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Lo
“Loren!” Mom calls out to me from the bottom of the staircase as she does every morning. I’m sure she’s standing there with her big smile, hands on her hips, and my lunch handy.
She’s more excited about me being in high school than I am. I’m already up and out of bed, the jitters of starting at a new school is giving me anxiety. When you’re in junior high, you get to be free. There aren’t as many responsibilities or stresses about getting everything perfect. That all changes in high school. It has expectations. Or at the very least, the people do.
“I’m up!” I call back, a frown cast over my face. I’m not ready for new people. I already hate most of the losers I knew before. There’s this saying about dicks and them only being good for one thing. They’re not wrong. Even if I’m still virginal, I know things.
It’s only orientation, I remind myself.
Yeah, instead of learning about our sexuality, we’re meeting other people and teachers. So much win.
Sarcasm.
I’ve spent the entire summer running. Sweat doesn’t glitter or scream, but it eases my panic whenever it rises too high. I’ll never waste my talents on a track team because being alone is better than dealing with bullshit.
Before I got my class schedule a few weeks back, I went shopping. The beauty of going to the mall with my best friend is that she’s up with all the trends, which, by the way, can suck my ass. What’s better is that I didn’t get a single thing that screamed popular in response to her suggestions. I’m a rebel. Sue me.
Instead, I shopped at Spencer’s and Hot Topic. They were better two years ago. Now, they’ve sold out to pop culture, dropping the band tees and gothic wear that made my blood feel blacker than activated charcoal and instead they went full chic. Somehow, it still makes me feel at home. It’s all I’ve known. It’s like a library to a bookworm, a haunted house to Scooby-Doo, or a coffee shop to any coffee lover. Those three places speak to others. Spencer’s and Hot Topic speak to me, or, at least, they fulfill some of my needs.
Eleanor, on the other hand, shops at stores like Hollister Co. and Aeropostale. We couldn’t be more different if we tried, but that’s why we click. We don’t have to have everything in common to get along. It actually helps being opposites, especially by not pretending to be who we aren’t and accepting each other for who we are. In the scheme of it all, that’s why we can confide in each other. There’s no rivalry. Just friendship.
I study, and she goes and fucks around with jocks. Spoiler alert: she’s a cheerleader. While I’m seeking out scholarships, she’s boozing it up as I lie to our parents. It works. We work.
After changing my outfit ten times, brushing my teeth, and straightening my long, black hair—it took forever if you wanted to know—I make my way to the kitchen. Bacon. My mom loves me, and this greasy meat is proof.
“I love you, Mom,” I say on a satisfied groan, taking a bite of the little piggy strips. My taste buds burst with flavor and I’m savoring each chew.
“Love you too, baby girl.” Her eyes always seem so light. It’s like nothing burdens her, even when I’m a pain in the ass teen. “You ready for today?” She smiles at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
“No,” I groan, being overdramatic when it’s unnecessary.
“Awe, come on! High school is so fun!” she responds cheerfully.
“Absolutely not.”
“Then, how about you go to school for me?” I joke, stuffing another piece of meaty goodness in my mouth. And I wonder why I feel so winded while running.
“Don’t be so stressed. Life goes by fast. Enjoy the small things, like school for example.” She nudges my chin before taking off her apron. Mom hums while she shuffles around the kitchen, cleaning and packing Dad’s lunch.
Not sure how she does it, spending every extra minute she has making our meals, taking care of me and Nate... where does the time come from?
After I finish scarfing down every bit of grease, I clean my plate and text Ellie that I’m heading out.
“See you afterward?” I ask, heading for the front door.
“Yes, and you’ll have a good day. Watch.”
Always the positive one, my mom. I wave at her, dreading that it means I have to actually walk to school.
You left yet? Ellie texts moments later.
Yup. Be there in fifteen. I respond.
Hurry up, would ya? I don’t want to be early and alone. That’s what losers do.
I laugh at her text. She’s such a snob.
After grabbing my backpack, since I haven’t actually left yet, I start my journey.
It doesn’t take as long as I imagined. At least I only have to walk until I get my license. Mom and Dad said they’ll pitch in for a car, and if I do well this year, it’s mine.
“Loren!” Ellie screeches, making a big scene as usual.
She hauls herself over to me, flinging herself into my arms. I have to hurry and adjust so she doesn’t take us both down with her show. Such a drama queen.
“God, Eleanor. Could you bring any more attention to us?” I roll my eyes, wanting to hide away in the bathroom and escape the watchful gazes of everyone around us.
“Don’t be a buzzkill, Ren. It’s all fun,” she chastises, clucking her tongue at me. She smiles at the other kids staring at her, absorbing their stares, greedy for them.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” I return dryly. My eyes capture other girls that look like they’d be Ellie’s friends. When one of them gives me a quirked eyebrow that screams what are you looking at? I turn my attention back to my friend.
“Okay, what’s stuck up your ass? It’s obviously not a cock. What gives?” Ellie admonishes, placing her hands on her dainty hips.
“Really?” My face flames as people stop their pursuit, gawking at us like we’re the most entertaining thing since cell phones. I don’t even chance a glance at the girls that were acting like I was gum at the bottom of their shoes. “I’m not like you, Ellie. I don’t thrive from self-absorption.”
She frowns, jutting out her bottom lip in a pout. “You’re my best friend, Ren. Don’t ruin the mood. Be happy and cheery, like when you get a new Crossword Mania book.”
Books, I understand. It’s people, I don’t.
“Fuck off,” I growl, only halfway meaning it. “Please don’t make my enormous weirdo spotlight any larger. It’s bad enough I’m the nerd with a cheerleader best friend. Label my forehead with a cliché sticker, why don’t ya? I don’t need more people staring at me like I’m a social pariah. I’m trying to fly by high school unnoticed.”
“Fine, fine, but only because I love you,” she surrenders, putting her hands up.
I scoff. She loves herself. Yeah, we’re best friends, and yeah, she always has my back, but Eleanor Graves has her own back first, and everything and everyone else comes after.
I learned that the hard way.
We walk arm in arm to the tables at the commons area. At least, that’s what the director called it. It looks like another school foyer to me.
“Name?” the blonde woman asks us.
“Graves,” Ellie says.
“Tanner,” I reply at the same time.
She thumbs through the files, her eyes scanning everything. When I’m about to ask her if there’s an issue, she’s pulling out two files. “Ah, here we are.”
She hands me an enclosed envelope with my class schedule, picture times for IDs, and fliers. “Enjoy! Make sure to stop at the college prep tables. They’re super informative.”
“Of course,” I say with enthusiasm.
Ellie grunts and rolls her eyes. She’s hoping to graduate and stay at home forever. She wants to be a trophy wife. If you knew how many children she wanted to have, you’d probably pray for her at church.
“Shit, these classes are all boring. The only one I’m excited for is the cheer one,” Ellie complains. Her eyes scan her paper, the unease in her expression nearly has me laughing at her expense.
Meanwhile, I’m dancing on the inside with all the courses I have. Culinary. Home Ec. AP Chemistry. 3D Art. Everything I asked for. The others are inconsequential. They’re only necessary to graduate.
She grabs my schedule from me, her gaze flying over the paper. She’s not much of a reader, so I know she’s only looking at the teacher’s names.
“We have zero classes together.”
Thank the Lord up above.
“Oh, no,” I feign sadness. “Maybe next semester?” Whenever Ellie and I had shared classes, she always copied my work and did nothing. When we were paired as group partners, she never participated. And worst of all, when boys asked her for help, she asked me to do their work and pretended she did it. She’s unbelievable.
“Ugh. This sucks,” she complains. “You need to stop being smart, Renny. I can’t keep up.”
“Let’s go get our picture taken,” I say to change the subject, turning around and heading toward the auditorium.
She follows behind me, and I pray she doesn’t cause any more of a ruckus.
“Get your picture scan cards ready!” a young guy with shaggy hair and a similar taste in clothes to my own yells. He lifts a laminated paper with a barcode, showing everyone. “It looks like this. You’ll find it in your packet.”
After he turns around, I search in my envelope and find it. Taking it out, I see it has my name, my grade, and a barcode.
Everyone’s busy. People mull around, some like chickens with their heads cut off, some like zombies. Others, like me, are stuck in a trance—unmoving and stale. We are separated by three lines. Ellie gets put in the one on the left of me. I’m out of sorts here. People give me anxiety and crowds make me feel claustrophobic. It doesn’t help that they’re all taller than me, too.
When someone bumps into my shoulder, I’m nearly thrown to the ground. I stumble for my footing, trying to steady myself.
“Oh, fuck! I’m sorry!” a tall, brown-haired guy apologizes but doesn’t turn or even offer to help me. He hurries off before I get a good look at him.
Of course, that’s just my luck. Asshole.
I hurry through the line, get my picture taken, and hustle through Orientation. I stop at every class, find my locker, and make sure I know all the shortcuts so I’m not late to the classes that are on opposite sides of the school come Monday.
I’m ready. Or as ready as one can be for high school.