Another Cliche Story

Chapter 2

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz...

I pick my phone off the floor. Wiping away the sand around my eyes, I peer up, squinting at the screen. Four thirty. 

Time to get up.

I grab some sweatpants and change into a large shirt, before I walk downstairs into the kitchen. Filling up the bottle sitting on the counter, I slip on my watch and head out. Ever since I arrived three days ago, I've made it my sole purpose to get to know the neighbourhood. Tentatively, I know the layout of all the roads in the area, if not the names.

I start up with a jog, and my feet follow the same paths as they've taken for the past two mornings. I wait for the rhythm to come, and then I break into a run. 

Thump, thump, thump my feet say, hitting the pavement as I take laps around the neighbourhood. I keep my ears alert for any signs of approachers, but I don't hear anything besides my feet slapping the pavement. I watch the path until it turns a little blurry, then I look up. 

I begin to see a couple of other joggers as the sun grows closer.

When dust begins to collect on the skyline, I turn back. The sky was lightening rapidly, and it was certainly bright enough for me to hoist myself up the tree and into my room. I brush away the latest beads of sweat on my forehead, and strip off my hoodie and such as I walk to the bathroom. Taking off the rest of my damp clothes and leaving them on the floor, I grab my toothbrush, slick on a bit of toothpaste and hop in the shower.

***

I opened up the hatchet to the laundry basket, and threw in the sweaty pile of cloth.

The washing machine would cure them.

When I passed by the mirror, I made a face.

My hair was in a top-knot, and I was wearing my old glasses again. I had on a fuzzy grey sweater that was three sizes oversize, and black leggings over my converse.

The way the clothes hung on me, I looked shy, unapproachable.

I didn't look like me.

And I missed my contacts. My old frames felt clunky and awkward on my face.

I sighed, and turned away. Glancing at my watch, I headed to my room and grabbed my bag. 

I took the stairs this time... well, I slid down the banister, but still. Walking into the kitchen, I ignored Linda and sat down with a bowl of cereal. 

She looked back up from her eggs and toast. Of course she was shocked. I looked tame. I gave her a little sarcastic smile and she turned away.

We ate in silence.

When I was done, I got up and put the bowl in the sink. Linda was meant to drop me to school today, just this once, to show me where it was, and to sign the final papers. She was done too, but she hadn't moved. And I didn't feel like setting her off.

She prolonged the waiting for about thirty seconds, trying to stretch it out as far as possible, but then sighed. She got up, leaving the plate on the table for the cleaning staff, and walked to the door of the garage, picking her car keys off the hook. I glanced up at them for a moment, wondering if she'd stop putting them there after I moved in.

I certainly wasn't trusting my baby on those hooks.

At least Linda let me use her garage. Well, I'm assuming she did. She hasn't said anything about my bike yet.

Linda walks to her car, pointedly turning his nose away from my bike. I grin, knowing that it cost a penny prettier than her Nissan. My baby was the one valuable thing I had to my name; everything else is pretty much my sister's hand-me-downs. I cringed at the thought of my sister, and pushed her away as far as I could. Switching my thoughts to Linda, I watched her climbing up into the driver's side. I cast a longing glance at my bike. I've been cooped up, forbidden from using it for months now.

Then I turn away and climbed into the back of her car.

*** 

"Right, Miss Edison, here's your folder. It has your schedule, locker number, identity card and student handbook. Your teachers will provide any other student material." There's a knock at the door, and through the little glass window, I can see a girl, a short one, with big blonde curls and big pink hoops. The principle gestures to her to come in with a smile. "Ah, hello Stacy. This is Catherine." He turns to me. "Catherine, this is Stacy, she'll be showing you around." I turn to look at her.

Up close, she's pretty. Pretty enough to be popular, skirt all prim and proper, probably on the student council. She looks up at me, and as if on cue, breaks out a big grin. "Hi, Stacy. Pleased to meet you." I nod back shortly. She doesn't seem to take it rudely.

Mr. Tate glances up at the clock. "You girls have fifteen minutes before homeroom starts, so why don't you go visit Catherine's locker?"

***

We walk down the hall.

Stacy is bubbling over in excitement, trying to cram years of useless knowledge about the school in the fifteen minutes we have. She's talking about the social groups, the popular people, the clubs and school incidents, all at the same time, or switching between them too frequently. We're passing doors, feet practically stepping on each other with how slowly, but I don't comment. She points out the rooms as we pass them, and I soon figure out the system behind them and the lockers. 

I open up my folder, and the locker number and combination fall out first. "422," I tell her, and she nods. "It's just past the bend on the left," she tells me, pointing to the T in the hallway. I nod again, and she seems satisfied, starting up a chatter again.

When we reach it, I flip over the card, and Stacy shows me how to enter it, turning the dial and then pressing it slightly inwards for each of the digits. To my surprise, there are already notebooks inside, along with a pack of sticky notes and cello-tape. By now, the hallways have begun to fill up. I hang up my timetable and snap a picture of it on my phone, before grabbing a notebook and closing my locker.

Stacy takes a breath and I look up. Another big smile. "Well, class starts in five minutes. You've got math next, right? Room number 20." I nod, and she walks me to my next class. Diligent little puppy, I think, but I just nod again in farewell. Maybe I should've tried to make friends, that's the kind of beard I would need at this school... But she waves goodbye and tells me to meet her for lunch, so there are more chances.

It's taken fifteen minutes to walk about twenty metres to my locker, and then class. The bell rings just as I enter. 

The classroom is almost filled, and there's no teacher. I'm not sure if there are assigned seats, or people sit randomly, but I'm starting to get curious stares, so I take a random seat.

A couple of minutes later, the teacher walks in. The class seems to deflate as he walks to the desk, puts down files and things. The first thing he says is "We have a new student today, Catherine Edison. That's all." Then he picks up some chalk and starts teaching Trigonometry.

Well, he wasn't into faffing around, at least.

The class was fairly easy too. My father had insisted, if I was going to miss school, I wasn't to miss out on education. He'd gone hard on us, taught me a year's worth of syllabus in half the time, and I was done with school-level education by freshman year. School was more like revision to me. It was times like these, after six months in the system, that I was grateful to him.

And sad, that I couldn't tell him that.

The bell rang and everybody dashed up from their seats. I grimaced. Biology next.

And the day went on. I didn't need Stacy again, and she looked happy enough chatting with her friends. Instead of lunch, I took an apple from the canteen and munched on it as I walked around the grounds. The field, the gym, the pool. It was a big school. I found the smokers' corner and a hole in the fence behind a wall, that looked frequently used. I wandered up into the building and found stairs that went to the roof. There were cleaning supplies there, but the door to the roof was locked, simple latch and bolt. The lunch warning bell rang after that, so I had to go down to class.

The day passed uneventfully. Linda came and picked me up after school. The drive back home was silent. I would go to the gym later, and do homework, and call up Daniel and tell him I was doing okay. He'd update me, and I'd go to bed, only to sneak out at twelve in the night, onto the tree to take a breath.