The Year of Avery

Chapter One: Behind Door Number One

The cool air of the late-August morning was quickly interrupted by the smell of my high school. Among the chaos of freshmen trying to figure out where their classes were and sophomores trying to remember where the bungalows were, there was the distinct smell of fresh paint and bleached floors. I inhaled the ammonia and was immediately greeted with the overwhelming aroma of sweat and too much cologne.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. My best friend, Angelina, had texted me, wondering where I was. I quickly told her to wait for me before exiting out of the main building and entering the quad, where the majority of the students were meeting up with friends after a long summer - or weekend - apart.

As I weaved my way through the crowd of students, I figured that the kids hanging outside weren't the kind to go looking for their classes. There were the delinquent freshmen, who were easy enough to spot as the boys whistled at passing girls and the girls laughed a little too loudly. There were delinquent-type students in each grade, but this year's incoming freshmen were unusually short. Next were the sophomores who had gotten involved with the school and didn't need to figure out where their classes would be. Then there were the juniors and seniors; neither group needed any direction. They had spent two to three years in the hellhole, and they knew this place like the back of their hand.

We knew this place... It was hard to remember that I was a senior. I could hardly believe it.

"Avery!" I heard someone shout. I smiled. I knew that voice anywhere. "Avery freakin' Baldwin!" Among the crowd, a very manicured hand shot up and waved.

I ran over, nearly plowing down my best friend. "Angelina!" I squealed, jumping up and down. Angelina had spent most of her summer in Europe with her parents and younger brother. I stepped back. Despite the grey skies in the U.K., she was still beautifully tanned... Or at least, tanner than I was. I had spent all summer in Los Angeles, and, still, I managed to remain unscathed by the sun. My pale skin would've burned had I not been careful with my sunscreen. "I wanna hear all about it. Tell me!"

"Oh, my God. It was amazing. It was literally the best time of my life. Girl, after living on the East Coast for college, I'm going to Oxford. I don't care what it takes, I know that I'm destined to live in England. We went to Oxfordshire, visited the Oxford campus, and then my parents' friends in Forest Hill. Forest Hill was gorgeous. And, yes, I do quite fancy London men."

"'Quite fancy?' You were in England for all of three weeks, and now you're coming at me with 'quite fancy.'"

"I'll say what I want, Baldwin."

"Fair enough. How was Paris? Barcelona? Were you able to go to Greece?"

She nodded. "Yes, and I will give you details, but, first... What class do you have? My feet are kind of killing me," she said in a hushed voice. I looked down. Near my own Converse-clad feet, Angelina was wearing a pair of black heels. The classic yellow check pattern on the toe of the shoe gave away the brand.

"I still don't get why on God's good green Earth you wear designer heels to school. I don't get why you wear heels to school, period. If your feet hurt, you should wear sneakers." I presented my outfit as an example. I wore a pair of black jeans with my white Converse. I had paired my red flannel with a black tank top and a grey beanie that covered the top quarter of my usually frizzy, wavy hair.

Angelina, on the other hand, wore her hair shiny, sleek, and slightly curled. Her makeup was light and beautiful: a perfect wing; glossy lips; even, dewy foundation; bronzer and blush applied in all the right places. As for her outfit, she wore a pair of nude colored pants paired with a black turtleneck. In her arm, she held her favorite Burberry trench coat and her new, pink tote. The small, gold label told me that the bag was Coach.