High School Life

Carla Santoni walked through the halls of the dreaded Building of Learning. Or, as most people call it, school. Yes, school. It was her freshman year at Miami Beach High School. And she was scared to death.

As I said, Carla’s a freshman at Miami Beach High School. She’s a petite brunette with blue eyes. And she was smart. Very smart. Maintaining a four-point-zero grade point average.

And, like every smart freshman, Carla had a not-so-smart best friend. Her name’s Shauna Brown. She’s also a freshman at Miami Beach High School. She’s a chunky, but not fat, and very cute girl with deep green eyes and natural blonde hair who’s maintaining a two-point-three grade point average.

Finally, Christopher Pistol. Also a freshman at Miami Beach High School. He’s a shy, but very cute, boy with brown hair and blue eyes who, at the moment, has a three-point-seven grade point average. And yes, he gets a teensy weensy bit jealous at the fact Carla’s point-three points smarter than him. She can’t help it. It’s not her fault she’s smart.

And just because she’s smart, it doesn’t mean she liked school. Actually, she hated it. Hated it with a freakin’ passion. Now, on with the story.

As I said, Carla was walking through the halls of Miami Beach High School. It was her first day as a freshman. She went to the office to claim her schedule. The first bell was going to ring in about twenty or so minutes, so that meant that she had about ten minutes to look for a few classrooms and ten to relocate her homeroom. So, she started walking back down the halls.

Okay, thought Carla. Homeroom’s room 202. That means it’s on the second floor of the two-story school. So, she went up the stairs in her jeans, high-heeled boots, and Aeropostale cami. Man, Carla thought. Why did I insist on wearing heels today?

Okay. Walking up the stars. Carla passed room 200. And, beside it, was room bumber 202. Hmm, she thought. I could get the hang of this. Basically right next to the stairs. Okay. Now, for first hour. Geometry. Mr. Thompson. Room 202. Yes! She thought. That means I don’t have to walk anywhere between homeroom and math. So far, so good. All right. Second hour. Band. Mr. Brown. Gymnasium two. Gymnasium two? Where’s that at? She cocked an eyebrow and headed down the stairs.

Carla walked passed the office, classrooms, the cafeteria, and another row of classrooms. She stopped at the end of the hallway. There was a hallway to her right, and one to her left. She decided to go to the right. And, her, being the smart idiot that she is, she, for some reason, decided not to look at her map, which she probably should have.

Anyways, Carla was walking, when she heard a bell. Oh well, she thought. I’ll just have to look for it later. On to homeroom. So, she walked back down the hallway, then turned left back onto the main hallway. She walked the length of it, then up the stairs. She was in homeroom before the second bell even rang. She sat for five minutes watching both familiar and unfamiliar faces walk in the room and sit down in desks and waited for a little bit until the third bell rang. Everyone was talking, but talking stopped when there was a huge slam of the door. Everyone jerked around to see Mr. Thompson.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said in an obviously put on teacher voice. “And welcome, or, to the returning students, welcome back, to Miami Beach High School. I hope we all have an amazingly wonderful year. Now, I need to take roll. So, everyone please remain silent as I do so. For you freshmen and new students, I take roll by grade, so I’ll start off with the freshmen.” He cleared his throat before speaking the first name. “Ashley Andrews.”

“Here,” said the from-the-bottle blonde girl chewing bubble gum sitting to Carla’s left.

“Very good,” replied Mr. Thompson. “Carla Santini.”

It was weird how it went straight from A to S like that. “Here,” she said, while raising her hand.

“Thank you,” he replied. “Hmm. Those seem to be the only freshmen. All right, then. On to the juniors.”

He took the rest of the role as Carla sat in her seat, dazed out. A little while later, a bell rang, bringing her out of her daze. Since there was a five-minute break, she decided to wander the halls to look for either Shauna or Chris. And, right as she looked to her right, there he was. She walked down to his locker.

“Hey, Chris,” Carla said as she leaned on the locker next to his. “Why are you in your locker? We haven’t even gotten our supply lists, yet.”

“Well,” he started, “I have a few binders for just-in-case purposes. You, know. So, how was your sum…”

By this time, Carla had completely zoned him out, for, right behind him, was the most amazing guy she had ever seen in her life. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes. He was gorgeous.

“I have to go,” Carla said, interrupting whatever it was Chris was going on about. She passed him, not even looking at him, and walked towards this totally amazing looking creature. But, before she could get to him, another guy with blonde hair came up. So, she stopped. But she stayed just to listen to see if she could get a name. Or, at least, something useful.

“Hey, Dillon,” said the awesomely hot guy. “’Sup?”

“Nothing much, dude,” said his blonde-headed friend. “So, you talk to that junior, yet? You know, like you promised yourself you would do this summer?”

“Nah,” said the still nameless boy. “I guess it’s just not meant to be between us. I mean, she’s a junior. I’m a sophomore.”

“Dude,” said Dillon. “You end the year by saying you’re going to talk to her. And you start the next one saying the same thing you just said.”

“Yeah, well,” said no-name.

Dillon looked at his watch. “Dude, we need to get to first hour.”

Carla looked up at the digital clock above her. She had about a minute to get to class. So, with that, she turned around and walked back into room 202.

Carla sat down in a seat. Well, she thought. I guess he likes someone. What am I thinking? I don’t even know him. Then, the without-a-name hot guy came in the room, sat down, and soon started doodling in his notebook.

As Tyler French looked up at the digital clock and saw he had about a minute to get to class, he walked towards room 202, where he took geometry.

Tyler walked in the door right behind a brown-headed girl with a cami and heeled boots. He sat next to her, since it was the only open seat left. Suddenly, there was a slam. And then, in front of them, was Mr. Thompson. Man, thought Tyler. I hate it when he does that.

“Alright class,” Mr. Thompson said. “Role-check. Seems we have a freshman in class this year. Carla Santoni.”

“Here,” said the girl next to Tyler while she was raising her hand.

“Very good,” Mr. Thompson said. “Okay. Now for the sophomores. Franklin Birch.”

“Here,” said a boy with dyed black hair and a lip ring across the room.

“Okay,” Mr. Thompson replied. “Bailey Ellis.”

“Yeah,” said a tired looking girl with purple hair.

“Here, Mrs. Ellis,” said Mr. Thompson.

“Well, duh,” Bailey said. “I can see you right there.” The class laughed.

Mr. Thompson sighed. “Tyler French.”

“Here,” Tyler said.

As Mr. Thompson was finishing the role, he opened a new orange notebook, and started doodling the name Rachael as if he were a little school girl.

“Hey.” Tyler turned to see the freshman looking at him. “I’m Carla.” Carla extended her hand, waiting for him to shake it. So he did.

“Tyler,” he said. Then, he went back to drawing.

“So,” Carla said, interrupting his doodling once again. “Whatcha writing?”

“Nothing,” Tyler replied while shutting his notebook.

“Oh,” said Carla. “Okay. Well, it was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Tyler said, not really paying attention.

“Okay, everyone,” said Mr. Thompson. “Supply lists.” And he started handing out papers. “Today’s a free day. You have about fifty minutes left of class.” Suddenly, everyone started moving around.

After about fifty more minutes of Tyler doodling and talking to friends, the bell rang, which signaled him to get up and go to band. He got to the class in record time, picked up his baritone, and went to his seat. Soon enough, Rachael Bertacheli, junior and cheerleading captain, walked through the gymnasium doors and went to the cheerleading half of the room.

As Rachael Bertacheli was on her way to second hour, which was cheerleading, she went down to the office and picked up her pompoms that she had forgotten at home. She walked down the hallway, bumping into the rush of people.

“Excuse me.” She heard a voice. She turned around to see a girl with brown hair wearing a cami and heeled boots. “But do you know where Gymnasium 2 is?”

This is my kind of girl, Rachael thought as she was looking at the lost and obvious freshman’s outfit. “Yeah,” she replied. “I’m on my way there now.” She led the girl down the main hallway, then down the hall to their left. “Here we go.”

“Thanks,” said the girl. “I’m Carla.” She extended her hand.

“Rachael,” Rachael said, shaking it. She’s got spunk, she thought. She certainly is brave for trying to befriend a junior. “See ya around, kid.” Carla shook her head, smiled, and went to the band section of the gymnasium and sat down with the flute players.

Rachael walked over to the section of the gymnasium where the cheerleaders practiced. And, through the glass doors, she could see the football player doing drills our on the football field. All of them. Including senior football player, and quarterback, Scott Heron.

Rachael, like so many other girls at Miami Beach High School, thought Scott was cute and dreamy. They don’t know what they’re getting themselves into, Rachael thought. They have nothing compared to me. Absolutely nothing.

Scott Heron was on his way to third hour study hall after he had just taken his shower after football drills. He was walking down the hallway, went to his locker for a notebook to do something in case no one else he knew was in study hall with him and he got bored.

He entered the cafeteria, where he saw a bunch of football players messing with some girl. Probably a freshman, Scott thought. He walked over to see what everything was about, and if he could get in on it, too.

“Scotty!” all the football players yelled when they saw him coming up.

“Hiya, boys,” Scott said in reply. “What freshman we messin’ with today?” He looked on the ground to see a brown-headed with a white cami and heeled boots. She looked like she was about to cry

“We was just messin’ with the newbie,” said a linebacker. “Nothin’ too bad.”

Scott looked at him. All of them had empty water bottles in their hands. He looked back down at the girl. She was wet. She was covering her chest because her shirt was white. Her mascara was running down her face. Even so, she was the most gorgeous girl he had ever seen in his life.

Scott extended his hand. The freshman hesitated, not knowing if this was some kind of joke or not. “It’s all right,” he said. “Take it. I’m not going to do anything.” She took his hand, and he helped her up.

“Yo,” one of the football players said. “What you doin’ man?”

“Come with me,” said Scott to the freshman. He walked up to coach, who just entered the cafeteria and had missed everything. “Coach,” said Scott. “Is it all right if I take my friend here with me? She needs a dry shirt.” Coach nodded, not really paying attention.

Scott and the freshman walked down the main hallway and up the stairs. “My locker’s right here,” Scott said. He pulled out a dry black t-shirt and handed it to her. “There’s a bathroom just down the hall. I’ll wait for you.” The girl smiled.

About a minute later, the girl walked out of the bathroom with a way-too-big shirt on. She took a ponytail holder from her wrist, made a ponytail in the back of the shirt, and tucked it under to where you could only see a little bit of her lower back.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m Carla, by the way.”

“Scott,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”