As I get closer to my first class, I’m still reeling from Kayla’s sudden cold front. I knock on H150 and put on the kind of “happy new girl” smile that would make my mom proud.
I hear shuffling chairs and quiet shushing as the door opens. Ms. Taylor practically bounces into the hallway, and I can’t help but be transported back to a different hallway, a different teacher, a differentlife.
I shake the thought away.
Ms. Taylor is pretty and looks young to be teaching at a high school. Her wavy brown hair is in a messy top bun that she probably needs to redo. Her gold chandelier earrings sway as she moves.
“You must be Jasmine,” she says, with a wide smile andexpressive hands. The stack of gold bracelets that matches her earrings jingles loudly. “Welcome!”
I walk into the classroom, cringing at the attention. Everyone is staring. The guys seem curious, the girls annoyed. I almost forgot this school was coed—it’s been a long time since I sat anywhere near a guy who wasn’t in charge of me.
“So, where are you coming from?” Ms. Taylor asks as she places a packet and a book on an empty desk near the back.
For a brief moment, I imagine what it would be like to just sayjailand see how they react. In one scenario, they shift uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. In another, they are rendered speechless by the badass new girl, intimidated yet intrigued. But I know that realistically, they’d just laugh at me. By lunch, the whole school would be calling me a delinquent and I’d somehow be even more alone than I already am.
“Umm, I came from Sacred Hearts. It’s a boarding school,” I say, giving the name I’d practiced. My voice cracks from nerves.
A few kids snicker and Ms. Taylor shushes them. I scan the room for a kind face and land on a pretty girl sitting diagonally across from the empty desk. She smiles. The sun is bouncing off the pearls on her headband and making shapes on her round face. I can’t help but smile back at her.
“Anything else you want to share?” Ms. Taylor says.
I shake my head. “No, thanks.”
“Go ahead and take the seat by Deanna,” she says, pointing to the girl with the pearl headband.
Deanna, I repeat to myself. It’s a nice name.
As I walk over to the desk, another girl stops me. She dramatically flips her red hair, then purses her thin, glossy lips.
“Not to be rude,” she whispers loudly, “but I heard boarding school is full of lesbos.”
The students within earshot erupt in laughter.
My smile fades quickly.
“Really, Alice?” Deanna says, giving her an annoyed look.
Thankfully, Ms. Taylor claps her hands for attention, and any lingering laughter dies out.
“Guess I’ll see you after class, Alice,” she says sternly.
Alice sighs. I hope she doesn’t blame me for this; it’s entirely her own fault.
“Now, where were we?” Ms. Taylor says to the rest of the class.
Someone holds up a book. I look at mine.One Hundred Years of Solitude. I chuckle at the coincidence. It was donated to our unit library, and I took advantage of being the only person who actually checked anything out.
“I know you haven’t had a chance to read it, Jasmine, so don’t worry about the quiz today,” Ms. Taylor calls back to me.
I flip through the book and consider how to respond, and whether I really want to. “I’ve read it twice, so I could be okay,” I say.
“Well of course, if you want!” Ms. Taylor says.
Deanna gives me a thumbs-up. She’s even prettier close up and I’m slightly intimidated. Pretty girls are usually the meanest. If anyone knows better than to fall for random acts of kindness, it’s me. The first few weeks at the center, I learned the hard way that if they share their snacks, they’re expired. If they share their toiletries, they’re toxic.
Deanna’s brown skin is shiny, like she mixed her lotion with glitter, but not so much that it looks silly. Her small diamond bracelet and matching earrings add to her glow anytime she moves. She pulls out a clear gloss and swipes it on sparingly.
“Okay, show of hands… who else read it?” Ms. Taylor asks.
