Redwood High

Chapter 3:

I sat up straight and looked on with an impassive glare. He’s literally someone I had, at the most, 2.5 seconds of interaction with.

So why was I so nervous?

Him and some sophomore girl stopped at our table and smiled at us. The girl spoke first.

“Hi I’m Marie and this is Sebastian. How excited are you guys to be in the Marketing program?”

She was short and Latina. She had light caramel skin with gold, wavy locks for hair.

Carol spoke. “I’m actually really excited. I can’t wait for our projects and State competition.”

“Oh you know about SCDC?” Marie asked.

Carol nodded. “Yeah, my brother went through it last year and it seems like fun.”

“What about you?”

I didn’t know the question was directed at me until I noticed everyone got quiet. I looked at Sebastian who was giving me some kind of glare with his eyes. Everyone was waiting for an answer.

“What was the question?” I asked.

He spoke again. “How do you feel being in this program?”

“Oh. Um, it doesn’t really matter I didn’t really have a choice.”

“What made you choose North Tech?”

“My aunt chose for me when I moved here.”

“From where?”

“Um, Michigan.”

“Why the sudden move to your aunt?”

“I chose marketing because it’s the least boring,” interrupted Riley.

I sighed a silent thank you and looked down. He was literally interrogating me. Soon the bell rang and everyone shuffled out of class.

“He chose you,” Riley told me as we left the classroom.

“Chose me? Is that some kind of code here on the West Coast?”

“You are his latest conquest. You’re new, pretty, and a freshmen.  You met the requirements for the Grade-A man whore. Have fun,” she said as she sauntered off.

I let out a huff and asked myself the ultimate question every adolescent teenaged girl asks herself in these sort of situations, or similar.

Why me?

**

The first week of school passed, and that turned to month. I’ve been avoiding every attempt Sebastian threw at me, which surprisingly wasn’t much. He attempted twice and both times I kind of shot him down. Not because I was purposely playing hard to get. I wasn’t. I just don’t want to deal with that sort of relationship. Not yet.

According to Elizabeth Kubler-Roth there are five stages of grief:  denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I never went through any. At least I don’t think it classified. When I woke up in the hospital room, I was hysterical.

I remember opening my eyes to the very bright fluorescent lights. Disoriented. I remember everything being fuzzy. My head pounded and ached.

“M-mom?” I asked hoarsely.

I tried to sit up but it only made my headache worst. I pecked the needles out of my arms and made a second attempt to stand up. My legs wobbled. They couldn’t support me.

“Mom? Dad?” Still, I didn’t get an answer.

A nurse came in. All I remember from her was pink scrubs. Pink scrubs that haunted me and later made me rip up my pink wallpaper.