Irene

Day One

“Welcome to Marcus High School, the best school on Earth,” A tall, muscular guy (obviously a senior) said to me as I stepped through the big double doors with Nick to embark on my four-year-long journey into high school.

     Not exactly the words you’d expect to hear on the first day of your freshman year.

    The senior ran off, joining a group of equally buff guys. I watched him as he joyfully slapped one boy on the shoulder, then exchanged an enthusiastic “Hey!” with another. I had always hoped high school would bring a friendship like that to me, one where we’re all as close as peas in a pod; I’ve never exactly had one. Well, except for Nick, but he’s a boyfriend, so he doesn’t really count. I guess I’ll find out if my wish can come true soon enough.

     “Come on, let’s go grab our schedules,” Nick said, tugging on our clasped hands playfully. At times, he reminded me of an excited child at Disneyworld, even though it’s usually when he’s joking. I gave him one of my small, slightly-lopsided smiles and dove into the herd of students big and small with him.

     I had never realized how hard it would be to move around in a hallway with a thousand people in it. My previous schools had been small; Cypress, Texas had many schools.

     It was kind of like swimming. The people’s bodies were fish. The tops of them, I mean. The hairy part on their heads. The sea had so many fish you could barely see the water below them. There were many guppies, trouts, and goldfish ranging from black to beach blonde, with the occasional neon pink. Nick and I were the stranded couple who survived the sinking of a boat in the waters of High School and needed desperately to get to shore to survive. I mean, how do you get to salvation without your treasure map? (Not that class is much of a “salvation.”)

     “This way!” I yelled to Nick over the roaring of voices. I tilted my head in the direction of a huge sign that spelled out Schedules in sparkly blue letters and Nick acknowledged me by nodding. We turned to the right and struggled through the horde of fish who wanted nothing more than to sink us for their own benefit.

    Finally, we reached the sign, which happened to rest in the school’s cafeteria, with a reward of dirty stares from people we “accidentally” pushed and four extremely long lines. Each line was labeled, from left to right, as freshman, sophomore, junior, and then senior. And sadly, the freshman line was the longest.

     “Hey, Irene,” Nick started, playing with a strand of my thick, long, black-as-night hair, “why don’t you go sit down at one of the tables over there? When I get to the front of the line, come join me so you can get your schedule.”

     “Alright,” I answered, surveying the cafeteria tables to my left. There was a mostly empty one close by. “Here, let me take your bag,” I finished, pulling Nick’s brown backpack into my awaiting arms. The first thing I noticed was the giant grey Of Mice and Men logo, symbol, whatever it’s called, printed on the black shirt.

     I chirped a quick “Bye!” before retreating to the tables. I sat down on an empty seat, placing my backpack, along with Nick’s, on the floor.

     I couldn’t help but stare at my boyfriend as the line crept forward. I was so in love with everything about him. Some people might say I’m too young to be dating; we started going out in seventh grade and lasted this long, but how can I resist when he looks, and acts, like a prince out of a five-year-olds story book? Well, a prince without muscle. He’s actually quite wimpy; he doesn’t play any sports. But honestly, I don’t mind that.

     People say we are a strange couple. But when I look in a mirror side by side with him, sometimes I have to agree. I’m a smidge taller than him, and I tease him about it all the time. I like to wear heels when we go out on dates just to bug him; he hates the fact that he has to look up a bit to see my face, so imagine how he would feel when I wear shoes that assist my height next to him. It sounds cruel of me, but his reactions are worth it. Unfortunately, not even heels change the fact that I’m short compared to most kids in my grade. It runs in the family.