The Lace Masquerade

October 11, 2010
11:49 AM
Location-English
Feeling: Confused

I’m used to people staring.

Really. I mean, I can’t walk down the streets of LA without some small child or fully grown man (CREEPER ALERT) coming up to me, begging for an autograph or picture. I know it sounds conceited, I do, but I’m sad to say it’s true, not only for me, but for most celebrities.

But when I stepped out of my car (which had finally arrived from LA, in all its baby blue, retractable top, hybrid glory), adjusting my dark navy blazer over my white lace tank and dark jeans, the stares I got from people all around me were, in a word, overwhelming.

I know, the first thing your thinking is “Why they hell is a fifteen year old driving?”

First off, it’s called a hardship license. You know, when one of your parent’s isn’t around all the time to drive you? Yeah, that would be my dad. He was always too busy on the set of his TV show or meeting with studio execs to drive me anywhere. And God forbid I should let my mother drive me around all the time. The entire car ride, all she does is nag nag nag, or, the alternative, which I consider to be way worse, which is play her bad 80’s music (and not the good kind, either) until I think my ears are going to bleed.

I finally threw enough fits about it to where she drove me to the DMV and I got my hardship license, only two weeks after turning fifteen earlier this year. I have my diva moments, but they’re carefully controlled. I only like to pull that card out when I absolutely have to.

Secondly, and most importantly, do you have any idea how shit public transportation is in LA? I mean, seriously, there are NO decent trains or subways, and the bus system…not exactly on my time table. So being able to drive in LA is kind of a necessity.

Anywho, back to the stares.

The first person to glance at me was a tall, dark skinned girl with long dark hair, gripping her phone as if her life depended on it, and typing on said phone at about million words per minute, just shy of my record two million. She looked up from her phone mid as she walked, seemingly just to glance up to make sure she wasn’t about to run into anything, and then stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth hanging open. Then, she gathered the attention of the girls surrounding her, who all stopped. To stare. Really? Really, guys? Is it necessary?

Aparently so, because just then, there was a loud wolf whistle from one side of the lawn. I ignored it, and started walking towards the front doors, but then, there was another one. I glanced to my left, and there was a guy with long, dark brown hair, kind of greasy looking, with a baseball cap, and his also baseball cap clad friends, sitting on a bench under a tree. I rolled my eyes and moved along. I could feel eyes boring into me as I made my way to the steps, narrowly dodging a football that flew about three inches in front of my face (a tall boy with brown hair covered with a ball cap called out “Sorry!”) and I finally got there, and heard a car pull up behind me, a door open, and then someone spoke, obviously in my direction.

“Well look what we have here.” I turned around, and met that same pair of startling blue eyes I’ve been thinking about for the last two days.

“Declan!” I’d called out, and then ran to give him a hug. He seemed surprised, but hugged me back. It’s how we do things in LA. Though, mine might have been just a bit over the top.

“Good to see you again,” he said, smiling. And then, someone else stepped out of the black car behind him. Someone I recognized. It was Fiona. A friend from a fashion design school in London, where I took classes over the summer two years ago. She got out of the car and saw me, and her eyes widened.

“Hollie!” She raced forward and hugged me, like I had to her brother.

“You two…know each other?” Declan looked confused, and I laughed, glancing at Fi. She was decked in an outfit similar to mine, dark jeans, a black tank top and cropped white blazer, with her hair down and loose, gorgeous, as always.

“I went to UAL for some summer classes a few years ago! Fi was in my design and marketing classes.” Fiona smiled.

“Last I heard you were in New York?”

“Didn’t go so well,” she answered. But there was a flash of something in the back of her eyes. Hurt, I think. “Well, it’ll be good to have someone else who knows how to dress here. Everyone else is so…Canadian.” She rolled her eyes.

“Fashionably challenged, gotta love ‘em.” We both laughed. And that would be when a kid on his skateboard rode by, glanced up, and then, without even stopping, crashed onto the sidewalk. Don’t ask me how he did it. I have no idea. But just like…SPLAT. “Oh my god!” I ran to help the kid, not knowing what to do as he rolled over, looking like he was…crying? “Are you okay?!” I knelt down, tucking my hair behind my ear. And that’s when I realized he wasn’t crying. He was laughing.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He stopped laughing long enough to say “I just, I could have sworn I just saw…” He opened his eyes, and when he saw me bent over him, they bugged out. Like, a lot. “Hollie Peterson.” I rolled my eyes.

“Well, you did.” I held out my hand, and he grabbed it, looking suspicious, and then hoisted himself up. “You sure you’re okay?” I ask asked, as he seemed to wobble on his feet.

“I’m cool,” he said, looking down. “But how did you…I mean what are you…why are you...” I couldn’t help but smile. This guy was cute-in a way. With long (skater-ish) brown hair, and deep brown eyes. But somehow, I got the impression, even then, that this guy wasn’t a typical skater/stoner. He didn’t look like a lot of stoners did back in LA (while most of my friends back home had done pretty much every illegal drug there is, and a lot of the legal ones, I hadn’t really felt like…loosing control. It held no interest for me). He seemed a bit older than me too, maybe by like a year.

“To answer your question, I’m actually-

“On her way to start her tour.” I felt an arm snake around my shoulder, and looked to see who’d interrupted me. Even though I knew the voice already. The sharp blue eyes that had been so inviting to me, were now glaring in the vague direction of the boy in front of me. “You still wanted to do that, right Hollie?” I nodded. “See, K.C. Some girls can be agreeable. Especially when you don’t walk all over them,” he said, and then continued. “Or their hearts.” I raised an eyebrow, and the kid who I assumed was K.C. rolled his eyes.

“Get over it Declan. That was last year, and Clare and I are friends now.” Then Declan rolled his eyes back, just as a short girl with short, choppy reddish/brown hair came up, clutching books to her chest as if bullets were about to come speeding towards her.

“Hey guys,” she said, glancing between the two boys. But her smile faded when she saw the glares they were wearing. “What’s going on?”

“Just a little friendly conversation,” Declan said sweetly. I looked at both of them, and then, did the first thing I could think of.

“Hi!” I said brightly, extending my hand towards the girl. “I’m Hollie. Hollie Peterson. And you are?”

“Clare,” she said, looking a bit taken aback. But she shook my hand anyways. “Clare Edwards.”

“K.C.,” the boy next to her said with a small wave. I smiled at both of them.

“It’s nice to meet you both. But I do think we should get going…this is a pretty big school, from what I’ve seen.” Declan, seeing how awkward I felt, smiled, and then led me away, smile I waved at the two people behind me. I questioned him as to what that was all about, but he wouldn’t answer me.

He and Fiona gave me a ten minute mini tour of the school-everything from the gym, to the theatre, to the caf (which they warned me not to eat from, and I’m not planning on starting, since I brought my lunch of Chevy’s microwavable Spanish rice and a steak and pepper burrito), and then finally dropped me off at my locker. The entire time, stares from the few students that were actually in the school followed us like glue. It was slightly discerning, having all these people looking at me for just walking down the hall. But I’m used to it.

“So, I guess I’ll see you later?” he said, and looked as he was about to blush. BLUSH. This guy, this OLDER guy, was about to blush.

But he didn’t. He just looked down at his feet as I stumbled to find words.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try and find you at lunch?” The smile when he looked up from his feet made my heart melt.

“That’d be great. I’ll see you later.” He flashed me another smile, and then started walking away.

“Hey Declan?” He turned around when I called his name, students running around on either side of us. “Thanks for everything.” There was the blush.

“No problem.” And with that, he disappeared into the oncoming crowd, 90% of which was stopping to stare at me. I turned to my locker, ignoring it, and opened the door with the combination, throwing my lunch in and closing the door.

“Hollie, right?” I turned on my heels and saw the dark skinned girl from outside, only this time she had a posse of one, not ten.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’m Chantay, and this is Anya,” she said, gesturing to the girl behind her. I gave them both a once over. Comparatively to the girls outside, these two looked a little more…normal than the others. Meaning, they looked more like people I would actually be seen with. I’m not trying to be mean or anything, I swear! But the amount of god-awful Capri pants and too-tight tank tops I’d seen outside was enough to make anyone cringe. Chantay was in a stylish pair of dark wash jeans and a mandarin colored ruffle tank, with a green belt at bust line and a blue chunky necklace and blue ballet flats. Anya, on the other hand, was in a similar pair of jeans, but a floral tank instead of solid, with a dark cropped denim jacket and black gladiator sandals.

All noted in 1.2 seconds, I might add.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking the hands they held out. “I love your belt,” I commented, gesturing to the one Chantay was wearing.

“Thanks!” For a minute there, it looked like she blushed, but regained composure. “Listen, we just wanted to introduce ourselves before everyone jumps on you. The people here can be a bit…” She looked around the hallway, and then rolled her eyes. “Immature, when it comes to dealing with high profile people like yourself.”

“So I gathered.”

“So if you need anything,” Anya spoke for the first time, “let us know. We’re here to help.”

“Starting with your homeroom,” Chantay said, clutching her binder to her chest. “Who do you have?” I glanced over the piece of paper I’d been gripping like my life depended on it earlier that morning.

“Uh…all it says is ‘Oh.’ Like, o-h.” Chantay and Anya glanced at each other.

“But that’s a Sophomore homeroom,” Anya said, as if she were talking to a small child. I raised my eyebrows.

“And? Shouldn’t I be with people…my own age?” Chantay’s eyes widened.

“We just assumed…you would be a Junior.”

“Last time I checked I was still 15.”

“But I thought...” Chantay started. “That big birthday bash you had at the beginning of the summer and all...”

“Was so my friends in LA and I could celebrate my birthday a little late before I left town,” I said, and threw my hair behind my shoulder. “My birthday is in late February.”

“Anya!” The voice came from behind me, and I turned around to look at who was calling the girl in front of me. Another girl, no taller than 5’3, max, came hurrying down the hall in a pair of heels (really? At school?) and a green-ish dress with gold buttons. It was cute, I’d give her that. But a little too…mod for me.

“Hey Holly J,” Chantay said, and gave the girl a hurried two cheek kiss. Anya did the same, and then she turned to me.

“Oh, hey.” She waved non-chalantly, as if I were some random new kid she didn’t care about. And she turned back to Chantay and Anya and started talking like I wasn’t there. Then, two seconds later, turned slowly back around. “Hiiiii.” She plastered a smile on her face. “I’m Holly J Sinclair. Hollie Peterson, right?” I shook her outstretched hand and nodded, smiling back equally as fakely. “We met over the summer at TVM? You were doing that interview with Kristen about your new album-which I totally loved, btw.” Yeah. She used abbreviations. I fought the urge to eye roll and thought for a second. I think I actually had met her. Briefly, but I remembered the clearly virgin hair (ie-no added color…or products, from what I could tell) and prep-ish clothing.

“Oh, right!” I grinned at her, trying to play it off as if we were old friends, which is what she was clearly doing. But before I had to do any more faking, the warning bell over our heads rang. I looked at Chantay and Anya, raising my eyebrows.

“Oh’s room is over there,” Anya said, pointing to a large room on the corner of the hall, where I spotted the girl I’d met before, Clare. I waved thanks to the three girls behind me, and even promised Chantay I’d catch up with her at lunch, before hurrying to catch Clare.

“Hey, Clare, right?” She turned around as I came up, but kept walking into the room. She seemed…surprised.

“Right!” she said in a high, almost squeaky voice. “Uh, hi!” She turned completely, looking at me. “What can I do you for?” I smiled at her and hitched my bag higher on my shoulder.

“This is actually my homeroom.” I looked around for the first time, and saw not desks, but a huge computer lab…minus the seats. There we bouncy balls in front of each computer. And people were sitting on them. What. The. Hell? “And I don’t really know anyone else,” I said, somewhat shyly. “I was wondering if maybe I could sit with you?” She looked surprised again, but smiled.

“Sure!” She looked around, and then her eyes widened. “I think I see three open spots over there.” I raised an eyebrow but followed her, setting my bag next to a computer and carefully balancing on one of the balls before I saw her wave down someone, a dark skinned girl in bright clothes, whom she later introduced as Alli, her best friend.

It took ten minutes before the class finally settled down, and Mrs. Oh, a pretty dark haired woman with glasses, walked into the room, followed by a bald guy in a suit that looked a little…giddy. It took me a minute to place him, but I realized he was the man we’d met the other day; the principal, Principal Simpson.

“Settle down, guys!” Mrs. Oh said, and then looked at the man next to her. He stepped forward, and then looked right at me, making a beckinging sign with his hand. The entire class turned to look at me, and I thought I was going to die right there and then.

What the hell? I never get embarrassed. Ever. I’d fallen on national television and laughed about it. But this was making me blush?

“Guys, we have a new student starting with us today. I want you all to make her feel welcome, and like she’s one of you-a normal, every day, completely average-

“I think they get it, Principal Simpson.” I finally reached where they were standing and turned around, facing the class.

“Please welcome our new student, Hollie Peterson.” There was a collective chatter after that-some gasps, a few wide eyed stares. The usual when people realize who I am. But Simpson wasn’t done. “Hollie, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself, and why you decided to come to Degrassi.” I gave him my worst look, and turned back to everyone, my hands joining in front of me. Clare and Alli gave me a thumbs up, and I smiled smally at them, trying to decide what to say.

“Uh, hi.” That was a great start, if I do say so myself. I mean, award winning writer. And I couldn’t come up with something better than “Uh, hi.” “Well, obviously, I’m Hollie. I’m 15.” My mouth twisted from side to side. “I like acting, and fashion…and music.” There were some giggles around the room. How was that funny? I don’t find that funny at all! “I’m here because…I never got to do the whole normal school thing. I’ve had so much crammed into fifteen years of life, but never normalcy. So I’m hoping this is my chance to do that.” I paused, and gave a glance at Mrs. Oh. “Well, as normal as high school can get.” There were a few more laughs, and considering people were actually supposed to laugh at that one, my nerves eased a bit. “I really, really don’t want any special treatment. Like, at all. So, just keep on your normal, every day lives as if I weren’t here.” I smiled, and looked at Mr. Simpson, signaling I was done.

Good start to a day, I think.

Two classes later (after Media Immersion, which was my homeroom, I had Chemistry, also with Clare, and then French II, in which I was stuck being partners with another Sophomore, who introduced himself as “Dave the awesome”), I was walking to my next class, lead by none other than Dave, when Clare looking stressed, came up and looped her arm around mine.

“Look, I know we just met and everything, but I need a huge favor.”

“Name it,” I said, looking down at her. There was a good half foot in height difference between us, me being about 5’7. She gave Dave a look that plainly said “Get the hell away from us, this is a private conversation,” and I laughed, waving him off. He was sweet…like a puppy. A slightly annoying puppy, but a cute one none the less. He left with a sad smile.

“I need you to pull the new card.” We continued walking, but I gave her a look, confused. “In Mrs. Dawes class, I mean.” I glanced down at my schedule, and sure enough, I had English III next with Mrs. Dawes. Something I’d forgotten till then. And I had the class with Clare, since she was in the gifted program like I was. “Just go up to her and be like ‘Since I’m new, and the only person I know is Clare, could I please be partners with her?’” I looked at her, still confused.

“Is this some clever rouse to say you were English partners with a star?” She laughs.

“Actually, it’s go get out of being partners with my current one. For the day at least.” She sighed, looking down as we walked, still joined arm in arm.

“Any specific reason?” I asked, shaking her arm. Her sheer, white skin visibly colored, and I laughed. “That bad, huh?” She nodded.

“It’s a long, embarrassing story.” In the end, I did what she asked. I went up to the teacher, a tall, thin woman with glasses, and introduced myself, and then gave her the schpeal that Clare asked, only in different words. I’m not sure whether it was the fact that I was a star in her classroom, or a start with adults, that lead her to agree, but she did none the less. I sat next to Clare, and realized that we were two out of about four people in the class that weren’t Juniors. And as the warning bell rang, I saw Clare look at the door, and then blush and look down at her binder on her desk. I turned, curious, to see a guy look at us, an equally bemused look on his face.

“Who is that hunk of Emolicious meat?” I asked, turning back around to see Clare still staring at her binder like it was going to do some sort of trick on her desk. She shook her head, giving me an exasperated look just as the boy, the very cute boy, with long-ish black hair, and donned in the same color, passed my right and sat down in front of Clare. Before I had time to give her a look, he’d turned in his seat.

“Heyyy, partner?” He gave her a quizzical glance, before poking her arm. “Ready to start another rousing essay on gun control?” Clare looked up at him, her face a mix of shock, anger…and was that hurt?

“Not today, Eli,” she said, turning back to her books and opening a folder, pulling out a paper. “I’m working with our new student, Hollie.” She handed me the paper, and I set it on my desk without looking. This was like a freaking TV show. The tension between these two was obvious. He glanced at me, seemingly unaffected, and then did a double take, a lopsided smirk forming on his face. It was cute, I’d give him that.

“You’re ditching me for a Hollywood starlet?” he asked, his hand flying to his chest. “I’m hurt!” Clare rolled her eyes, seeming to have heard this bit a million times over. This guy was sarcastic; it was quite funny, actually. “But I’ll get over it.” His voice lowered, and he leaned closer to Clare, to the point where I could barely hear him. Barely being the operative term here. “Listen, are we going to talk about what happened Saturday?” he asked, his eyebrows raising. “Cause you ignored my texts, my IM’s. I felt like driving Morty by just to make sure you were still breathing.”

“Not. Now. Eli.” She stresses the last part, giving him a cold look, and then turned to me just as the final bell rang. “Here’s the other part to the assignment,” she started coolly, her voice returning back to normal. And just like that, she froze him out. His eyes flashed the same as hers had earlier. A mix of surprise and anger, with a tinge of hurt. I wanted to know what was going on. Bad.