To Give In

Chapter 1

Author note : The picture at right is the best example I can find for Reina's hair it is naturally wavy like that, but she will tend to curl it and the teal is a little more subtle but this is a good image for what to picture. :)

Kisses

Gabby:)

Reina POV song: No one ever told you (Molly Kate Kestner)

Chapter 1

Reina

            I walked down the halls trying to fight back my tears. This has been my life for years, a new school, a new home, and a new town. Aragon High, a house on a hill on Briar Lane, San Mateo, CA. One arm is wrapped around myself holding my binder close to me and the other is lost in my long over-sized violet cardigan, my hand not even visible as it resides in my pocket squeezing lightly on my new schedule. AP English, room 116, Mr. Lewis. Its September, school has been in session for a month and its 5th period, the halls are dead. Can I do this? One more year I tell myself just one more year than I will be on my own and there is no way she can ever find me. Just thinking about her makes my insides twist and my side burn. I know that the cut has healed but I will never forget, that memory is as really as the scar that now mars my skin. I don’t like moving, I don’t like living out of a suitcase, or the fact I can never make connections. 114, 115….116. I’m here I feel a sharp coolness in my chest followed by a clench and I think I’ve stopped breathing. I fish my hand out of my pocket and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and smooth my skirt. I hear a slight hum coming from the other side of the door; my breathing has grown very soft. I place my hand on the handle and leave it there for a second slowly feeling the cool metal start to warm under my palm. My stomach twists one more time and I take a deep breath as I turn the handle.

            I step inside the classroom my bag securely slung around my shoulder. A thin man with kind eyes, glasses, and a salt and pepper hair and beard combo struggled in a mass of computer wires looking awkward,confused,and extremley hilarious in front of the rows of approximately 25 students. Mr. Lewis I assume, he is younger than I thought he would be and he carries an air about him that makes me feel comfortable and invited. I approach him and he peers up and attempts to detangle himself from the cords and steps out infront of the desk to greet me .

            “Hello,” he says with a smile, his voice is calm and cherry and almost melodic. 

            “Hi,” I say.

            “Go ahead and take that empty seat in the back,” He said gesturing with a long finger to the back right corner of the classroom.

            “Class,” he continued. “This is Ms. Reina Quinteros, who just moved here from Louisiana, please make her feel welcome and do A-town proud by treating her with the utmost respect and answering any questions she may have about the school. Do you have any questions?”

            “No,” I said softly.

            “Well, okay then.” He replied awkwardly. “Okay now if you would please continue with the….” But I didn’t hear the rest I was too busy just taking it all in a brand new school, a brand new identity. The classroom looked normal enough, not like one of those new age, ‘advanced learning’ schools I’ve been to. Big white board, posters about great American and British Literature, bookshelves, and for some reason a pair of clear green eyes staring intently….at me.

            “What’s up with your hair?” Green eyes asked. I subconsciously reached up and started twirling a strand of my ombre teal hair.

            “I dyed it,” I said plainly.

            “I didn’t mean it in a bad way; I actually like it a lot. I would do something like that, but my parents would flip. I’m Salem by the way.”

            “Reina,” I said.

            “Ya, I know. So you are from Louisiana, what's that like?”

            “Hot and….Southern.” I said trying to emphasize my slight southern drawl.

           

            “You don’t talk much do you?”

            “Not really. I mean no one really ever talks to me, so I’m just returning the favor.”

            “Where you living now?”

            “Briar Lane.”

           

            “But there is only one house on that road; no one lives there except….the Voclains.” She said in a hushed voice.

“My grandparents,” I stated.

“But your last name is Quinteros?”

“My mother was French and Black, and my father was Puerto Rican and Portuguese.” I said, starting to get really fed up with all the fuckin’ questions.

“Was?”

“My parents are dead.” I said in one quick breath.

            “Oh,” said Salem.

            She didn’t talk to me for the rest of class.

            I sat there in the back of class listening in, a lecture on the start of a poetry unit. Nothing I don’t know already. I looked at the clock, two minutes. I soundlessly as possible packed up my things and slung my bag back on my shoulder. And as I waited I couldn’t help but feel as if someone was watching me. I looked out across the rows and sitting two rows over and three seats ahead of me was a boy. A boy with dark hair, messed and unruly under a gray beanie, with fair complexion and dark blue, almost gray eyes. He had full eyebrows and full lips, and he was smiling a sly smile, some secret was hiding behind his lips and I wanted to know what it was. He was staring, he was staring at me. I looked up, five seconds. I stood up and had my hand on the door by the time the bell rang. My eyes swept quickly one last time over that boy, his steel eyes locked on me, and I was out the door disappearing into the sea of adolescence, a sea of innocence a place where I didn’t belong.

            Hopefully no one would ever find out. One year, I only have to hide for 12 more months, I only have to keep up the facade for 52 more weeks, and I’ll try to be normal for 365 more days. I’ll try. I can do this, can’t I?