They're Playing Our Song

I wasn't sure what the hell I was doing. It was my first day of this new high school, and I stood outside the huge red brick building with a thick layer of terror coating my stomach and making my fingers twitch. Or maybe because it was ridiculously cold that New Jersey September. Could have been either I suppose. I wouldn't have been as scared if I wasn't the new girl. And not even the exciting kind of new girl. I was the girl, who was supposed to go to the high school one county over, but got chucked into this one after her parents separated, and her mother took her as far away as she could afford. Which was, again, only one fricken county over.

It was September third, and the school year had already started in the middle of August. It wasn't to late in the year, and I was sure I had only missed a little. But still, I was the official new girl none the less.

I sighed as those thoughts roamed around in my brain. I wasn't afraid of being the new girl, necessarily; I just didn't like the idea of going through high school without my best friends. I already missed them so much. They were just like me, and they understood every little insignificant detail of my existence. Why I color my hair, what I scribble on my notebook, which my favorite bands are, what song lyrics can wipe my stress away. They were my safety nets, my crutches, my lifelines, and love personified. They were everything I would ever need in a person. And I probably wasn’t ever going to be able to see them as much as I’d need to.

I kicked the ground angrily as I wasted time, pretending to fix my hair. That year I had dyed it black, and my bangs blonde. My hair naturally poufs out with short, wavy curls, so I didn’t have to worry about using volumizing shampoo or curlers or any shit like that. I was extremely proud of my hair, and how it was so different from the bleach blonde Barbies I see walking the streets everyday. I fiddled nervously with my clothes; the keys inside my purple jeans pocket, the zipper on my black hoodie, the hem of my dinosaur T-shirt, the laces on my plain black canvas sneakers. I wasn’t what you would call “Typical” in this particular neighborhood.

I stood outside of that school until I just couldn’t stall anymore, and reluctantly dragged my cold feet up the brick steps and through the glass double doors. The lobby of the school had an ugly puke colored tile floor, with green painted walls and brown metal chairs. Eww. On the left there was a room with glass walls; the office. Inside I could see cushy purple chairs, a purple rug with print that was clearly from the 80s, a door to the principals office, and a high, sea green receptionist desk, where a middle-aged redhead with too much trashy lipstick was busy talking on the phone. It was a personal call, I could tell by the way she was laughing loudly and twirling her hair. I rolled my eyes. I hoped she got caught.

I strolled over to her, dropped my bag at me feet, and crossed my arms over the desk. The woman looked up at me reluctantly. I slid my paperwork over the smooth surface, and raised my eyebrows at the woman. She scowled and just kept talking on the phone, at the same time filing away the papers and shuffling out some different ones. She pulled out my schedule, a map, and a note for my teacher, and handed them to me. School had already started, but it was only a couple weeks in, and I hadn't missed much. Goodie goodie gumdrops. I thought sarcastically. I bet I'm going to just adore it here. I sighed and walked away from the woman, who was now whispering feverishly about me to the person on the other line of the phone. I bet she'd never seen anything like me at that hell hole before. At my old school I would have been welcomed back with open arms. Here? Not so much...