Saving Charlotte

SEPTEMBER

“Wake up sweetheart! It’s a new day today, why don’t you wear that nice purple skirt I bought you? It brings out your eyes.”

Oh mom, mommy, mother. Can’t you be less irritating?

I mumble a little before pulling the covers off my face. This is perfect. A ‘new day’, new school and you guessed it, a new skirt. How in the world do purple skirts bring out anyone’s eyes? My eyes are hazel and only matching with my blond hair, not purple skirts.

When we moved into our new house this summer, my mom made me pick this room out of all the others. She didn’t tell me directly to take it but, as a human, I picked up the very obvious hints she put out. Now I know why she wanted me to have this room, it’s filled with windows. She wanted me to be more positive, and for her that means waking up at 5 a.m. and acting as if the sun was the greatest gift of God. I’m not so sure I even believe in God.

I get out of bed and look through my closet for a t-shirt and jeans. I’m not going to let my mom run my life and there’s no way she’s going to pick out what I wear every day. It takes me awhile to find a decent pair of jeans considering its still warm outside and all I usually wear are short shorts. Of course the school won’t allow that though, will they? So blue jeans and Guns & Roses T-Shirt it is.

What time is it now? I turn to my bedside table to see my brand new silver alarm clock flashing bright red, its 6:03 a.m. I sigh and realize how lonely this ‘peach’– too bright room is. Here’s the layout; there’s a single bed in the middle, a black circular fur rug on the left side, a wooden bedside table on the right with my alarm clock and a small book lamp, 3 windows on each wall apart from one which has a built in closet and a door. I lay my clothes on the bed and sit next to it, making the black and white striped sheets bounce a little. I hate this new mattress as well, it’s too bouncy.

I think of the people I’ll see today, my old friends from elementary school. I’ll catch up with those and meet new people. I’m not sure if I should have a bad feeling about this or a good one. A brand new start, that’s positive. Seeing my old ‘friends’, not so much. There’s always been that one girl who everyone would look up to. I never understood why. She was pretty, tall and blond and she had bright blue eyes you could almost see from miles away. But her inside was plain ugly and I could tell her soul was rotten. I wonder if it’ll still be that way this time around. I wonder if she still walks the halls with that little clan behind her.

It’s 6:14 a.m. now so I’d better get dressed if I want to catch the bus at 7. I take my clothes and go into the bathroom. By the time 7 a.m. arrives, I’m already down the street and gripping onto my schoolbag as if it was my life preserver. I see the yellow bus going down the hill. I swing my bag over my shoulder and have to take a step back; I think it’s more like an anchor after all. Getting my balance back just in time, the door opens for me to step in. When I do, my stress doubles. There aren’t any seats left. I walk down the aisle and I feel everyone staring at me. I sit down into the first spot I find. I don’t look at whoever’s sitting next to me. I keep my head down and wish I had an iPod just like everyone else in this stupid bus. I drop my bag down in between my legs to the floor and, just for a second, glance up at the person next to me. Built, dark hair, and green eyes to die for, he’s looking out the window.

“I’m sorry, it’s just for today.” I say quietly.

When we finally get to the school,  I see lockers  lined up against the walls, everywhere. All of their doors are open and a small paper is taped to the inside. Schedules and names, that’s what they are.

Charlotte Yurish, that’s far back. I walk down the yellow halls until I get to the ‘T’s. By then, the first bell has gone by and students have started piling into the classes. I’m still out here looking for my locker. I decide it’s been enough searching and time to ask for help. I turn a corner in attempt to find the office, or for the least, a teacher. A tall woman with brown curly hair is trying to organize some papers in her arms and I’m guessing she’s in a hurry judging by how fast she walks. As she shifts her weight from hip to hip, I see the office far back at the end of the corridor. I walk past her and I turn around to look at her once more. She stops and turns twice in a circle, looking for something. I keep walking forward when I come across a folder. ’Grade 8 Math’ it reads. I bend down, replacing my school bag on my shoulder so it doesn’t fall off and grab the file. I turn around towards the woman but she’s already walking down the other end of the hall, abandoned her search.