sweat-shirt

OONA

DING! DING! DING! My alarm clock vibrated profusely on my nightstand, impatiently for me to wake up and stop the alarm. It was 5:30 am, too early for a seventeen-year-old, you say, but in my standard, it is completely late. My standard, meaning my friend circle.

We're considered popular and pretty, dating varsity jocks and having the stereotype of having large, wide homes and neat lawns. Our parents, expected to be lawyers or real estate agents, and having the entire school under the tips of our fingers. Us being the sun of the solar system while everyone else in our school revolve around us like planets -- every year and spinning every day under our control.

I gently opened the curtain, letting sunlight run through my bedroom. It was sunrise, the sun gently rising from the horizon, showing its control of another beautiful day. I stopped the alarm and grabbed my phone which was full of juice. 10 text messages from Gemma. Of course Gemma was up, texting me whether I was up or not. Gemma's my best friend -- and rather a kid-version of my mother. Always asking me what I'm doing and whether I'm doing it the right way. GIRL DID YOU WAKE UP?! IT'S THE FIRST DAY! I read as I replied with a lazy 'yes,' shoving my phone under my pillow as I trudged towards the bathroom,

After an hour and a half, I'm finally ready. It was 7:00 am. I stared at myself in the mirror to get a glimpse of my (against the dress-code, yet cute) outfit. It was a white tank top with the rolling stones and a black miniskirt with a light pink cardigan and flats. I sent a mirror selfie of my outfit to Gemma, who commented, "good outfit, but change the flats." I did what I was told, following Gemma because she knew what was right.

I ran downstairs, knowing I would be late. Mom and Dad, as usual, were gone for work. My older brother, Lucas, was off to college. It was just me, home alone. I barged into the kitchen and grabbed a slice of bread, smearing some jam as I ate and stared at a portrait of my family which was taken four years ago. Mom was looking pretentious in her maxi dress with golden hoops, a matching necklace, and shiny diamond heels. Dad looked very professional in his suit, standing tall and confidently with an arm around Mom. Lucas, who was in high school at that time, wearing a suit similar to Dad's but with a designer bow tie. And middle-school me, wearing a fancy Michael Kors designer outfit with shiny heels. Sometimes, I wish I was with Mom and Dad a bit more. Spending time with Mom and Dad. They were always away, I was always home. My brother Lucas is off at college. He doesn't spend time with me, either. Not that he hates me, but he only comes when Mom and Dad are at home, which is around once or twice a month.

Back to the sandwich I was eating, which I smothered after realizing I had to get out of the house, after hearing a few knocks of Gabriel, the chauffeur. I grabbed my backpack and opened the door to see Gabriel, looking tiredly at me.

"Miss, it has been ten minutes. You will be late to school and your parents will be furious with me if I don't drop you off on time," he said, taking my backpack as he opened the door for me.

I got in the car without saying a word. Gabriel dropped me off at the front and I stepped out of the car with my backpack. He left immediately. I sauntered around, waiting for Gemma. She arrived, a few minutes later, and hugged me as usual.

"Oona, I've got to tell you something," Gemma said excitedly, as if something was up her sleeve. "Prom is in two weeks!"

"PROM?!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands with joy. "Gemma, why didn't you tell me earlier?" I laughed, nudging her.

"You know the rumors. Sasha's the vice president and they were discussing the event. She told me. It's going to be so much fun. But of course, we have TONS to do before the big day," Gemma winked.

"Like what?"

"Silly, we need dates, dresses, and of course, the prom party that I will host myself!" Gemma said dreamily. "I'm taking my boyfriend, Luis, of course. What about you, Oona?" She babbled. She paused to observe the look on face, the I-don't-have-a-boyfriend-because-I-am-single look. "Right." She said with a pause. "There's always someone, Oona, don't worry," she reassured.

I nodded.

Gemma continued babbling about designer dresses while we went inside to get ready for homeroom. I completely forgot that it was the first day of school -- or the last year of high school, as Gemma phrased. After we sat down in our respective seats in the back, I scanned my schedule. Statistics with Mrs. DiCaprio, I read to Gemma. AP Physics with Mr. Long.

"We have stats together and also Fashion Studies," Gemma said, highlighting them with a purple marker. "I'm taking physics while you're taking an AP course -- and the same for English, too. When can I be as smart as you?" she continued, sighing.

I laughed. "It's okay, Gemma. At least we have some classes together."

She nodded as we faced our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Price. She took attendance and jabbered about her dogs, how she taught English for 15 years (as if anybody cares), and our "exciting" Senior year. After she dismissed class, Gemma and I headed to our classes -- AP Physics for me and Physics for Gemma. I looked for a seat confusingly, eventually finding one in the back. This boy wearing a red sweatshirt sat next to me. He was reading a book about chess. I couldn't even see his face when half of it was covered with his large sweatshirt.

"Hey, sweatshirt," I waved. Inside, I cringed about how I greeted him. It sounded much better on Gemma- I could be a lot more nicer. But the boy just laughed and returned to reading his book.

"You like chess?" I asked, waiting for a word to get out of that shy boy. He wasn't even looking at me, but reading that book of his.

"Why would I read a chess book if I don't like chess?" He finally said, looking at me as if I asked the most stupid question in the world. "But to answer your question, I love chess. I'm on the state's team."

"That's so cool," I said, voice dripping of sarcasm. Chess was the easiest way to go down the social chain. I remember how Gemma warned me about the clubs that I should and shouldn't join. This boy looked like he didn't care.

"I know chess is 'social suicide' or whatever," the boy acknowledged. "But you should pursue things you are interested in, whether it's social suicide or not."

"So you don't care what others think?"

"Nope," the boy said confidently. "My name's Christian. Yours?"

"Uh, Oona. You don't know me?"

"I'm new here," he answered back. "Why, you are a celebrity?"

"Oh, um, no," I said. "It's nothing."

He nodded and returned to reading his chess book. He didn't know anything about the high school he was about to know. Little did Christian know how much scandalous and dramatic this school would be. I just laughed in my mind, unable to comprehend how nonchalant this boy was. Reading a small book and not caring about the world around him.

"You like chess?"

"No."

"Then why are you looking at me?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Won't others see that you are staring at me?"

"Who cares what they think?"

Christian paused and laughed. "Can you call me sweatshirt, instead of my name, Christian?"

"Um, won't Christian sound better?"

"It's a nickname," Christian said. "Besides, it's fine with me. Y'know, we're friends! I liked it when you called me 'sweatshirt' at first."

"Look, that was a joke-"

"I know, but it sounds cool. Please? Call me sweatshirt?" he pleaded.

I scratched my head and nodded. "Bet, sweatshirt."