Saving Andromeda

Chapter 1: New Girl Status

[PICTURE OF ADAM ON THE SIDE!]

"Move it or lose it! Out of the way," someone yelled from behind me as I tried to make my way through the crowded hallway to search for my next class. That person pushed me aside, causing me to trip and drop everything I was holding. 

You've got to be kidding me. I groaned as I kneeled on the floor to pick up my text book and new school planner, decorated with a large cartoon hydra (well, I assumed it was being that it was a dragon thingy with multiple heads) with "Asphodel Academy, Home of the Hydras" written under it.

Being the new kid sucks. I would know; this is my sixth school change since 8th grade. Did I mention I’m only a sophomore? I attended two different schools in 8th grade, three in freshman year, and now this is my second school this year. At least in freshman year, everyone in your class is technically a new kid (well mostly). 

Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy the schools I attend. So far I have, anyway. The problem is that I personally hate any sort of attention focused on me. I hate that they stare at me as if I’m some sort of alien from another planet. And don’t even get me started on the whispering. Do they think I’m foreign and don’t understand, or am I just deaf to them? ‘Who’s she?’-- ‘New girl,’--‘What? OMG.’ And transferring in the middle of the school year doesn’t exactly help my cause either. 

I’ve never actually been to a school like Asphodel Academy. For one, it was a private school, and I’ve only ever gone to public schools. Being the daughter of a literature professor and a principal of public schools, I was only sent to public schools because of my parent’s firm belief that public schools were just as good as private, if not better. Especially considering they were free. I was enrolled here because of a nice scholarship I had received that covered almost every fee, including textbooks and uniforms. 

That’s another thing that’s different about this school. Asphodel Academy is the first school I’d ever gone to that required its students to wear uniforms. I have to admit that their uniforms were actually pretty nice. I was surprised to see that there were multiple styles of the uniform that we could choose from. I found that pretty ironic considering that uniforms are supposed to keep everything uniform, as in the same. Afraid to question school policy, I assumed it is that way to give student’s a sense of freedom because they had options. From what I’ve read on the pamphlet my mom gave me, students have a regulation uniform that all must wear on special occasions.

Boys had the option of navy blue or khaki slacks with a gray or white button down shirt. They had to wear over it a navy blue cardigan, a light gray V-neck sweater, or a navy blue blazer, all with the embroidered patch of the school crest. They were also required to wear a dark gray tie. It was preppy, but not too over the top. 

Girls, however, had many more options. It was as if they designed an entire clothing line for the girls to choose from. Given the cost of these uniforms, that wouldn’t be surprising. (Thank God for that scholarship!) Girls had an assortment of sweaters, cardigans, and blazers to choose from. They were all in the school colors, gray and blue, and could be worn however we liked them as long as they were appropriate. We could choose among different styles of skirts (pleated, fitted, A-line, circle, etc.) that must be knee length or we could wear shorts or slacks that were similar to the boys’.

It’s also the first that I’d attended that had about 15 students in each class. I’ve attended schools wherein the classrooms were so crowded with students that they split the class and send some to the library. The entire school was made up of about 250 students. That is a huge change from being in a grade level with over 400 students.

I reached over to grab a paper that slipped out of the planner, but someone beat me to it. I leaned back on my heels and looked up at the person, out of this sea of people, who decided to help me. Whoa. I have a feeling that if I had gotten up from the floor, I would've stumbled again.