Fate Had Nothing to Do With It

Beep. Beep. Beep!

Moaning, my hand found its way out from underneath my comforter and to the snooze button on my alarm clock. I lay still for a few more seconds before sitting up, stretching, and wiping the sleep from my eyes. I dared to sneak a peek at the clock and calendar beside me; 6:30 am sharp, September 8th.

First day of high school.

Shuffling out of my bed, grumbling mutinously the entire time, I made my way around my small house and found the bathroom. There I found the clothes I had chosen the previous night ready to be worn; white blouse, grey pencil-knee-length skirt and a pair of heels I had gotten for a steal on vacation to my hometown, Los Angeles. I changed quickly, taking more time with my hair and makeup.

Only once my hazel eyes were lined with the appropriate makeup and mascara, my dark brown hair given waves that brought out all natural red, blonde and light brown highlights, and my lips red did I make my way to my small kitchen to make some toast.

I breathed in the humid Dallas air as I hurried out my apartment, my hands busy with toast, bag and ring of keys. I reached my car in good time, and had to stuff my toast into my mouth to be able to find the right key to unlock the car. Once open, I hopped in and emptied my mess onto the passenger’s seat.

As the car whirred to life, so did the radio. I got impatient with the static it was giving me instead of music, and changed the station until it played my mixed CD; Starstruck by The Kinks pleasantly started to play. I glanced at the clock as I backed out of my driveway and it shone 7:15 am.

The good thing about getting up early? The almost non-existent traffic. I was able to drive faster than normal on the virtually deserted roads and get to the familiar high school just before 7:30. I was rather pleased with myself and turned off the car’s engine- ceasing Hayley William’s singing of ‘Fences’.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself as I ran down the school’s silent hallway to the Teacher’s Lounge. I was almost late. I heard quiet murmurings from inside and thought that they had started the normal ‘back-to-school-recap’ without me.

I reached for the door handle, but the dull wooden door opened on its own, revealing a friendly face.

“Oh thank God,” Emma said, pulling me inside as she called over her shoulder, “It’s only Audrey guys!”

I was met with some laughter (no doubt at the tension that had built up at who I might’ve been), ‘Welcome Back’s, waves and smiles from the teaching staff, elementary included, at Dallas Regional High School. I returned the waves and smiles to the few I knew as Emma led me to a partially empty couch.

I grinned at her, “Why? Who did you think I was?”

Her grimace made me laugh as we took a seat. “That… that woman!” she said, disgust woven into her voice. “I swear, Audrey, each year is getting worse. I know you weren’t here before she was the principal, but the school is nothing like it was before.”

“Enlighten me,” I said.

The nearby history teacher, Greg Garbowsky, turned towards us; his dark eyes sparked with interest. “Are you talking about the good old days?”

Emma nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Garbs. Remember? I could teach drama in peace.”

“I hope she doesn’t give us those random teaching evaluations again,” added a new voice; the music teacher, Nick Jonas, had decided to join the conversation.

“Oh come on,” I said, rolling my eyes. “She’s not that bad.”

All of six of the eyes became fixed on me, two pairs were dark brown and the third a bright blue, synchronized like a bizarre monster, and stared with disbelief. Emma broke the silence as she run her hand through her platinum blonde hair (which she had died several times) by saying, “That’s because she likes you.”

“That’s true,” said Garbo (which is what everyone, including students, called him). “She does like you, probably because you’re a newbie.”

“Yeah,” agreed Nick, shaking out his dark brown curls. “This is your first year as a real teacher, right? You’re a fresh mind who probably won’t question her too much.”

I was still very skeptical. “Guys, if she hated you so much, she would’ve fired you already. Or cut the arts programs!”

“She’d need a valid reason,” continued Nick. “Plus, I think she hates me more because there is no way she can fire me because-”

But at that moment the ‘clack, clack’ of high heels informed the room that a very stout woman had walked into the lounge, her mere presence bringing silence- even the door seemed to slam silently. I remembered this face from last year. The principal; Ms. Parker. If I were to describe her, I’d say she looked rather toad-like, with enormous calves and an inexplicable liking for ghastly coloured suits; today’s one being a vibrant red to match my lipstick, though the colour seemed much better on lips than on cloth covering her short, plump body.

“Hello everyone!” she said, her natural Texan drawl seemed to be contaminated with some high-pitched, fluttery sweetness that perhaps a nice English governess or a caretaker at a nursing home may adopt. “It’s great to see all of your faces again. Nice summer, I hope?”

This was greeted with half hearted mutters from the staff. Ms. Parker noticed and pursed her blotchy lips, as if she knew how disliked she was by the educators around her.

“I had a rather pleasant summer myself,” she said, though nobody had cared to ask her. “Went with my husband to see the children…”

As she rambled on about the cottage they had went to, Emma muttered some remark along the lines of, ‘who would want to procreate with that thing?’ I stifled a giggle which made the principal turn, as fast as lightening, in my direction.

“And how was your summer, Miss Burrows?” she asked, false sweetness coating her voice.

“It was enjoyable, thanks,” I said, knowing that she was trying to treat me like a child.
Though I did try to give her the benefit of the doubt when among friends, I agreed wholeheartedly with their views on this new headmistress; she was just a mean person.

“What did you do?” she continued, much to my dismay.

“I went on vacation.” This was met with a few hasty laughs, to which I smiled.

However, my complacent responses were not met well with my superior, and I noted her lips grow into a thinner line. Thankfully she did not hover on the subject and went straight into the ‘back-to-school speech’; refreshing us with the rules, handing us our schedules (her toxic perfume became hazardous when inhaled within five feet, so almost every teacher reached out their hands to grasp the pieces of paper, saving her the trouble of coming too close) and told us our form classes/homeroom.

I happened to be homeroom teacher for a sophomore class, which I would be meeting with, soon after this meeting finished, to discuss class rules, learn their names, etc.

“Oh man!” laughed Emma, taking the name sheet from me. “You’re gonna be a homeroom teacher?”

“What’s wrong with that?” I questioned, taking the sheet from her hands.

“You have to be responsible!” she exclaimed. “I love the kids and all, but I’m just not into being there for them, you know?”

I laughed and, upon further investigation, found that Garbo was also a sophomore homeroom teacher, along with Mrs. Landon. I groaned inwardly once realizing this; Mrs. Landon damn near hated me. I don’t know why, we had barely even talked. [She was a strict, divorced, rule abiding math teacher who often talked with Ms. Parker- making me assume they were friends.] But when we did year group assemblies, we would no doubt have to talk. Garbo shared my views when I told him and the other two in a low voice.

Nick was lucky enough to be free of a form class too, and he and Emma proceeded to poke fun at us while Garbo and I tried to see if we knew any of the kids. Fortunately, I knew more than half from last year when I was a teacher’s assistant and, thought I’m not supposed to have favourites, my favourite student was in my class; Demi.

Demi was my next door neighbour. Her and her family weren’t the mean, crappy neighbours you see on TV or possibly experience in real life, they’re quite the opposite; they’re the cliché perfect neighbour that few people get. I was lucky, especially since they are natives of the Lone Star State while I was a born a raised west coast girl. They were more than helpful to say the least; inviting me to dinners, giving me a tour of the city, even recommending the best places in town.

I was just going to have to make sure that I didn’t favour her too often.

Ms. Parker than dismissed us and we were free (well, to go to our classrooms or get coffee without her getting suspicious) for the time being. I chose to go to my classroom, bidding Garbo and Emma goodbye as they went to their rooms in different departments, and fell in step next to a few of the other English teachers.

“Seniors, first thing,” said Ms. Tuxworth. “I hope they at least did their summer reading.”

I smiled at the aging woman and said, “We both know they probably went on Spark Notes.”

She let out a sharp, quick laugh. Composing herself she said, “So, Burrows, how was your summer?”

“Great,” I responded as we turned the corner and kept walking. “Went back to Los Angeles for a while, you?”

“Eat, read, slept,” she said simply, making me giggle. “I hear you got a homeroom?”

“Yeah,” I replied as we walked up the short flight of stairs to the English Department. “Sophomores.”

“They’re not so bad,” joined in the other English teacher, a very pretty woman of about thirty, named Melanie Silva. “At least you didn’t get freshman.”

“You did?” asked Wendy as we went into the teacher’s room (rather like the Teacher’s Lounge, except much smaller and was used for tutoring occasionally) and put down our things.

Melanie nodded morosely. “Yeah. I find that sophomores and seniors are the best. Sophomores already know their way around and seniors don’t really care.”

Wendy nodded, saying, “That’s true. Freshman are always so uncomfortable, you know? And juniors think they own the place, only to be put in their place during Prank Week.”

Melanie sniggered.

“Prank week?” I asked.