Teenage Pregnancy

You know, if I could wear my maternity clothes after I have this kid, I would. They're not only cute, but so damn comfortable. No pinching around the waist, I don't feel like I'm wearing a corset, and I can actually breathe. It was a good feeling.
But what wasn't a good feeling was the butterflies in my stomach. I picked the polish off my fingernails as my mom drove me to my new school. It wasn't the fact that it was a different schhol, but that it was a public school. I had gone to private school all my life. I know what you're thinking: "Oh, is Miss Priss afraid of the big, bad public school?"

Yes. Terrified.

"What, don't like people who don't have top classes and don't wear uniforms?

No, because then I'd be a hypocrite. Private school isn't all it's hyped up to be. At least, mine isn't.

Holly Hill Academy is a piss-ant school in a piss-ant town. The school has an overall student body of about... two-hundred people, give or take. One year, we had seven people in the senior class.

We don't wear uniforms -- although an attire of khaki pants and polo shirts were once seriously considered,and we don't have any extra-curricular activities besides sports. We do have Art, but that's only up to the Sixth grade. And the tution is kind of pricey.

So, in a nutshell, private school sucks. Well, mine does anyway.

I've heard that public school can be pretty scary: fights, unruly students, and one kid that used to be in my class said that somebody got arrested at his old public school. A drug bust, he had told me.

I was just getting all wound up over this; making wild assumptions. I was acting no better than the people who picked on me for going to private school. But as we pulled up to the school, I began to doubt if my thoughts weren't partially correct. Teenagers were running around the campus, punching each other and wrestling, and one was pinned up against a brick wall, hand cuffs being slapped onto his wrists by a beefy police officer. I gulped.

Today, my main goal was staying alive.

***

"Class, it seems we have a new student." The dark skinned teacher had to yell to be heard over the roar of the students. There were about fifty kids in the eighth grade class and I was sitting in the back corner, feeling slightly claustrophobic as the unruly teens ran around the classroom, jumping over desks, throwing paper, etc. "Class," the teacher tried once again. She sighed, almost exasperatedly, then opened a drawer in her desk. After rummaging through it, she pulled out a large wooden paddle and slapped her desk with it very hard.

It met the wood with a loud splat, and the students quickly quited down. Some had had the sense to shut up when they saw her looking for something. They all quickly sat down in their seats and stared at her, waiting for her to speak. She smiled at them and quietly put her ruler back in its place.

"We have a new student." They sat quiet and still, staring at her as if their brains had been liquified. "Would you care to know who it is?"

One smart alec shouted, "No, not really!" This caused the class to erupt in laughter, and the teacher sent them a death glare that made them stop mid-laugh.

"Her name is Lauren Russell. Lauren, would you stand up please?" Okay, so my plan to sit-in-the-back-so-she-doesn't-call-on-me definitely didn't work. My face burned as I did what she asked and stared down my shoes. I heard some snickering as somebody found something to pick at, then I sat back down. Thankfully, the bell for first period rang, and I hustled out of the room with my new fellow classmates.

***

Lunch, the period I had been fearing all day. It was different from my old school. You had to stand in line as lunch lady after lunch lady filled you plate with salad, fruit, vegetables, and some kind of mystery meat. It looked like fried beef. Then at the end of the line a scary looking woman rang up the amount of food you had and you payed on the spot. At my old school, there was a set list of what was for lunch eack day printed on the back of our monthly calendars. We all placed our orders with our homeroom teacher and paid her. She then sent all of the money and orders to the office, where they sent the orders to the lunchroom and our small handfull of women made our lunches, starting as early as nine o'clock.

I paid the scary lady, and was a little surprised at the high price. I handed her the paper part, and most of the change that was required. I was a dime short. I was digging in my small change bag, and people were starting to fuss.

"Move it!"

"Come on, we gots to eat, too!"

"What's the hold up here?" A tall, dark skinned girl with her hair in tiny little braids cut in front of everyone to see what was taking so long.

"I'm-- I'm sorry," I stammered to the woman behind the register. "I-- I can't find the rest of the money. I can pay you back tomorrow--"

"You either pay and get the food, or you don't and go hungry." The girl rolled her eyes.

"Helga, how much do she owe you?"

"Ten cent." The girl rolled her eyes again and slapped a dime into the woman's meaty and waiting hand. I quickly moved out of the way so I wouldn't hold up the line.

"Hey, where are you gonna sit?" The girl was next to me once again, a small tray of food in her hands.

"I don't know," I said, scanning the large room quickly. "I guess over there." I pointed toward a table where only a few people sat; people who looked like they had allergies and would never grow out of them.

"No! You can't sit over there! You spend one day being nice to them and they'll follow you around for the rest of your life. You can sit with me and my gang." My face must have paled slightly because she laughed and said, "Not that kind of gang! You know, my girls?"

"Oh." That was really nice. "Sure. Thanks."

"No problem. I'm Audrey," she said as we sat down at her table.

"I'm Lauren," I replied shyly, slightly in awe.

"So, Lauren, why'd you come here?" one of the girls asked me. Her hair was styled the same as Audrey's about halfway down. Then the braids stopped and her hair rested on her shoulders in curls.

"Um, long story," I muttered, my eyes on my apple.

"Uh-huh," she said in a disbelieving voice. "Or is it just embarrassing?"

"The second one, more or less."

"Right." A moment of silence, then, "Where'd you get those shoes?"

"Scooby, shut the hell up!" Audrey shouted. "You are not going to steal Lauren's shoes!"

"I know, I know," the boy on Audrey's left said, raising his arms in self defense. "But those are some nice shoes. I'm just sayin'," he muttered, his small afro bobbing as he went back to his mac and cheese.

"Well, that's Scooby's retarded ass," Audrey said. "And this my homegirl, Barbra Jean."

" 'Cept, don't call me Barbra or Jean. Just Barb."

"Okay." For the remainder of the period I ate in silence, listening to their conversation to try to pick out the things they were interested in. Occaisonally I would give them my input, but only when they asked for it.

"What class do you have next?" Audrey asked me after the bell rang. I pulled the schedule out of my back pocket and scanned it quickly.

"Um,... Health, with Mr. Alruna."

"Sweet! Me too!" said Scooby, who stood very close to me. "I can walk you to class...."

"Me too," said Audrey. "I'll walk you there. Go get Lauren's books, Scooby. She don't need no pot head to get her mixed up today." He saluted her, then sulked off to my locker