Surrender

Monday, August 15, 2013

7:30am
I considered running this morning, I usually run every morning. Being home schooled has its perks, one of them being that I don't have to start school really early so every morning before my lessons I would run. Running just takes off the stress and living a life with no TV, no internet, and no phone.... there's not much else to do around here. Today, however, is a big day for me, my first day at a real school. So I decide to skip my run, I'll do it after school.

I've had my own car for quite sometime so luckily I don't have to rely on anyone else to bring me to school so I use the extra time I have to just leave for school early. I arrive to school almost an hour early and am only the third car in the parking lot, but on the bright side I got a good parking spot. After sitting in my car for a good 15 minutes, I spot the track field. If I'm going to be trying out for the track team, I should at least know where to go. Besides, I can't just sit in my car for the next half hour or so and count down the minutes.

When I reach the track, there's a guy across the field running laps, shirtless might I add, so I cut right and walk up the bleachers. I take a seat at the very top and take in my new surroundings. From up here, I can see the whole school laid out in front of me. It doesn't look nearly as big or intimidating as I've been imagining. Taylor made me a hand-drawn map and even wrote a few pointers down, so I pull the paper out of my backpack and look at it for the first time. I think she's trying to overcompensate because she feels bad for abandoning me.
I look at the school grounds, then back at the map. It looks easy enough. Classrooms in the building to the right. Lunchroom on the left. Track and field behind the gym. There is a long list of her pointers, so I begin reading them.

1. Don't use the bathroom in the math department... ever, not ever, under no circumstances.
2. Avoid eating in the cafeteria at all costs, It's a living, breathing, hell, but don't be afraid, they can smell fear.
3. Never two-strap your backpack, it's just lame.
4. Befriend the dean, it could work out in your favor.
5. If you get Mr. Less for math, sit in the back and don't make eye contact. He loves high school girls, if you know what I mean. Or, better yet, sit in the front. It'll be an easy A. ;)

I laugh, the list goes on, but I can't read anymore right now. I'm still stuck on, "they can smell fear." It's times like these that I wish I had a cell phone, because I would call Taylor right now and demand an explanation. I fold the paper up and put it back in my bag, then focus my attention on the lone runner. He's seated on the track with his back turned to me, stretching. I don't know if he's a student or a coach, but if Liam saw this guy without a shirt, he'd probably become a lot more modest about being so quick to flash his own abs.
The guy stands up and walks toward the bleachers, never looking up at me. He exits the gate and walks to one of the cars in the parking lot. He opens his door and grabs a shirt off the front seat, then pulls it on over his head. He hops in the car and pulls away, just as the parking lot begins to fill up. And it's filling up fast.
Oh, God.
I grab my backpack and purposefully put only one strap on, remembering Taylor's words of wisdom then descend the stairs to hell.

***

Did I say Hell? Because that was an understatement. Public school is everything I was afraid it would be and much, much worse. The classes aren't so bad, but I had to (out of pure necessity and unfamiliarity) use the restroom in the math department, and although I survived, I'll be scarred for the rest of my life. A simple side note from Taylor informing me that it's used as more of a whore house than an actual restroom would have sufficed.

It's now almost lunch and the amount of times I've heard "slut" or "whore" whispered throughout the hallways as I pass is uncountable. I wish I knew some details of my slutty past time, every person at this school seems to know but me. A heap of dollar bills just fell out of my locker along with a note, they were both a good indicator that I may not be very welcome here. The note was signed by the principal, but I find that hard to believe based on the fact that "your" was spelled "you're," and the note said, "Sorry you're locker didn't come with a pole, slut."