Willow and Lucy

First Day

I stared at the brick building in front of me, drumming my fingers on my steering wheel. I was absolutely not excited to start my senior year, and not at a new school. I resented my mom for dragging me away from my friends. I shoved thoughts away from my head and reached into my glovebox, pulling out a glass chillum piece.
My name is Willow Sauver and I'm just a pothead, gay, depressed teenager. The pothead part was since I was a freshman (yeah I know my brain is screwed), the depressed part has been for about two years, and the gay... that's new.
Rolling my eyes at the damn cliche of my life, I grabbed my grinder and packed the bowl, and lit it. I turned up the stereo, which was already blasting my favorite band. I was attempting to use it to power me through my first day.
I coughed, wincing at the first hit of the day. 7:15, first period in fifteen minutes.
I took another hit, and grabbed my backpack to check I had everything. Notebooks, other books, headphones, cigarettes, weed.... maybe I was a shitty student or whatever, but considering I spent the first twenty minutes in the driveway crying, I didn't care.
I had had symptoms of my depression for years, but it wasn't until I was able to get a diagnosis that I had it confirmed. Major depressive disorder severe, severe meaning I sometimes luxuriate in suicidal ideation. Haven't had to go to a psych hospital yet... the idea made me shiver.
Shit. 7:25. I fired the rest of the bowl, shoved it in my smell proof bag and into my backpack. I ripped out my car keys and shoved them in, too. After dowsing myself until I was satisfied I smelled more like lavender than pot, I got out.
Stumbling up the stairs I went to the bathroom first. I contemplated my reflection. Long obsidian hair framed my face and shoulders. Dark eyeliner rimmed my grey blue eyes. I probably should have cleaned them up after my ... episode in my car. No one was around, so I used some eye drops, wiped up my smudged liner, and walked towards the stairs. My first period algebra class was on level two, and my luck was in since the teachers desk was empty. I ignored the other students even as they looked towards me and slipped into my desk, an empty one in the back. I tugged out my earbuds as soon as the teacher walked in, a middle aged white man with dark hair and a worn out expression.
The rest of the day passed normally. Luckily, senior year teachers seemed less worried to publicly humiliate new students, and I was only briefly introduced in each class. Thank. God. The others had made a pretty quick judgement already by the time those happened, and I didn't have much hope of socializing with anyone. My mom liked to yell at me that the reason I have no friends is because I don't talk to people, but that's partially true. I'm definitely uncomfortable talking to others. "Maybe if you dressed fucking normal people would be nicer," my mom sneered one day. She was referring to my... alternative style taste. Black hair, black eyeliner, black sweaters, black jeans... it was constant, and almost a security blanket to me. But honestly, I didn't mind. I didn't care if others were put off by my look. Honestly if they didn't wanna try to get to know me, I didn't feel like trying either.
That's what my mother never understood.
I pushed back tears. I was sick of thinking about her. I ate lunch quietly outside, listening to my music.
My study hall period followed lunch, and I happily went to the library. It was easily my favorite place of school, surrounded by books hungry to be opened. I traced over some of the titles, then reluctantly went to sit and work on homework. I heard the rattle of a cart behind me, and I instinctively pulled my chair in.
"You're fine," a soft voice said, passing me. I turned, and instead of a regular librarian, it was a student pushing the cart. It was a beautiful girl, a redhead, with flowing hair down her back. I couldn't help but stare, mesmerized by her copper curls. I didn't know students could work here, I thought almost enviously watching her walk to the counter. She said something to the elderly librarian there, who laughed. I looked down at my book, trying to concentrate. My gaze slowly shifted back to her, eyes tracing the flower patterned shirt that framed her petite body, her corduroy brown skirt buttoned up her waist. Her skin was a pale pink, adorned with freckles and red hair. I glance down, thoughts drifting to other girls, to one girl particularly... the girl that started everything.
Her name was Emilie, and we were in band together at my last school. We spent summer evenings practicing the flute, and one fateful evening after laughing our asses off after sneaking wine into my bedroom, we ended up passionately making out... until my mom found us. Emelie left in a hurry, leaving to deal with my mother alone. The bruises lasted for a couple weeks, long enough to be gone for my first day at my new school... away from my friends and the girl that made me realize who I was. They were the bad influence, to her.
I blinked, tears falling onto my notebook, the image of Emelie's mortified face mirroring my mother's burned into my retinas, and wiped off my notebook. Fucking hell, I thought bitterly. This is embarrassing. I sniffed, stealing a glance over at the beautiful girl checking she didn't see. She was bent over the computer, gold earrings dangling to frame her face along with her red curls.
I shut my book, just as the bell went. I stood up, dreading my final class, history. Nothing personal towards the subject. I just wanted to be done with today.
The hour crawled slowly, but finally it had to be 3:30, and students eagerly filed outside.  I glanced towards the parking lot, and decided to take a walk instead of going right home.. I sling my bag on my back, and walked around the side of school in the grass.
It was a nice September afternoon, only a brisk wind to remind you it was almost fall.  I followed the brick wall, and glanced behind me. No one had noticed my detour, and I turned and kept walking.
I was right next to the football field, and I walked until I was sure I was out of site, around the corner of the brick wall and stopped. Double-checking that no one saw me come back here, I pulled out my piece and a lighter, smiling. The smoke sesh in my car that morning felt ages ago, and I lit my chillum, inhaling and holding the smoke. As it the back of my throat, I resisted a cough, slowly releasing the smoke.
I checked the time on my phone, and caught a glance of my eyes, lined with red from crying, eyeliner slightly smudged. Awesome, I thought irritatedly.  I can't believe I didn't go one day without crying, my first day.  I took another long pull, lighting it again. As I was just finishing my third hit, struggling to resist coughing, I heard a gasping cough a couple feet to my right.
I froze. Had someone smelled me smoking? I quickly shoved the piece in my pocket, head buzzing from the weed and anxiety, and carefully walked down the wall, and turned a corner.
Sitting there, as shocked to see me as I was her, was the beautiful red head I had seen earlier in class. Her long copper curls were messed from the wind, caught in her lashes, her lips... she quickly put away what was in her hand, but I had already seen the joint. Her cheeks and lips were flushed pink from the cold wind and shock of being caught. Cautious, chocolate brown eyes that bashfully watched my reaction at her smoking on the side of the school.
I smiled, coughed, and pulled out my chillum.
I brandished it in front of me so only her eyes would see. "You're fine, me too." I smirked a little.
I watched the anxiety lift from her face and she smiled, laughing embarrassedly.  Her brown eyes were already a little reddened, and a little glassy.  She pulled out the joint again. "Want to smoke this instead of that?" She squinted disapprovingly at my piece.
My smirk spread to a real smile, and I walked over to where she was sitting on the ground. "I only have this 'cause it's easy," I explain as I carefully walk to the wall she's against. The fall weather hadn't frozen the ground yet, and the grass was dry.  I timidly studied her reaction, checking that she had been serious about wanting me to join. I shyly sat a foot away from her, against the wall.  I watched her pull out the joint and re-light it.
"Are you new?" She asked me, inhaling the joint. She handed it to me.
"I started today yea. I just moved here, so I'm a little late for the term." I took a pull, savoring the earthy flavor. She knew how to roll a joint. My kind of girl, I thought. I felt my brain get a little fuzzier, as the elation spread through me.
Her voice pulled me out of my head. "That has to suck. Changing school for your senior year." She pulled a fiery curl from her face that escaped as she took the joint back from me. I watched the end light up as her eyebrows burrowed in concentration. A hundred tiny amber freckles framed her eyes and nose.
"My name's Willow.. by the way," I offered, trying to not stare at how long her black eyelashes were. I took a deep breath.
She coughed, then quickly covered her mouth and stole a glance above us where a window was, where there was no reaction. A couple muffled coughs later, she weakly said "Lucy." She gave a hoarse laugh, and I laughed too, my stomach somersaulting not just from the weed. I blushed, turning so she won't see.
"Hey, are you okay by the way?" She asked suddenly, turning fully towards me. Her eyes were slightly furrowed, and my stomach jolted from the eye contact.
Taken aback from the question, I nodded and immediately brushed it off.
"You looked upset when you came over.."
"Oh yeah, I just didn't sleep well, I'm exhausted," I said, giving a small laugh and shrug, but feeling a sharp pang: nobody ever asked me that when I had been crying.
"Oh." She paused, then took a hit, passing it again.
She told me that she came here sometimes after helping at the school library, before going home. Nobody ever came on this side of the grounds, so it was a perfect hiding area to smoke. Apparently I had picked that up pretty quickly.
She asked why I moved, and I went through the explanation, omitting the nastier details of my fight with my mother. Her eyes studied me as I spoke, as if weighing the words for herself. She smushed the roach on the grass, then popped it into an old Altoids container in her bag.  My vision was strange, like all the colors of the trees were a little too bright. The swooping, familiar elated feeling told me I had smoked enough.
I blinked at her, and she smiled lazily at me. "Do you wanna hang out tomorrow ? I don't work. I know it sucks not knowing anyone." She purses her lips, as if surprised she had proposed that.
My eyes widen. "Absolutely ," I said. I traded my number with her, trying to contain the butterflies erupting in me .. Get it together, Willow. You don't need to scare her off.
"Alright, cool!" She smiled. "I could really use someone to hang with... or smoke with." She sighed, standing. I followed her lead. "My friends don't approve." She frowned.
"Ah," I said, sympathetically. I hoist my bag on my shoulder, and offer her a ride as we walk back. She says no thanks, since her car was here as well, and waved goodbye.
"See you in class," she says.
As I turn to unlock my car, I hide my smile behind my hair.