That Boy

First days are always great

My feet were folded one over the other as I sat on the edge of my queen sided bed.

I had undone the laces of my converse five times already, now making it six. They were the only thing normal about my outfit. Mother dearest had neglected to take me shopping, and thanks to boarding school my closest only consisted of business casual, jeans and skimpy outfits for late nights with Nala.

A freaking dress shirt with black pants.

Now I know nothing about America's public school system since my narrow escape in the third grade, but with my vast knowledge of romance movies and TV, I was setting myself up for social suicide.

And if God didn't like me before, he certainly hated me now. My hair was mush. Wet dirt with knots and frizz slumped on my shoulders. You'd think if you had your hair twisted for the entire weekend, under a warm ass bonnet might I add, that maybe my hair would come out right. But no, I'm Mars and my destiny is to be a mess.

I trudged down the steps and into the kitchen where my mom was making breakfast for a champion. Her words, not mine.

"Look at my little baby! You look so smart for your first day," she tells me, ruffling my mess of a head.

"You really don't like me do you?" I twisted my body to face her tiny frame that was now by the stove.

She only scoffs as a reply, bringing the wretched bowl of oatmeal to the table.

This lady is really trying to make me have a horrible day. But I couldn't bring myself to complain since she didn't have to make me breakfast. So I sat there dragging my spoon from one end of the bowl to the other, only taking spoonfuls every once in a while.

By the time I emptied the bowl to her liking I had only 20 minutes to start walking before school started. And if my mom didn't fit the Asian parent stereotype before, she did now as she pushed me out the door so I wouldn't be late.

I was late. And Charlotte is going to kill me.

Somehow driving to school and walking to school are on the farthest ends of the spectrum. Between stopping for tea and to pet various animals out for their morning walk, I was ten minutes late. But I can't bring myself to regret my choices. I needed tea or else this would be a bad day.

Being new made the perfect excuse for me to show up late to my English class. Especially since I clearly could not sneak into classrooms.

I stood in the doorway with over 27 pairs of eyes on my every move.

"So you must be Mar-"

"Mars!" I continue as I make my way to her desk, "Yes, that's me."

"Great. Well you're just in time for our presentation on sonnets. I'm sure someone can manage to fill you in."

No introduction to induce vomiting. Yay! Although I realized my victory would be short lived since I was responsible for getting myself situated.

Scanning the room, I trembled at the mere thought of picking my own seat. For my own sake I need to get here earlier tomorrow.

There were five seats open which narrowed my choice somewhat. One in the front row, but I refuse to sit there just in case I get the urge to nap. Another was by the window that looked promising until I noticed the immense amount of sunlight drowning it. The third was in the third row, next to blonde who was struggling to keep herself awake.

My type of people.

Shrugging my book bag off my shoulders I parked in the desk and got a sheet of paper to take notes. 

I HAVE FOUND MY PEOPLE!

If anyone had told me bringing my teen wolf notebook to class would've gotten me a friend who took upon herself the 'responsibility' of introducing me to her friends after inviting me to lunch, I would've spat in their face for making fun of me. Then probably apologized.

"Still confused as to why Derek's initials are on that thing when he didn't even graduate with them. It's beyond me."

I don't know what confused me more. Why she was coming for my 2nd husband, or that she knew what the letters on my notebook meant.

"I mean, you can't really leave him out. He's Derek."

She turned to me and shrugged. "True"

St. Claire was a petite little blonde with blue eyes, who insisted on being called her full name and nothing else. Her hair brushed her broad swimmer's shoulders, and freckles were splashing all over her neck and down into the neckline of her peach blouse. She was seated next to Alexander, her older brother who looked like the love child of young Leo DiCaprio and John Travolta. He was just as freckled as she was, with brown eyes instead of blue.

They were across Zoya, who just so happened to be one of twenty seven black girls in the entire school. Her skin was almost as dark as her hair that was wrapped into two amazingly identical buns on the side of her heartshaped head.

Last there was Jaime. A black haired cutie that made boarding school boys look like trash – which they were. His eyes were however, completely unnecessary. Jaime could have easily modelled with a face like his. So to have eyes that were forest green with flecks of golden brown in them was completely unnecessary.

I sat in the only vacant seat next to St. Claire and Jaime, since Zoya demanded that her white backpack needed a seat for itself.

The cafeteria was in need of no refurbishment. And I can't help but notice how it all seemed very normal. No table in the center of the room with jocks and cheerleaders, or a table by the trash with the stereotypical nerds.

It so happened that we were actually in the center of the cafeteria. Yet no one paid us any attention, as we continued our heated discussion on my apparent disloyalty to the teen wolf fandom for liking Twilight.

"It's completely unorthodox. It's the golden rule – you have to pick a side. Werewolf," her arms motioned into a small rainbow over her blonde head, "Or bloodsucker," she seethed.

"I, for one, do not see the problem with her liking both. They both have pretty good looking guys."

All heads turned to Jaime who was making swirls in the ketchup with his finger.

"What? I'm firm in my sexuality but even I can't say I haven't noticed." He shrugs before standing to get rid of his trash.

Jaime offered to throw my trash away but I refused, taking mine to go with him.
Between walking towards the can and facing Zoya to tell her I'd be back to take hers, I paid no attention to where the hell I was going.

So of course, I crashed into someone. In the middle of the cafeteria and spilled the remains of my hamburger all over their shirt.

Their crisp, white button down shirt. Oh my God!

The guy was fuming. And by the deafening silence that was now in the cafeteria, I guess he's pretty important.

This is all feeling very High School Musical and I'm not sure if I'm up to being Gabriella.

"You're new so I'll let it slide. But just so you know this shirt probably costs more than that your-" he looks down at me scornfully, "-whole wardrobe I'm guessing."

I stood gaping like a fish. I couldn't even find the words to apologize.

"Okay Sully. Let's take it down a notch." He steps between me and the masculine 'Sharpay', pushing him out of my personal bubble.

With his hand. On the stain. Kinda rubbing it in a little. Oh Jaime.

"I better not see you again." Mr. Macho stalks out of the cafeteria and the silence becomes swoons as he unbuttons his messy shirt.

I wanted to see too.