I Fell for the Freckle-Faced Boy

Chapter One

- chapter one -

Nervousness creeps up from my toes and seeps into my stomach as I wait outside Lincoln High with the rest of the eager sophomores. I catch tiny bits of conversation here and there, but everything is mostly about summer vacation.

What did I do over summer vacation? Well, I boarded a plane and traveled from Florida to New Jersey, leaving everything behind. Leaving my only friend I've ever had all alone.

I think moving was a good thing, though. Finally I have a big room. Finally I have a room that can actually look how I want it to. Over the long, hot summer here in NJ, I spent a lot of my spare time decorating my new room. The walls are a minty green, and there's a fuzzy round carpet next to my bed. Christmas tree lights are strung around my bed and "I'm on a roller coaster that only goes up" is painted onto the walls in black, a quote from my all-time favorite book The Fault in our Stars by John Green. I have a white desk that holds all my art supplies, and all of my clothes are stored in a big walk-in closet located near the foot of my bed.

Plus, I can have a new beginning. My life is a clean slate. Nobody knows how much of a loser I was last year. Nobody knows my past, and I intend to keep it that way.

The bell rings, sounding hollow from outside of the school, and kids quickly begging streaming into the school like water swirling into a drain.

I'm cramped in between moving bodies, and I seem to sink into myself.

No, you aren't like this. If you want to be a somebody, act like a somebody. Straighten up. A voice in my head commands.

I obey the voice and straighten up to my full height and broad my shoulders; just because I'm a total stranger to all of these people doesn't mean I act like a cowardly little girl.

The hallway congestion finally clears up, and my new mission is to find my locker. It's number 439, near room 25. I wander the busy hallway, looking at the numbers above the doors.

21...22...23...there it is.

Locker number 439. I open it and take all of my books out. As I'm fitting my binders to the bottom shelf of the locker, a voice blares over the loudspeaker.

"Welcome back students! I hope you all had a great summer! Just letting you know, there will be a ten minute homeroom where you will get all of this year's important forms for you and your parents to sign. Please find your homeroom teacher when the bell rings. Thank you!"

The hallway is filled with an eerie silence as the loudspeaker crackles as the announcement ends, but is quickly replaced with the excited chatter of kids. I shove my backpack into my locker and grab my books for first and second period, biology and P.E. just as I turn around I bump into somebody, sending myself sprawling on the ground with an oof!

"Cr-ap, I'm sorry!" I hear a boy's voice say. I look up, and my heart seems to jump up into my throat. I'm staring into the most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen. They're bright, like leaves on a summer day, and they're threaded with a bit of gold. Those eyes match perfectly with his face, which is painted with freckles, from his forehead to his neck. They aren't dark freckles, they're the right shade and the right amount to make it work.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine..." my voice trails off a bit, and a blush once I realize he's holding out a hand to help me up. Not thinking, I grab it and he hoists me up.

Remember. Be nice, be outgoing. The voice coaxes.

"Thanks." I say with a small smile.

"No problem." He replies, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cute smirk.

"So, who's your homeroom teacher?" he asks as I begin walking.

"Um..." I flip out my schedule. "Mr. Plada in room 37. You?"

"Same. Homeroom is by alphabetical order, so I'm guessing your last name starts with a H?"

I nod.

"By the way, I'm Kevin Harvey." He says.

"Gwen Hayes." I reply, and I feel my face turn hot. I've never talked to a boy, especially like this. I feel like an idiot.

We approach room 37 and step inside. Kevin releases a loud cough and I gag. The room smells like something died, and its so stuffy I can barley breathe. I plop down in a desk near the front, and Kevin sits farther back with a group of friends.

A few moments later, Mr. Plada lumbers out of a closet, his arms full if paperwork. He slaps the stack of papers onto his desk and brushes a half-eaten sandwich out of the way. He sort of reminds me of a bear. He has a big, gutty stomach like a yoga ball. His hands are like big hamburgers with thick sausages for fingers. His round, doble-chined face is red and beads of sweat collect on his shiny bald head.

"Hello students..." he spits the word like we're animals. "I am your homeroom teacher...Mr. Plada. Some of you might have me for-" he stops, burps, and continues. "-language arts. Now I need to take attendance. Just, uh...raise your hand when I call you."

I timidly turn around to look at Kevin. He's talking with his friends and laughing

He has an adorable laugh.

"Kevin Harvey?" Mr. Plada shouts. Kevin raises his hand.

I sigh. Here it comes.

"...Gwen Hayes?"

I raise my hand. As I expected, the whole class turns to look at me, an unfamiliar face, a new name.

Mr. Plada eventually finishes attendance, ending with Carson Hyland. He passes out all of the forums in messy piles on our desks. I flip through the stack of papers.

Football tryouts...no. Girl Scouts...hell no. Forms for my mom...no. cheerleading...chess club...no. Wait, cheerleading? Yes!

I put the cheerleading form in the front of the pile and slip the forums into my accordion folder. Mr. Plada opens his mouth to say something, but the bell rings just in time. The class erupts and I am once again caught in a web of bodies.