Standing in front of the school, I realize just how hard today is actually going to be. It's my first day... and everyone else's. Except it's their first day in their second semester. I transferred schools in the middle of the year because my father decided to accept a new job offer. Typical.
Looking at Fortuna's Granite Bay high school feels like I'm in a movie. It looks like a private, prep school. Everyone is wearing some kind of brand name, driving their Porsche's and Lamborghini's and whatnot. A vast majority of these kids are popular. My guess? The money did it.
Of course, there's the people I consider to be like me. Whatever outfit smells clean enough and, almost broken down, little trucks. Of course, the people who hitch rides from friends or their legal guardians are here too. But, that's to be expected. It's only high school.
I notice people staring at me for either walking past me or afar. They don't recognize me. Great, how obvious.
Taking that as a mental cue to head inside, I speedwalk up the steps and through the front doors.
Unfolding my schedule, and looking through my classes, I see I've got history first. A boring class to sleep through, neato. My other classes are mostly electives besides Government. I finished my other credits at my old school.
I'm lucky I toured the school Saturday and Sunday, otherwise if I asked somebody about my class whereabouts I probably would've walked into a girls room or something. Gotta stay one step ahead of the game.
I make it to my classroom and some kids are already there. There are nametags on the desks and I go to find mine. Stereotypically enough, it's in the back corner of the classroom.
I continuously lock eyes with kids and others who walk in, only to do that mysterious new kid move where I look away after a few seconds.
The teacher, Mr. Bluddenberg, walks in. His hair is disheveled and necktie loose, shirt barely tucked in his pants. Either he's running late or he, uh... found some quick alone time. Whichever is the answer, he's definitely acting funny.
"Ah, good morning! Glad you could all make it. I'm, uh, Mr. Bluddenberg. Your teacher who knows all about history, I'm ready to give you all A's and fill in your credits." Sounds like an easy class.
Mr. Bluddenberg continues, "We should, uh... get to know one another's names! Yes! Bingo, okay. Say your name, grade and favorite... anything. Starting with... YOU! Go."
People start introducing themselves, mostly juniors and seniors here... "My favorite anything is... blue." "Mine is... romance movies?" "Reverse cowgirl." People laugh. "Alright, alright... how about the new kid?"
I raise my hand, about to pull a bad boy card. "Yes?" "Can I not."
He chuckles. "Everyone else has gone and... we're ending with you, I suggest you let us into your mind."
"Cool. Okay. I'm Miles Finley, senior, and my favorite thing in the entire world ever is... not this class." A few kids snicker. "Okay, bud. What kind of stereotype are you trying to pull here?"
"Any of the ones that get me out of here faster." Mr. Bluddenberg smirks at me. "Then keep it up, you just might become my favorite student."
"Oh, Mr. Bloody burger, that would really make my bells jingle. Do you really mean that?"
"I've had enough, go to the office. NOW."
"Hey! It worked, I get to leave faster. See ya, suckers." I grab my bag, fling it over my shoulder and dip.
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"It's your first day and I'm already getting a phone call about your questionable behavior? Really? Miles, what is wrong with you." I smile at the vice principal. "Yeah, I'm pretty cool, aren't I? A big shot, big cheese." My fingers play with the phone cord. Who uses landlines anymore?
"You're screwing your education over being a mistake you promised me you wouldn't be. What about that promise, huh? You're really gonna let me down?" I snicker. "Yes."
"You're grounded when you get home." I suck in a breath. "Ya know, I don't really feeeel like it, you feel?"
My father gives a laugh as if he's saying I'm being unbelievable. Because he did say it. He muttered it to himself. "Keep it up, bucko. You're gonna feel a lot more when you get home tonight."
"Aww, dad, are you flirting with me?" The line clicks.
The vice principal stares at me in disbelief. She had it on speaker to listen in on what my dad was saying. "I cannot believe the audacity! You are his SON!" I smirk. "Yeah? He's my dad."
"You are going to get what you deserve from him later, take this. It's your lunch detention." She hands me slip. "Real cute, I like your penmanship." "Get out."
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I keep my mouth shut to my other teachers and go to lunch, skipping my first detention. I mean, who's really gonna care. The school day has ended and I'm about to pull another new kid move. I lean against my truck, foot against the tire and arms crossed. I look like a greaser without the grease. I think I'm cool.
Some girls pass by and give me little smiles. I give them a head nod up and wink at them. I think one of them melted. "Hey, you. Miles."
I look towards the voice. Another cutie to mess with. "What's poppin'?" I wink at the guy. "I loved what you did in history, you're pretty cool.. like really cool actually." I grin. "Thanks, I know."
"Would you mind hanging out with my friends and I..? We could help you get kind of settled in. If it seems like I'm bothering you, we've got popular kids in our group too. Some baddies that you might like also." I psh'ed and gave him a look. "I don't need anyone's help, I'm fine."
He quiets down and gives me a card. "What is this? Your nerd business card? Please send job inquiries here to be a double A grade geek." I laugh at my own joke.
"It's the address to the party tonight. If you decide to show, tell them Garrett sent you." I rip the card in half. "Parties aren't my crowd."
Garrett tears up a little. Shoot. He turns and runs off. Probably to cry to his popular friends.
I remorsefully picked up the card pieces. Gonna have to make a reincheck with my pops. He can't feel me up tonight.
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Walking through the front door, I'm ready to get John Cena'd immediately. "Helloooooo, daddy?" No response. I shrug. Okay, I guess.
I grab a piece of paper and write a little note for my dad.
'Dear pops, I'm gonna go to a party tonight in hopes I can make some friends who can shape me up better. Or, something like that. This won't be a repeat of Holly's when I came home shitfaced and high out of my mind. Thanks, pal.'
I leave the note where I know he'll find it and I smile to myself. I know I might come home as one of those things, I don't plan to be sober.
Gripping my car keys, I finally feel nervous. I kind of want these people to like me.
I want the hours to go by fast, the card said 7.
Which is super fucking late to start one.
