Barden High

Chapter 1

After parking her car and citing a small pros and cons list of whether or not to actually go to class, Allie Foster had finally mustered up the courage to leave the comfort of her parked car and made her way into her personal Hell she called, school.

 Upon arriving early, Allie found the halls to be empty. Red and white streamers filled the halls of Barden High. Posters lined the white brick walls welcoming back the students and faculty to another productive school year. As Allie made her way towards the main office, she could hear the faint sound of excited voices coming from the cafeteria down the hall, where the students gathered awaiting the first bell to ring. She pushed open one of the tall glass doors to the main office and strolled inside. She'd been in this office so many times in the past and yet, everything still looked the same as when she left last year. Barden High was a big place, and it still amazed her that even after three years there were still names of faculty members listed that she'd never met, let alone even heard of.

"Well, if it isn't Miss Foster." Allie spun around on her heels to find the familiar voice that broke her from her thoughts, where she was met with the genuine smile of Mrs. Cross, the main secretary.

Allie smiled softly at the older woman and offered a small wave. "How ya doin, sweet pea?" Mrs. Cross asked the young girl in a soft southern accent.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Cross, just here to pick up my schedule, how was your summer?" Allie was quite fond of the older woman. After all the trips Allie had made down here over the years to see the principal or her guidance counselor, Allie never once felt as if Mrs. Cross was judging or pitying her. For that, she was extremely thankful. It was nice to have someone look at her like a normal person instead of the broken child that she really was.

"It was just lovely, darlin', but if you wanted to have a chat, you should have come earlier. Here you are." Mrs. Cross replied, handing her a sheet of paper. "You best get going, dear, wouldn't want to be late, right?" She chuckled as she tried to shoo the student along. 

"Well-" Allie started to reply, but Mrs. Cross shook a disapproving finger at her.

"No. Your answer is no, Allie." The older woman smiled encouragingly and patted her on the shoulder. "Now, go on, and don't let me see you back in here for a while, understood?" Allie solemnly nodded, but offered the woman a smile as she headed back out into the hallway to find her locker.

This was Allie's last year, and hopefully it would be a quiet one. After locating locker 42, Allie hooked her combination lock onto it jsut as the bell for first period rang. The hallway slowly began to fill up as Allie trekked her way down to her first period class. As she turned the corner, Allie spotted a slick black sneaker jut out into her path, but it was too late. Allie felt time slow down as she watched the floor gradually get closer, only the inevitable never came. Just as she was about to hit the floor, Allie felt strong hands latch onto her shoulders. This wasn't new for Allie though, so her first thought was that perhaps someone wanted to be kind enough to make her reach the floor faster, but no. Allie was being pulled up and placed back onto her feet.

"Are you alright?" A voice spoke in front of Allie, which she assumed belonged to the hands that were still gripping her shoulders. Just as Allie brought her head up to meet the eyes of her savior, she locked gazes with the one person she wished she hadn't. 

Jason Wayler. Jase, to all who ignorantly followed and adored him for reasons Allie could not understand.

One of the people who had graciously helped to make school a living Hell for her. The irate expression he wore answered Allie's single question. This was Jason's way of welcoming Allie back to school for another year of fun, and it hadn't worked. There was no doubt in Allie's mind that he would try again, and he would only try harder. Anger, embarrassment, and anxiety surged through Allie. "Excuse me-" Allie twisted out of the grip of the person whom had caught her, wishing they would have just let her fall.