Newbraska (Part 1)

Last summer we moved to a little town in the middle of nowhere where we would be the richest people in town. I wanted to stay in Denver with my friends. With the only people left in the world who cared about me. But that was out of the question. I had to start my last year of high school in a new state, Nebraska, and at a completely different school, Mozilla Creek High School, known by the masses as McHigh. I was relieved to learn that our mascot was not, in fact, Ronald McDonald. Just one of my stepmom’s terrible jokes.

I wasn’t looking forward to August at all. I would be starting my senior year friendless and alone and my laptop was the only way I had to contact my friends in Denver. The four of us- my stepmom, her daughter, her son, and I- would be living in a big, old mansion. I would rather have lived in a cozy little home than in a hotel, but my stepmom loves nothing more than she loves glamour. And now that my dad was dead, glamour was something she could finally afford.

My dad was killed earlier that year in a drunk driving accident and my stepmom had decided that a change of scenery, and a bigger house, would be best for all of us. I only survived the pain and grief of losing my dad through my friends. They had been there for me whenever I needed it. During the first two months, when my life had looked the darkest, I had taken comfort in the knowledge that I didn’t have to go it alone. Now I had no choice but to be alone. I felt like I was abandoning my friends, and more importantly, my dad, buried on the family plot just outside of Denver.

On August 1, we arrived in Mozilla Creek, Nebraska. Un packing was tedious, but my favorite part was unpacking my personal items. It brought me back to a time when I was happier. I convinced my stepmom to let me live in the attic. It wasn’t very difficult to convince her. I suggested it and she just laughed at me and said that would probably suit me best. I did what I normally do when she insults me: I ignored her.

Our first day of school was August 13, and after a week of unpacking, I realized that school would be a pleasant alternative to being shut up at home with my stepmom and step-siblings. My step-siblings, Eric and Evelyn, were twins, but they didn’t act like it. They led completely separate lives. Eric played video games and locked himself in his room all day. Evelyn played volleyball and was always busy with practice, games, and team bonding. I was responsible for chauffeuring her around that first week. She had started volleyball camp and had already made friends with two other volleyball players, Sara and Lindsey. I got to know them pretty well too, because I drove them to our house everyday after volleyball practice, where they spent hours filling Evelyn in on the school’s social hierarchy and the latest juicy gossip.

I woke on the 13th with very low expectations for the day. The odds of me making friends on my first day of school in a town where everyone else had known each other since birth with just about zero. Still, I wanted to make a good impression. Sure, they probably wouldn’t talk to me the first day, but they would remember what I was like on the first day in a few weeks when they started to get over new-girl-phobia. I wore a sundress that hung at my knees, my favorite dangly gold hoop earrings, a pair of brown faux leather sandals, and curled my hair in loose waves. I drove to school ten minutes before it was supposed to start because Evelyn had taken so long to get ready. I walked into homeroom right before the bell rang and stood awkwardly at the front of the room, looking for an empty desk as the teacher came in and shut the door. There was one desk in the middle of the classroom that was empty and it was the only one left. Maybe it was fate that I had to sit there, or maybe it was just an odd coincidence.

“Hey,” whispered a voice behind me. I turned to see if he was talking to me, but he was looking at the person in the seat to my right.

A deep, very masculine voice responded. “What?”

“Do you think she’ll separate us if this girl is sitting here?”

I looked between the two of them and they glanced at me and back at each other quickly. They were both lean, tall, and muscular. Clearly, athletes. The meaty boy in front of me shifted in his seat so he could see all three of us.

“I think she’ll take it easy on us this year. She seemed to be warming up to us in May,” he said.

The boy in front of me didn’t look athletic at all, but he acted like he was part of the conversation. Were these guys all friends? At my old school in Denver they wouldn’t have been, but that school was a lot bigger. Maybe Nebraska did things differently and there were no bullies or mean girls or jocks with over-inflated egos. Maybe these McStudents broke all the stereotypes.

I didn’t know where to look now. I was surrounded and a bit flustered. I turned to the left and found another boy, staring straight into my eyes. I sucked in a breath, somewhat in shock. The boy smiled. I couldn’t take my eyes off his face. He was like the boys behind me and to my right, but he definitely had the best hair and the most attractive eyes. His hair was short, thin, and dark brown and his eyes were dark green with light brown strands around the pupils. His eyelashes were long and his skin was darker than mine.

“What’s your name?” he asked. His voice was mellow and made him sound like he actually wanted to know.

“I’m Ophelia,” I said, just a little self-conscious.

The boy rested his chin in his hand and kept smiling and staring. “Like Hamlet?”

I shrugged. “My mom’s favorite play, I guess. She wanted to be a poet.”

He straightened up. “She wanted to be a poet?”

I knew what he was thinking already. I nodded. “And I have to remember it every time someone asks my name.”

He had stopped smiling, but now it was like he was penetrating my soul with those eyes. “I’m really sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine. I never even knew her. She died when I was only one year old.”

I finally pulled my eyes away from the boy next to me and no one said anything for a couple minutes. Finally, the boy behind me spoke.

“Mrs. K might not need to split us up with this girl in the middle, if she keeps saying sad things.”

“No,” said the boy to my right. “But she might have to separate her and Jack if he doesn’t stop staring at her.

The boy on my left just smiled and finally looked away. “I’m Roger, by the way. But you can call me Jack.”

The boy in front turned around again. “Smooth, Jackie. I thought you were gonna say ‘my friends call me Jack.’”

“Well, I guess you’re a friend now, Ophelia,” the boy behind me said. “Jack says so.”

I smiled and looked over at Roger and he grinned at me, shaking his head. “Everyone calls me Jack.”