The Misfits

Charlotte

Today was my first day of school at Ovalin High, a new high school in California. I had moved to California only one month ago, a while after I graduating from my Sophomore year of high school. I moved here from a small town in Montana, where I have lived for my whole life, yet I had no friends there. Everyone thought I was strange, the way I spoke, how I carried a book with me everywhere I went, or perhaps it was because I published my own book at only fifteen years old.

My father got a job here in California, that is why we had to move. My mother died a year ago due to lung cancer [ she smoked ], ever since then, my father wanted to get out of Montana. It held so many bad memories, all of which he wanted to get rid of immediately, yet I never felt quite the same. My mother and I never quite got along, she favored my younger sister more than I, it was completely obvious despite her always assuring me that it wasn't true.

Anyway, today was my first day of Junior Year at this new high school and I can not necessarily say that I am excited about it. At my last school, there were always these silly cliques and I do not want to suffer through that again. For I was put into the 'nerd' clique and even the nerds didn't appreciate my presence, so then after, I was put into the 'loner' clique, I was the only loner.

As my alarm clock started buzzing, I only just realized that in less than two hours, I would be at this new school, getting ready to start my own class and figure out how to actually make friends. I doubted that this school would be any different than my last one, but I at least had to try and fit in whilst at the last school, it didn't even matter to me.

At my last school, I was suffering from depression. My parents had to spend money for me to go to a therapist, I promised my father it would not happen again, that I would try and make this place work for me. He was counting on me, I had to make life easier for him.

With this thought in mind, I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, my bare feet slapping against the cold wooden floorboards. I opened up the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. I had shoulder length, light brown hair, freckles dotted across my petite nose, and chocolate brown eyes. I suppose you could say that I was pretty looking, but obviously nobody noticed that about me at my old school.

Sighing, I smoothed out my wavy, slightly frizzy hair and washed my face, yet not putting on any makeup. If there was anything that I hated, it would be makeup. Next, I walked back into my room and threw on an oversize sweater despite the fact that it was Summer here. My father always told me that one day, I would suffer from a heat stroke. I pulled on a pair of shorts and some socks, my battered converse over the socks.

Deciding that my appearance looked just fine, I walked downstairs and made myself some scrambled eggs and some toast for my younger sister, Joan and I. My father usually slept in very late. He usually says that it is because he stays up late doing work, but I know that what he really does is stare at pictures of my mother in the photo album. I saw him doing so a couple nights ago.

Joan came downstairs at the smell of scrambled eggs and toast. She had light brown hair, like me, but her's went down to her waist and was stick straight. Her eyes were blue instead of brown and she had much more freckles. Joan was still in her pajamas and oversize t-shirt that she used for a pajama shirt. My little sister was twelve years old yet acted like a teenager already, but a nice teenager.

"Good morning, Charlie." Joan chirped, smirking at me. She knew that I hated being called Charlie, I much prefer plain old Charlotte. I take that back, she is a very mean little sister.

"Don't call me that, Jo!" I hissed at her, placing her plate of scrambled eggs and toast on the table with a glass of orange juice. I also sat down and began eating whilst Joan sat down next to me.

Now that I looked closer at her, I could tell that she had been crying. Her eyes were red and there were bags underneath them. I wondered what was wrong with her, she could not have been crying over my mother. Mother passed away a year ago. Then again, Father was still staring at pictures of her late into the night.

I felt as if I had no soul. Was I the only one over Mother's death? I suppose that I never really felt too much sorrow, she was never too kind to me and I never knew why. Still, why did I not cry at her funeral? Why did I never feel like the house was empty when she passed?

When I finished my breakfast, I washed off my plate and went into my room without saying anything else to Joan. I know that I should have given her a heart to heart conversation with many tears and hugs, but I did not know what to say to her. I could never understand the way she was feeling.

I packed up my backpack and went out the door, hoping that Joan would find her way to her own school fine without me.

I decided not to drive that day, the school was not too far away and I also needed to walk, to think. A mixture of horror and nerves jiggled inside of my stomach, mixing up into the worst possible feeling. School was going to be awful today, I just knew it.

The school was a very small one, but there looked like there were millions of students at first glance. Though I think that was just because I was terrified and felt like a complete outsider, like I was a five year old trying to fit in at a high school.

There were a group of cheerleaders doing stunts in the grass, a couple of kids looking at math books and scribbling in notebooks sitting on the brick wall [ though I did not know why, there were not any tests or any important assignments to study for yet. ], a circle of kids talking, some more girls with faces caked with makeup giggling as they stared at a group of super hot guys talking together.

There were even more groups that were so cliche that I had to stop myself from laughing aloud, but none of those cliques were me, so I sat on the brick wall as far away from the 'nerd clique' as possible. I opened up my backpack and pulled out a notebook and a pencil.

I suppose that I should mention that I adore writing above basically everything else. Writing is my greatest passion, the only thing that keeps me clinging to the earth, the last thread of my life I had left. I began scribbling, anything that popped into my head so that I could turn it into a proper novel later.

A couple minutes later, the bell rang and I followed all of the students into the school whilst pulling out a paper that had my locker number, my locker combination, my class schedule, and a bunch of other things that I needed to survive this year of high school. I went to my locker and opened it up to find all of my books lined neatly on the first shelf of my locker. I felt relieved.

On the second shelf, I stacked all of my notebooks, three pencil boxes, and four pen boxes. On the bottom shelf, I shoved my backpack and checked my schedule again. My first class would be math, the thing I was worst at yet still pretty good. I was okay at school [ alright, I get straight A's every single year ] but math had to be my least favorite subject and the only thing I had gotten a B in in my entire life.

I scanned the top shelf and found a math text book. I pulled that out and a new pen then grabbed another paper from my backpack, a map of the school. My math class was not too far from here, but still far enough that I felt nervous trying to get there.

"You can do this, Charlotte." I whispered to myself, closing my locker and walking down the hallway. "You can so do this. It's just high school, you'll survive it."

But I didn't believe a single word of what I was saying.