The Cupid (On hold)

CHAPTER ONE

The first thing I saw when I woke up- Okay, the second thing, first came my unreasonable mass of hair and so the second thing I saw when I woke up were the trees; tall green gifts of nature fluttering around my windows. The third thing however, was not so relaxing, it was my alarm clock, which I forgot to set the night before and it read 9:30AM and school was supposed to start at eight. It was the first day of my new school “So much for first impressions.” I muttered dragging myself off the bed, “Thanks a lot Hypnosis.”

                Abercrombie High was unlike any other high school I has been to and trust me; I had been to a lot. It was probably because it was the first private school I had been to and they wore a uniform so it was relatively hard to assess them. I say relatively because, take it from me; teenagers are the most transparent kind of peoples in the world. Aunt Pam says my sense of judgment is heightened you know, being cupid and all but I don’t think that’s it. Fashion is probably the easiest way to assess people; it’s like the novice’s guide to being cupid.

Looking at this school, even without clothes, I could easily tell the types of people apart. The popular girls wore their skirts short and knee-high socks with black pumps. For some reason they were always laughing, constantly, it was like Momus was amongst them. Edgy laughs that made them look confident, that is, if you were not me and didn’t know the laughter was to cover up massive insecurity.

The jocks were big, normally airheads and spoke with their eyes more frequently than their mouths. From the many high schools I’ve attended, I’ve deduced that their smirks were in fact supposed to be intimidating and frightening; well, they could have fooled me.

Then there are the emos, punks, the people who just don’t fit in and try to and the people who don’t fit in but don’t care.

That’s my personal best: “people who don’t fit in but don’t care.” The ironic thing is that they care more than anyone but aren’t bold enough to pursue the groups they want, mostly because of insecurity. The truth is, the only people who don’t really care are those ones that have been in the “popular crews”  before and dropped out because of their teenage  shortcomings, (whatever that is) and realize that it is not really as magnificent as they make it seem with their fake smiles and ‘intimidating glances’. Those people who know it is all tinsel.

During my first six high schools I used to change it up a bit, it was a little game to me; the whole playing different parts thing got old quick though. So today I am wearing my uniform skirt below my knee but not too long, knee-length socks and because I woke up late this morning, instead of straightened flat hair, I have a curly mass of tangled brown hair, plaited in one big French plait.

“Now we have a new student in this class, her name is Samantha keen.” Mr. Stark a short balding man with conspicuous nose hair and a protruding stomach announced, “Come up and introduce yourself Samantha.” He handed me a piece of paper which read: Name, Hobbies, What I do for fun, Zodiac sign.

“Ahem.” I cleared my throat, “My name is Samantha Keen, I read during my spare time, I dance for fun and I’m a cancer. There was a minimal round of applause, a few eyes peered at me as if they had assessed me and I wasn’t quite so interesting. “Right back at you.” I thought.

I made my way back to my sit and let my eyes glide over the class, taking in my environment and after a while it came at an abrupt stop at something, it was a boy. I mentioned before that I was a professional at judging people but there was something about him that I couldn’t quite take in at a glance. It wasn’t until I took the next breath that I realized that I stopped breathing for about two seconds. My eyes ran over his body scrutinizing him closely. He was quite good looking but as you can imagine, I had come across a fair share of good looking boys and then I saw them: his hands, as white as snow. He cut his nails short but not with a nail cutter, it was obvious that they were bitten, but those hands!!! They moved around the air majestically, somewhat excitedly but gracefully nonetheless and then I realized why, he was waving at me. “Hi.” I managed to choke out and looked downwards at my table, embarrassed that I had just been caught staring.

“Samantha.” I heard my name and I turned to see him staring at me with a comical grin on his face. He waved again, with emphasis this time, as if to point out the fact that I had not acknowledged his wave the first time. I waved back at him with a slight smile, still confused about my deviation from character when he walked to the table next to me and sat down. “Hi” he extended his hand “I’m Israel.” I took his hand almost immediately it was offered and for that moment, everything was secondary to the feel of those blinding white hands on mine…