Classroom Rules
Helplessly by Tatiana Manaois
The weekend went by fast to my relief, I was stuck in my dorm with my roommate, Emma, for the most part. I texted Alex here and there, discussing where to meet for classes starting Monday and texted Marc 'shut up' at least a hundred times. My wall was decorated with a whiteboard calendar, a bulletin board and a collage of photos from senior year. Emma and I had spent Sunday finishing our decorating, we contrasted one another. My side was decorated with a darker scheme of colors and plain lights whereas hers was decorated with a bright scheme of colors and colorful lights; you could've sworn her side was mine by the looks of my wardrobe. We were both extremely organized, our desks and makeup stations were both made up of small buckets and boxes holding our things.
We ate take out Sunday night and got to know each other; we talked about family and high school before falling asleep watching Clueless.
Monday morning I walked out of my dorm at eight, walking down the hall and out the doors to meet Alex and Marc for breakfast. As usual I walked in the middle, arms linked with both of them.
When we got to the diner we deemed as our Monday spot I checked out their outfits, and rethought my own. Alex was in black leggings, a black tank top, a black and blue flannel, and black Converse with her hair in a ponytail. Her face was done with the uttermost precision, although you could see her foundation line-I had yet to tell her about the misfortune that was her shade of foundation-but her eyeliner was done perfectly. I looked over at Marc who was dressed in black skinny jeans-the knees ripped-, a white t-shirt with a light denim jacket thrown over-the sleeves rolled up-, and a pair of black suede oxfords on his feet; his hair was a black quiff atop his head.
Then there was me: the girl who woke up at five in the morning to begin getting ready. I wore a yellow sundress that stopped just above my knees, the straps were rather thin so I threw over a small jean jacket to feel secure and I had a pair of white flats on my feet. My hair was curled tightly and the fronts were pinned back; my face was lightly done with some concealer, translucent powder, a peach blush and some mascara. Beside my friends I did seem like a prude, I can't believe I'm letting Harry get into my head again. There's nothing wrong with the way you look; you're you, they're them.
"So, we have the same morning class, how are we feeling?" Marc sparked up a conversation while we were waiting on our food; we'd been seated right when we came in and ordered rather quickly. He had a charming smile, his eyes were bright and hopeful.
"It's going to be senior English all over again, don't you think?" Alex remarked, taking a sip of her coffee.
"No, we're in college now," I shook my head, fiddling with a pink sugar packet, "there's ought to be some changes."
"You sound like my mother," Marc groaned, playfully throwing his head back. "She thinks I'm going to meet a girl who will 'straighten me out.'" Marc had came out the beginning of senior year, and his mother was dangerously less than supportive; his father had left her for a man, so you knew his father was beyond ecstatic and supportive of his son.
"You're so condescending sometimes Flor, it's kind of intimidating and annoying." Alex's tone was sharp, and her facial expression was beyond annoyed.
"You know who my parents are," I rolled my eyes at her and at the fact that she had the audacity to say that to me. I come from a two children household, where the parents are heavily devoted Christians and can't help but rub off on the youngest of the two children. It isn't something I admire about myself, I despise it; it's a reminder to me that no matter how much I try to be different than them I'll end up the exact same as a parent. I'm not heavily devoted, I'm on a strict 'if I need to be, then I will' basis; my faith in God is barely over the two percent mark out of one hundred.
