Forgetmenots and Second Thoughts

Wren got an eerie feeling as she walked calmly down the hallway, eyes glaring at her as stared at her new timetable. Her bag hung loosely on her back. As she looked around at the array of lockers nervously, the bell rang. She had yet to find her locker, and she was going to be late for her first class. She brought a finger up to her lips and nibbled on her fingernail apprehensively, attempting to memorize the number and search for it around the school at the same time. The school was not very big; nor did it seem to be kept up. The hallway was littered, the floor tiles stained and the lockers rusted and paint chipped slightly. Yet, the school had a nice homey feeling to it, as if it was greeting Wren warmly as she trekked through the halls.

At last, she was successful, as she found herself reaching for locker 1078. She greedily opened it, placed her bag inside, grabbed a notebook and pen and finally closed the door and locking it with a lock given to her by the secretary. With a feeling of triumph, she marched down the hallway to her first class, English. A wave of nausea crept through her stomach as she reached the classroom door as she realized the class had already begun. She inhaled deeply, put a hand on the silver lever door knob, turned it, and walked straight into the room. Heads that were once staring straight forward were now turned around, looking intently at her confused face. A woman with silver hair tied up in a knot, dressed in a grey pencil skirt and matching blazer was up at the front of the room, writing notes on the board in chalk. She also turned to face Wren, her half-moon glasses down at the tip of her nose.

“I’m Wr-Brenna. Brenna Montgomery.” She stuttered. “I’m new.”

The teacher’s lips stayed in a thin line. “I’m Mrs. Suzanne Morgan, and I’m old.” She told Wren, sarcasm dripping off of each word. “Take a seat.” She turned back to face the board to continue her notes. Wren quickly took the closest seat to where she was standing, placed her notebook folded open, and started scribbling down the words hand written on the French green board several feet in front of her. In doing so, she received a slight nudge on her upper arm. She turned quickly and noticed a thin girl beside her, her skin pale as stone and her hair a light auburn, which held a slight, natural curl. Her eyes were dark and lined with thick black eyeliner, and freckles were clustered on the bridge of her nose and along the tops of her cheeks. The girl shook her head and leaned in closer to Wren, whispering quietly.

“Don’t even bother copying these.” She instructed. “They don’t mean anything to her lesson.” Wren glanced around the room, noticing pens sitting on desks and papers tucked away. Feeling rather foolish, she closed her book and sat silently for the rest of the period.

“And that seems to be it.” Said Mrs. Morgan just as the bell sounded noisily. Wren immediately stood, her notebook pushed up against her chest and her head down. She watched her feet as she walked, not paying any attention to her surroundings. Before she knew it, she had rammed into another being. She could feel her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she looked up at the person, soon realising who it was.

“New girl from English class, right?” The same girl who she had sat beside just minutes before was now standing in front of her, and seemed rather delighted to Wren surprise. “I’m Sara. You’re Brenna?” She asked in a few words. Wren nodded, but put a hand up quickly.

“Wren.” She told her. “No one calls me Brenna ‘sept old people. And my mother, occasionally.” Sara nodded.

“Weird name, but whatever. I’m goin’ outside for a while. You want to come?” She asked Wren casually, her hands in her pockets. Wren looked down at her notebook, which held her class timetable. She had AP biology next, something she was not sure she should miss, especially it being her first day. She thought it over, and decided against it as the next bell rang. Wren shook her head at Sara, who raised an eyebrow.

“Nah, I don’t think I can. What are you doing next break, though? It’ll be lunch, right?” Sara bobbed her head and smiled. She didn’t have a crooked tooth in her entire mouth it seemed, yet each was a pasty yellow color.

“I’ll be in the same place outside. You should come out.” Sara stated, “Meet some people.” Wren agreed with a bit too much enthusiasm, bid her goodbye, and started off toward her next class in a hurry. Once she reached the room, she remembered something that completely drained her face of any color. She looked down at the notebook in her arms and sighed heavily. She had forgotten to change her book.

Hesitantly, she opened the door to find a room full of students, yet no teacher. Her once deep breathing slowed as she took a seat, once again near the back of the room, and waited patiently, her hands fold on top of the table. Before long, the class had started and ended, with little realization from the rest of the class including the teacher that Wren was even present in the room. This didn’t bother Wren as she strolled down the hallway, this time with much more confidence, and came to her locker, twisted the lock open, and stuffed her books inside. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her light wash jeans and started for the door to the school, hoping to find Sara without looking foolish.

The air was warm, yet there was a lot of wind in the air, pushing the plush white clouds that were floating in the sky. Bits of Wren’s chestnut hair that had fallen from her messy bun blew in her face as she walked around the school, until she came across the back steps. She saw Sara from a distance, sitting atop the railing, talking, smiling, and laughing with a small group of boys. Wren’s heart started to pound like a hammer on cloth as she approached them. She caught Sara’s eye and she waved her over.

“Wren!” She hollered. “I really didn’t think you’d come out.” Wren smiled lightly as she started to climb the steps, only to have her smile be wiped off of her face completely. Standing beside Sara was the curly-hair boy she’d met just the night before, staring at her with a confused look on his face. He was wearing black jeans and two different coloured Converse: one black and one white. On top of his reddish brown curls was a baseball cap, which he wore backwards. Wren put the stray bits of hair she had around her face behind her ears and bit her lip, her blue eyes glued to him. Sara raised an eyebrow.

“You two know each other or something?” She asked as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and took one out. She placed it in between her lips. Billie Joe ripped his eyes away from hers and spoke.

“Yeah we met last night. No big deal.” He answered her. His voice was gentle, smooth, yet had a bitter tone to it. He crouched down and sat on the cold cement stairs, leaning his back against the paint-chipped railing. He turned his head back to her. “This here is Mike Pritchard.” He said, jerking a thumb at a kid around the same age as Billie, with long dirty blonde hair and sky blue eyes. He was lanky and thin and he wore faded jeans that looked as though they were too big for him. He raised a hand and nodded at Wren.

Sara continued with Billie’s introductions. She pointed to her opposite and said, “And this is John Kiffmeyer. But he’s Al.” Wren glanced over toward him and her heart stopped. He had short brown hair that was tousled from the wind. His eyes were dark and his smile melted her insides and made her knees weaken. She nodded shyly and sat down, bringing her knees to her chest. She looked up at Sara who gave her a warm smile. She pulled the package of cigarettes from her pocket once more.

“You want one?” She asked, shaking the package in the air and then holding it in her direction. Wren shook her head no, setting Sara back.

“I don’t smoke.” She said with a slight laugh, attempting to lighten the subject. Sara’s eyebrows squished together and shook her head, bringing her‘s to her lips and inhaling deeply. She let out a ring of smoke and put the pack back into her pocket. Wren looked over at Billie, who was staring menacingly in her direction. His eyes were like daggers. Wren bit her lip nervously, wishing that the period would be over. The wind had picked up, and the temperature had begun to go down. Wren’s bare shoulders were covered in goose bumps while tiny hairs stood up on her boney arms. She sighed heavily, audibly.

“You don’t have to be here.” She heard Billie spit. Wren gave him a disgusted look and stood immediately. She turned to leave feeling miserable, when she heard Sara’s voice yelling at Billie, then at her to come back over. Billie Joe fell silent; next to speak was John. Wren faced them again once she heard him speak.

“Don’t listen to him, really. He’s not usually like this.” He told her sincerely. She nodded her head but knew she wasn’t truly wanted or accepted in the group. Her appearance fit yet her personality lacked something that didn’t seem to flow right while with them. Although she felt that Sara seemed nice and John’s eyes were beautiful, she knew after lunch, she’d most likely never see them again.

++

The rest of the day dragged on, and soon it was over. Wren trudged to the school’s parking lot, the air now cool and clammy with gusts of wind blowing anything loose in the air in every direction. She spotted her mother’s car and made her way toward it silently when she heard her name being called from behind. Curious; she did not meet anybody else that day other than the few she’d spent her lunch period with. With her bag slung around her shoulder she twisted her body around to see Sara jogging after her. Once she reached Wren, completely out of breath, she flashed a toothy smile.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again today!” She said over excitedly, “You were so quiet through lunch; I thought you had selective hearing or something.” She giggled, still smiling. Wren shook her head, completely forgetting about Ingrid awaiting her in the old Ford.

“I guess you could say I am like a quiet storm.” She said, rolling her eyes playfully, a grin curling at her lips. She was abruptly taken back when she heard the shrill sound of a horn, and spun her head around to see Ingrid’s stern face and blade-like eyes piercing through her like needles pricking her heart. She motioned her mother to wait one minute and quickly turned back to Sara. “Listen,” She started, “I really have to go. I’ll see you around sometime.”

Wren waved and set off to her car when she felt a cold hand on her shoulder and jumped, spun around once more to face her hopeful friend. Wren’s eyes were desperate as she jerked her thumb behind her, knowing the wrath she’d have to face if she kept her mother waiting much longer.

“You’re coming out with me tonight.” She simply put. “With me, Mike, John...and Billie Joe.” Wren shook her head swiftly—there was no way she would see Billie Joe again. But Sara wouldn’t have it. “I’ll pick you up at quarter to eight.” Sara collected Wren address and she jogged away to the back of the school where she apparently spent most hours. Wren sighed and got in the car, and the two of them drove home.

Wren was actually nervous to return to her new house. She fear Charlie in a way; she didn’t want him to speak to her or ever come near her. She wasn’t sure of what he was ever thinking, if his words were sincere or sick. His smile was spine-chilling and made her want to leave California all together; his eyes black as his soul. She knew her options were limited: all she could do was stay in her room. It was then she felt as though a night out would not be so bad; a chance to escape and possibly see more of her new town.

Wren and Ingrid reached the front door and entered, Wren quickly ripping off her Chucks and speeding to the end of the hallway toward the stairs. She ran down the steps so fast she thought she might trip and do somersaults all the way down; still, she felt that would have been a better option than having to deal with Charlie. She came to her bedroom door, opened it and slammed it, almost completely out of breath, her heart pounding inside her chest. She slid down the door until she was flat on her bottom and curled up on the floor, finally away from all civilization. She loved to be alone. She craved to be alone when she wasn’t.

Boxes still surrounded her, piling high around her bed and dresser. Still dressed in her light was jeans and grey tank top, she felt the need to change into something else for her night out... whatever it may be. Surprisingly hyped now thinking about it, she sprang to her feet, torn her way through the sea of cardboard, and threw on a pair of black skinny jeans and a yellow v-neck tee shirt. Simple, yet edgy enough for her liking. Next, she pulled her hair out of her messy, falling up do and finger-combed out her long, chestnut locks. Her wavy hair flowed past her broad shoulders and reached past her breasts, and accomplishment in her eyes.

She sat awaiting eight o’clock to approach giddily. She didn’t care if Ingrid approved or if Charlie had a comment to throw out at her. She was going to forget them tonight. The feelings of being unwanted had almost left her entirely, yet she could not get Billie out of her head. His face, with his hazel eyes and plump lips; his hair, how each curl formed so perfectly under his backwards cap. The way she’d felt when they’d first met had changed completely. She was loathing him, hating him. Yet, she knew there was something beneath his cruel words; a reason.

Finally, at quarter to eight, she crept out of her bedroom mutely, ghost-like, and made her way down the hall, hoping and praying that Charlie wasn’t in the sitting room, where he had been the night before. She squeezed her eyes shut and, on the tips of her feet, crept passed the room. She waited for a moment, but only a moment, to hear anyone call her name. Thankfully, no words were spoken, and Wren laced up her battered grey Converse and was out the door. She sat on the front step waiting patiently. The smell of manufacturing smoke mixed with bark and wet leaves lingered in the air; the smell of the country. She inhaled it deeply, calming herself.

A light illuminated the driveway as a rusting black pickup pulled in behind Ingrid’s Ford. Wren got to her feet straight away and walked over to the truck and allowed herself in. A smiling Sara greeted her, her auburn hair still holding its natural wavy-curl. She started backward out the driveway and down the road. The two chatted away about nothing in particular until something crossed Wren’s mind.

“Where are we going exactly?” She asked Sara. Sara’s smile grew even wider.

“To what is possibly the best place...ever?” She told her, looking confused and stumbling on her words. Wren raised an eyebrow and Sara laughed lightly. “To Gilman’s.” Wren’s face did not change.

“Who?” She asked, sending Sara into a fit of hysterics. Wren, unaware that she was being funny, crossed her arms over her chest.

“Gilman isn’t a person.” She said, as if Wren should have known. “It’s this old warehouse someone converted into a club. No drinking or smoking, none of that. Just a place to hang out and whatever. It’s cool. You’ll love it.” Wren seemed pleased enough with her response, and was quiet for the rest of the drive to Berkley.

She was pleasantly surprised with Gilman’s, and the minute she walked through the door, she felt right at home.