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“It's Cherokee for river” she smiled, “I’m not Native American though - I’m half Chinese and Greek.”
The teacher nodded, his black rimmed glasses sliding down his grotesque nose.
“My first name’s Shelby but my parents thought it was too mainstream for my personality so I go by my middle name.”
Good grief. Was she ever going to shut the hell up? He said brief summary, not life story.
“Anyway, I’m looking forward to expanding my academic horizons and utilizing the different techniques in this classroom on my essays for college. Hopefully my eloquence will give me a one-up on my peers. I want to go to Vanderbilt.”
“Interesting.”
More like boring.
“Daniel?” The words slid out of the teacher’s mouth like thumb tacks, “Your turn.”
God, how I loathed the first days of school.
Trudging up to the front of the room, I folded my arms across my chest.
“Danny,” I corrected, “I’m a halfie like her.”
Jerking my thumb in Sorrel’s direction, I continued to explain. “I’m half Jap and Irish. I play football. I’m looking forward to-”
I paused.
What the hell was I looking forward to in Honors English. Better yet, why wasn’t I in regular English?
Oh right, I was “over qualified” unlike the rest of my friends and fellow teammates who were probably on cruise mode in their classes.
“I’m looking forward to proving everyone wrong,” I finally admitted, “That the stereotype of jocks only resonates in stupid films and overrated stories.”
Someone coughed - a laugh stifling - and I felt my face slowly heat up. I stumbled twice before making my way through the aisle of discarded backpacks and back to my seat.
Shit, did I say something wrong?
“Are you going to prove me wrong?”
The warm whisper tickled my ear and I noticed Sorrel leaning in, her arm barely touching mine, “Are you going to disprove my theory?”
“What’s your theory?”
“That you’re a brain-dead neadothral who needs to be in remedial English because he’s probably going to slow this class down.”
Biting my tongue, I turned away before the urge to slap her across the face consumed me.
“Sure and when I do, I hope you apologize.”
“Oh, I will,” she nodded fervently, her eyebrows peaked, “If and only if you prove me wrong.”
“Challenge accepted.”
YOU ARE READING
Her Name is Sorrel
Non-FictionHer name is Sorrel. It’s Cherokee or something. First name: Shelby; middle name: Sorrel. I called her “squirrel.” While the other guys were falling head over heels into her large, fawn eyes, I avoided them. She was practically a liberal hippie. Boh...
