Goody, Like Two Shoes

"Are you sure you have everything, sweetums?"

"I'm sure, mother. Or would you like to check my bag - just to make sure?"

"No, no, I trust you. Now are you positive you don't want me to drive you to school?"

I shook my head, "Look, mom, don't worry; I'm walking with Millie. We'll be just fine."

Mom insisted on pushing her point while making sure that my glasses were spotlessly clean, "What if you're late and miss your bus - what'll you do then?"

"Holly, Sasha has her head screwed on more than you and I - put together" Dad stopped, on his way to the table with his morning paper, to kiss the top of my head, and I pulled my plain, beige jacket on over my light pink, button-up shirt.

"Morning," I smiled widely, squinting, and my two rows of braces glinted in the light that came through the kitchen window, probably blinding my father.

"All ready for your trip, dear? I bet you're excited about going to Ontario."

"Of course I am!" I replied, "Two weeks in a national park; what more could a girl want!"

I ignored the look that passed between my parents; the look that read "Most girls these days would rather want a $100 voucher for the mall. But look what we got, a girl who'd rather have a microscope than a car for her sixteenth."

Before I could start feeling guilty for not being the outgoing, socialite of a daughter - that I assumed my parents wanted - I snatched my glasses from my mother's hand, popping them back on the bridge of my nose; making everything stop being blurry and come back into clear perspective.

I glanced down at my watch, "Look, I'll have to get going if I want to get the good seats on the bus."

Dad put his newspaper on the table and beckoned me over, and he hugged me, "You have fun; make some friends."

"Father, educational school outings do not consist of making friends and having fun. I'm going for the disciplined knowledge on bears and woodland creatures. I'm not like s-some underachiever who's only going for the hell of it; I'm serious about my studies, you know."

Dad raised his eye brows until they almost disappeared into his hairline, and he, too, glanced down at his watch, "Yes, it's about time you got going; wouldn't want you to be late now."

I wasn't stupid. I knew he was only saying that to get out of having to listen to my rant about America's kids of today, the ones who only aspire only to work at the gas station or Wal-Mart.

Parents.

Pshaa.

They don't understand. Well, mine don't, really.

Sometimes I wished that I'd have interesting parents; the ones you could have deep, meaningful conversations with - parents like Einstein and Joan of Arc.
Unlike my parents, who'd rather talk about the latest drop in the stock market, or the newest brand of cologne.

I sighed quietly, picking my khaki rucksack up off the chair and swinging it over my shoulders, ready to get out of the house for two weeks.

Dad resumed his reading of the newspaper and mom smiled, kissing my forehead, "You need anything, you just call."

"I will, I will." I nodded, bending down to say "goodbye" to the dog.

Once I stood up, mom put her hand on my arm and led me to the front door, pressing an extra $20 into my hand, whispering, "Just in case you need it."

When I'd finally got out of my mother's grasp, I began my five minute walk to my best friend's house, calling one last 'I love you' to my over-protective mom.

Millie was your average geek, just like me, - except she was infatuated by gastropods.
We'd stuck together, through thick and thin, since 1st grade, when I'd found her behind the bike shed, on the first day of school, eating her lunch and collecting snails in an empty egg box.

Ever since, we'd been the focal point for 99.9% of the entire school's bullying; being your stereotypical geeks : braces, thick glasses, frizzy hair, unstylish clothes, late-developers, you name it.

We'd probably end up buying a house in the countryside together, and grow old, sitting in rocking chairs beside the fire place, only to be buried side by side.

I didn't care though - you know, being a "geek" - I was happy being me, and that's all that mattered.

"Good morning, chum" Millie smiled widely at me as I stood, waiting, on her doorstep.

"Hello there, are you ready to go?"

"I sure am." Millie linked her arm in mine, but paused to yell back into the house, "Mom, grandma, I'm going now! See you in two weeks."

There were two faint replies of "Take care, Millicent!" and then we were on our way.

"You know," Millie started, as we rounded the corner onto the long road that led to our school, "I'm really looking forward to this. I bet that it'll be like camp, but only better! If the girls from biology are going, it'll be a blast; sitting around a fire, toasting marshmallows, discussing National Geographic ... dang, that's what I'm talking about!"

I nodded my approval, "I hear that that some of the boys from science are going, as well. That Arthur boy is apparently veryinterested in bears, too."

"The Arthur that's in the chess club, and helps out with the school's web page?"
When I nodded, Millie slapped my arm lightly, "That's your chance, my fellow nature-lover!"

She screeched to a stop, her brown loafers scraping against the sidewalk, and she tried to put on a romantic type voice - which she failed at, due to her slight lisp, "Watching bears from afar, in the moonlight, stars up above, and --"

"No, no, may I remind you that he's not English?" I cut her off, and began dragging her along as I started to walk.

"I know, I know! But he does have a talent at HTML, and a slight resemblance to that Hugh Grant fellow."

"Hugh Grant does not have zits and buck teeth."

"Oh, Sasha, look at us!" Millie threw her hands up in the air as we approached the school, "Me : I'm seventeen, I'm chubby, I've never had a boyfriend in my entire life. You : Also seventeen, had two boyfriends, parents who - I'm sure - sabotaged both relationships, and too big an obsession with English men and Jane Austen novels. We both - god bless us - are in need of finding men before our ovaries dry up."

"We have pretty much thirty-three years before we even hit menopause, Millicent--"

"Don't call me "Millicent"!"

"--And, anyway, who said I wanted ki--"

I was cut short when Millie screamed as a large ball of grass came flying our way, from behind one of the hedges at the edge of campus.

To avoid getting struck in the face by said ball of grass, we both ducked down and fell onto the dew covered, freshly cut grass.

I sighed loudly once I stood up, completely sure that no more grass-balls were coming our way.
Millie stood beside me, picking blades of grass from her jacket and hair, as I spat some out from my mouth - that had somehow got in there.

"Where did that come from?" Millie asked, reaching up to de-grass my hair.

"I don't know, but come on, ten minutes before the bus goes!"

We ran, arm in arm, to where the bus was parked by the steps up to the entrance of the school, and realised that no one had arrived yet, well, except for one of the student art teachers, Mr. Way, who was sitting, cross-legged, with a sketch pad, on the bottom step.

"Hi, girls." he smiled at us, putting his pencil back in his top jacket pocket.

"H-h-h-ho-hi." Millie stuttered, yelping when I nudged her hard.

"Hi, Mr. Way." I replied, taking a seat next to him, and Millie seemed to be hyperventilating as she sat at his other side.

"Did you girls realise that you have grass in your hair?" Mr. Way raised an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest.

"Y-yes! A jinxed ball of freshly cut grass flew out of the hedge!" Millie blabbered.

The teacher looked highly amused, refraining from laughing, "Jinxed, eh?"

"Definitely jinxed - never seen anything like it." Millie seemed to be keeling over to the left, where Mr. Way happened to be sitting. I should've known better than to let her sit there. Next she'd be trying to climb onto his lap.

Something else caught my attention though; four boys were striding proudly across the grass, triumphant smirks on their faces.

The "leader" stepped forward, his hands tucked in his jeans pockets, "Nice hairdo there, Rowlands; I didn't realise that grass was the 'in' thing for dorks."

I merely stayed silent, looking at my shoes, and it was obvious that he and his "posse" had thrown the grass at us.

I should've guessed; they were always the main culprits.

"Iero," Mr. Way spoke, "Back off, okay? I may be your friend, but in school I'm your teacher, and I'll have no trouble writing out a detention slip for you."

That boy, Frank Iero, had always given Millie and I hell; we were like some sadistic entertainment for him.

"But, Gee," he whined, "Mikey was in on it, too, and you wouldn't give your little brother detention, would you?"

"Frank, don't push me. I'm not in the mood for this this morning, okay?"

"Frank, come on, he will give you a detention." a tall, lanky boy, Mikey, said before they all strode away, seemingly happy with themselves.

"Don't take any notice of them, girls, they're harmless" Mr. Way sighed once the boys were out of earshot, "Anyways, why don't you get on the bus - get the best seats before the rest of them come."

Millie and I smiled our thanks at him before hopping onto the bus and getting the front seats on the right and putting our bags by our feet.

"I can't believe that Mikey Way is his brother." Millie spoke quietly, seeing as the bus's door was wide open, and she leaned across me to get a good look out the window at Mr. Way who was drawing again.

"Well, I can't believe that Iero and his cronies are coming on the trip; he's going to ruin everything - there's no doubt about it."