Monday. Time to get up. I roll over in bed, slapping my alarm clock hard. The beeping is annoying and loud and I personally don’t need that at 7 am. I groan, thinking about school today. I will have to face Sophie, May, Britt, everyone else at the party and horror of all horrors, Karen. Not to mention the kid who drove me home, who I sort of yelled at.
Sliding out of bed, I brainstorm excuses not to go to school. Number one, sick. I could have some fun with that: dipping a thermometer in boiling water when my mother’s back was turned and telling her I had a sky-high temperature. But then she would take me to the doctor, who would rat me out So no, faking a deadly illness was not an option. Number two, I could literally leave in my car and just not show up at school. I could easily forge my mother’s signature on a note, or pretend to be her on the phone. But then again, there was the risk of being caught. And I really did not want to be suspended again. So it looked like I would have to “put on my brave face and face the world,” as my dad would have said (to my complete and utter embarrassment).
Stepping into my closet, I think about what would be appropriate to wear today. Something awesome, expensive and new but not over the top. Something Karen, the whole school, and not even Sophie had ever seen me wear before. I needed to stand out, but not in an attention grabbing way, in a more sophisticated, elegant way. Clothing and outfits at my high school said a lot about your mood, your social status, your family’s wealth, and just yourself in general. Sometimes I found myself secretly wishing that I went to a school with a uniform so that I didn’t have to constantly worry about what my outfit said about me, and how people interpreted my clothes.
I yank open a drawer and find some white jeans. I am 99 percent sure these are new. I shop so often that it can be hard to discern when I bought something, but I’m going to presume that they’re new. I throw them over my arm and proceed to find a top. Hanging at the back of my closet, is a light pink, silk tank top. Perfect. Next I dig through my bags and find a suitable a large beige Longchamp, in which I slide in my laptop, phone, some spearmint gum, and my binder; all things I absolutely need, nothing more, nothing less. Unless I am going on a vacation, I don’t like to overpack if it means I have to lug around unnecessary stuff. But on a vacation, I bring at least two large suitcases, plus carry-on.
To finish off the outfit, II find a pair of black heels (wedges) and some cute bangles to tie it all up. It looks good, not over the top, but definitely not something Ken would have worn. I find myself wondering what the boy who drove me home would think. And I grimace at myself in the mirror. I. Should not. Care. What. He. Thinks.
I quickly paint my nails with a coat of clear nail polish, freshening up my french mani. I also brush out my long hair and run a straightening iron over it. If I do say so myself, I look confident, mature, and probably way better than Karen. As I pass through the kitchen on my way to the door, (skipping breakfast might I add because that is sooo totally pointless) I grab my car keys and my cell phone before taking a deep breath. “Bye!” I yell to no one in particular as I shut the door behind me. Now I just have to face the rest of the world.
As I pull into my usual parking spot at school, I glance around at all the people gathered in small groups, talking and giggling to each other. I sigh and open the door. Stepping out of that car takes a lot of courage, especially without Sophie next to me. Yeah, I’m guessing people still respect my position in the school’s pyramid and all (FYI, I am at like the top of that pyramid) but I’m still a little worried. Practically the whole school was there on Friday. Even the boy. Who is, for all intents and purposes, a loser. So why on Earth was he there?
I walk into the building with my head held high, ignoring curious looks from lousy little freshmen. “Out of my way, termite,” I snap at one of them who happened to cross my path, clutching a binder to it’s chest. It shrieks and dashes off to class, casting terrified looks over it’s shoulder. There. That’s better. Nothing like a little respect. Just as I am arriving at my locker and grabbing my English books, my phone buzzes.
