Things Fall Apart: Chapter Seven: Asteria's First Day

Asteria

God, school is such a drag. As Queen Bee, at any normal school I'd play hooky. But Mom and Dad work at our satanic mistake for an educational center, so they have spies everywhere called "teachers." Their job is to pretend like they know things to brainwash students into thinking they're human beings. In reality, they are manipulative and cunning, trained to suppress us and skilled in the art of Failing Asteria. Mom is the Headmistress of Meltdown Academy and also the twelfth grade math teacher as it happens, which is why she has to leave way earlier in the mornings than we do. Dad is the Dean of Students. I have no idea what he does. But you get the idea.

So after I save Frey's ass for the first but definitely not the final time, I walk to Advanced Placement Calculus, which is in the South Curve of the building. Our school is round. We have a running joke that because our school is round, none of the students are sharp. It's pathetically true.

The only thing I'm really good at other than purposely losing at beer pong is math. Juno's a Fiction Writer and Part-Time Poet, Arinna is a Disney Princess Coloring Artist and Part-Time Pest, Frey is a Professional Dork, but I am Queen Bee and Full-Time Mathematical Genius. In my humble opinion.

“Asteria,” one of my not-so-sharp minions, Henrietta (an unfortunate name for an unfortunate girl) calls from down the hall. Her frizzy, mouse-brown hair is always in her face, and she pushes it out of the way hurriedly to talk to me.

“What’s up, Henny?” I ask, flicking a long lock of black hair off my shoulder.

“I j-just heard ab-bout Ben’s party last weekend,” she says excitedly. She always stutters when she’s excited, the poor dear. “Did Frey really make out with Adrian Kingston?” I roll my eyes, playing it cool. Play it cool, Asteria, I think to myself. You are the Queen Bee.

“Of course not, Henny,” I say casually. “What the hell is wrong with you, anyway?” Henny looks down at her knock-off off-season Toms. Of course Frey made out with Adrian Kingston at that party; Adrian is my best guy friend. He’s been gay for Frey since the third grade.

“Oh,” says Henny, clearly disappointed. She shuffles away to my other minions, probably letting them know the rumor isn’t true, of course. (A Note From Future Asteria: What I will learn later is that that rumor was circulated anyway, and it will all lead up to the Terrible Trio’s Worst Week Ever, which you will read about later).

Yeah, I pretty much have this stupid excuse for a college preparatory institution at my mercy. I get the choicest seat in the cafeteria (right next to Ben James, the Boy With Two Names, the guy who threw that party, whom you'll meet later before thanking his parents for blessing this earth with such a beautiful human being). I'm always the first to be asked to dances and formals, and all the gossip that runs through the rumor mill must come through me first for verification. As a result, I have the power to protect my siblings from humiliation. I quashed the rumor that Frey is gay (even though he is; he's not ready to come out just yet); I suppressed the notion that Juno cheats on tests; I've made certain that nobody really knows how Juno became blind. We've told everyone she was born that way. And we're sticking to that story.

Anyway, back to the action of my exciting life as a Prisoner of the Savannah, Georgia Educational System. I sit down in my usual spot at the back of the class, next to Oliver Garfield. Oliver Garfield is by far the nicest and the smartest guy in this sorry dump of a school. The only problem is that... well.... he's not exactly what I would call "physically attractive." Which is why I'm setting him up with Juno.

"Hey, Oliver," I say. I have a plan formulating about how to bring Juno and Oliver together. It'll take time and--

"WHy are you wearing sunglasses, Asteria?" he asks, feigning innocence. I fake glare at him before remembering he can't see my eyes. I pull the glasses down over my nose and give him an Asterian Death Stare. He puts his hands up, surrendering.

The bell rings and the Single Meanest Woman Alive walks into the room to start class. Mom calls attendance, passes out the syllabus and gives us a particularly dreary overview of the school year. She ends by explaining her class rules, which sound disturbingly like rules the Jews must have faced in the German concentration camps.

Finally, the bell rings again and we are free to live our lives of hopeless desperation. I turn to Oliver Garfield.

"So, Oliver," I say, trying to be casual. [i]Come on, Asteria,[/i] I think. [i]Just think how happy Juno will be.[/i] "Are you excited about First Friday?" The First Friday of senior year is the annual Senior Lock-In. It's always heavily chaperoned to deter the druggies and alcoholics, but we find our ways.

"Yeah," he says, brightening. He really can be kind of not ugly when he smiles. "Are you and Juno-and-Frey going to be there?" He speeds through Juno's name to keep the blushing to a minimum. I grin.

"Yeah," I say. "Juno said she's really excited to see you there." Lie.

"Really?" Oliver's eyes pop out of his less-than-beautiful head.

"Yeah," I say. "She said she really wants to get to know you better this year." Lie.

"Well tell her I'll see her Friday, then," Oliver says, standing.

"I will," I promise. Truth. Oliver walks out, grinning his face off. Mom gives me a Look.

"What?" I say.

"You're still wearing your sunglasses," Mom says in her Mom Voice. I groan.

"Okay, Mom, I--"

"No excuses," she said. "We want to help you, Asteria. But you have got to meet us in the middle."

I sigh. "So, what's my punishment," I say. It's not a question.

"There isn't one," Mom says, which nearly knocks breath out of my body.

"W-what?"

"Your punishment is ruining your own life with your decisions," she says simply, as if she didn't just metaphorically rip out my heart.

Can I just say, I don’t like being addicted to alcohol (“May you just say,” Juno corrects). I don’t like going to Support Groups every other Thursday at seven. I don’t like taking medication. I don’t like facing my nine-year-old sister when I come home at 2 AM on a Sunday morning and she’s waiting up for me with a cup of black coffee left over from dinner. I wish--Oh, my God, I can’t believe I’m going to say this--but I wish my parents would be more strict with me.

So I waited, hoping, for the punch line. "But the next time you walk into school hung over, you will lose all your Senior Privileges for the rest of the year, understood?" Oh, there it is.

"Whatever," I huff. I walk out, teenager-style, and kind of wish I didn't have to live with this addiction.

But who am I kidding? I can't break this.

I walk to my next class, Advanced Placement British Literature and Composition. At least Juno will be there; she always knows what to say.