asking me questions as she put her hand on my shoulder and steered me away from the large crowd that was forming in my wake. I just nodded again and again as my answer, too embarrassed to even look at my savior’s face. I kept my eyes trained on my tennis shoes as we shuffled back inside the school, away from watching eyes. Eventually, she stopped asking questions, and we walked down the empty halls in silence. “C’mon,” she said finally, turning off onto another side-passage, “let’s get you cleaned up in the bathroom.”

When we arrived at the bathroom, I couldn’t help sobbing a little over the sink. It just... absolutely horrifying. In all of the many schools I’ve been to, I’ve never once been on the receiving end of anything that harsh before. Usually, I stay out of the way enough to avoid the brunt of bullying, but I guess was just not that lucky this time. As I cried, the girl who saved me watched from the corner, not speaking, just giving me space to let it all out. 

After I finished wiping off my gross, sweaty, tear-streaked face with some paper towel, I finally choked down my shame to thank her. I started small, just staring down at her combat boots, and then slowly worked my way up past her black jeans, to her awesome Superman tee-shirt and green hoodie, and finally to her face. She looked a little older than me, maybe a Sophomore, or even a Junior. She was actually really gorgeous, not unlike the mean clique. But while they were so preened and primped they looked like they just waltzed out of America’s Next Top Model, her makeup was minimalist, her black hair had a cool purple highlight, and the corners of her eyes were crinkled in a genuine smile.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked, handing me another paper towel for my clothes.

“Yeah,” I said, accepting it and starting to rub down my clothes, blushing even more. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“No biggie,” she said, shrugging. “I’ve been there, as you could probably tell. What’s your name, kid?”

“Emily Byrd, but my friends usually just call me Finch.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Miss Byrd,” she said. “I’m Jacqueline Rivera. Called Jackie. Pleased to meet you.”

I couldn’t help myself from asking, “So I was wondering… are you actually… ?”

“Lesbian? No. Pansexual? Yes. These stupid-asses can't even tell the difference, though, so it almost doesn't matter,” said Jackie casually. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah! Yeah, absolutely! I was actually just wondering… Because, well… The reason I was so upset about all that is… Well, I’m-- I'm not actually out to anyone yet, just my friend, Hank,” I muttered, tripping over each word.

“Really? That’s okay,” Jackie said reassuringly. “You know they couldn’t actually tell, right? That’s just a stupid tradition in this school. Whoever happens to sit in that seat gets it in the neck. Brittany has decided it's her duty to continue that legacy of douchebag-ery from the assholes who bullied me back in the day, before they graduated. The fashion police were just looking for someone to mess with. Your secret is totally safe. Besides, now they’re off licking their wounds, I bet you’ll be the last person anyone would expect to actually like girls.”

A wave of relief washed over me. My shoulders became less tensed, stress un-knotting itself from above my temples. “You won’t… tell anybody, right?”

Jackie raised her left hand and clapped her right over her heart. “I would never. Queer’s honor.”

“Thank you so much for everything,” I said, smiling for the first time today. Suddenly, I heard the end-of-lunch bell ring, telling us to go back to class. “So. I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Sure!” Jackie said, grinning back. Then her eyes widened. “Hold up a minute, let me give you my number.” She whipped out a pen and scribbled it on my arm in a few short strokes. “There. Now you can text me later.”

“Awesome! Thanks again!” I called, waving over my shoulder as I jogged out of the bathroom and towards the locker pit, grinning like a fool.

I managed to hurtle through the door in the nick of time, backpack dangling off of one shoulder. As I settled into my seat and the teacher started talking, I couldn’t help smiling a secret smile as I glanced down at my forearm. Jackie's number. I'd have to put it into my phone as soon as I got home. Looking at her handwriting, something rose up in my chest, dancing like a startled butterfly in my stomach, delicate and new and all my own. I closed my eyes and remembered her soft hands on my shoulders, her warm brown eyes as she laughed. You know, I thought to myself, maybe this school year won’t be so bad after all.

(A.N.: Yeah, so this is obviously super-rough, I know. I just pulled all of these ideas that were floating around my head together and put them down on paper, with minimal editing as I went. I did spend a lot of time trying to spell-check and re-write afterwards, but I'm so terrible with grammar that it probably made no difference at all. >.< I would be eternally grateful if you just took a minute to write a review or even a comment for me. I'm a hot mess writer, and any criticism would be super welcome. :P Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading! Love ya!