Another Teen Love Story

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

I groaned and rolled over in my bed, instinctively pulled my pillow over my ears. What demon was trying to wake me up? It was only…I looked at the digital clock on the face of my cell phone…2:47 PM. That woke me up. I sat up quickly, experiencing a sudden head rush.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I accused. I didn’t like sleeping in until the afternoon. I felt like I had wasted half the day in bed, and I didn’t like that.

“I had a meeting with the Dean of Students at Percival Preparatory Academy this morning. I’ve been gone since ten.”

“Wait, there was a meeting at Percy Prep?” I asked, using the Italian hostess’ term for the school. “Why wasn’t I there?”

“It wasn’t necessary. I just scheduled your classes, picked up your uniform, and got your summer assignments. You’re uniform is in your closet. Your books are on your desk. Oh, and here’s your schedule,” she handed me a piece of paper. I glanced over it quickly.



Most of the classes didn’t surprise me. Calculus, Physics, French IV, Honors Literature, Contemporary History, Pottery. But it was the last two classes that made me frown. Gym and Lifestyle Choices.

“Mom, what the hell? Gym? I already took two years of gym! And Lifestyle Choices…Didn’t my Home Ec. credit transfer?”

“Percival Preparatory Academy requires three years of gym.” Great, I thought. A whole year of gym. Ick. “And Lifestyle Choices is a mandatory class for seniors. And watch your language.”
I groaned and collapsed back into my bed. I had been hoping for an easy senior year. Back in Seattle, my schedule consisted of only three classes, Math Analysis, Chemistry, and Honors English. Now I was actually going to have to work this year.

Something my mom had said finally registered in my slowly-waking consciousness. I sat up and looked at her accusingly. “Wait, what summer assignments?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just a few books to read, a few lessons of math to catch up on, maybe some French assignments. Nothing major. It’s just to make sure you are prepared for the year,” she said casually. “Anyways, I have a meeting to go to. I’ll see you at seven o’clock for dinner.” She left, and I was alone in my room, feeling like someone had rammed a cannon ball into my stomach.

I shuffled over to my desk to look at my summer assignments. My mom had vastly understated what I had to do. I had to read two books, take “copious” notes on both of them, and write a comparative essay, due the first day of school. For math, I had to do the complete the first four chapters. In Physics I had to read the first two chapters with notes. I had an entire workbook of lessons to complete in French, and in history I had to read a dozen different articles about the crisis in Darfur and write an Internal Assessment, whatever that was.

“What the fuck?” I cried.

By that time May had come into my room and leaned against my door frame. “You think the work load is bad? Have you seen the uniform yet?”

I groaned, anticipating how awful the uniform would be. I made my way into the closet and slowly opened the door.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I shouted as I walked into the closet, looking in horror at the contents.

Before, my clothes took up less than a quarter of the closet. With my uniform, the occupied space was doubled. There was enough clothes for five uniforms, at least! I saw two pair of gray slacks, two pleated gray skirts, about four long sleeved white blouses and four short sleeved white blouses. I saw a navy blue blazer with the Percival Preparatory Academy crest on the left, next to the collar. There were navy blue sweater vests, and navy blue sweaters. There were red ties, and about a dozen pairs of wool tights, both white and black. There were also several white polo t-shirts and a few pairs of navy athletic shorts and sweats. I assumed those were for gym.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I cried out again. “The only original thing I will be able to wear are shoes!”

“Tell me about it. Did you even read the dress code? No heavy makeup. No facial piercings. No visible tattoos…You can’t even have dyed hair!” May grumbled and played around with her black locks. “I don’t care what anyone says. If anyone asks, I’ve had black hair all my life.”

I smiled half-heartedly. May decided to dye her blonde hair black when she was thirteen. It was a good move for her. The blonde had made her look washed out. Finally I sighed and took a final look at the uniform I would be wearing for the rest of the year. It was going to be a dismal year. “Whatever. I’m going to eat breakfast.”

“You mean lunch?” May asked, reminding me it was almost three.

“Whatever.”

Down in the kitchen I slapped together a PB&J and grabbed a cold coke from the fridge. I went out into the back yard and placed my food on a small table next to the large pool I discovered last night. It’s sad that I didn’t notice the pool earlier, but I had been so busy in my room, unpacking, I didn’t have a chance to explore the house until last night.

The air was hot, but manageable. I had to admit, it felt good against my skin. Maybe I would actually get a tan. That would be different for a change.

After lunch I went back up to my room and grabbed the two books I had to read for English and a notebook. I retreated back to the pool and sat down in a lounge chair. I glanced at the titles. Lucky for me, one of the two books I read last year for school. The Scarlett Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. There was a possibility Christy still had my notes for the book. I would have to call her and send them over.

So, really, I only had to read one book, a book called Jane Eyreby Charlotte Bronte. It was a book I had actually wanted to read for a while. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a terrible assignment.



The remainder of my summer vacation was spent sitting next to the pool with my nose in my books. Miraculously, I was able to finish almost all of my homework. All except for math. Why my mom signed me up for calculus was beyond me.

It was the final day of summer vacation. I was planning on spending it sitting in front of the TV, watching old movies and eating ice cream. My plans, however, were quickly rejected as my mom came into the bonus room and turned the TV off just as I reached the halfway mark in Casablanca.

“Mo-om! What the hell?” I complained, sitting up slightly from my reclined position on the couch. “What was that for?”

“Language, Anna,” she warned and proceeded to fluff pillows and straighten blankets. “We have guests coming over. Now get up and get dressed. I laid an outfit out for you. It’s on your bed.”

I blinked several times, only comprehending half of what my mom said. “What? Guests?”

“Yes. We’re inviting the neighbors over for a Labor Day barbeque. Your father is also inviting some colleagues from work, including his boss, Tom Wright. Hurry up and get dressed, now. I need your help with the potato salad.”

Knowing there was no way to get out of this barbeque, I grumbled and made my way the room I had grown to love in the past two weeks. The room had quickly become my own as I put up posters of my favorite bands and actors, bought an area rug, and hung my favorite works of art on the walls.

I looked at the outfit my mom had designated me to wear and grimaced. Ironed khaki shorts, a pink striped blouse, and white canvas Keds sneakers. It looked like something my own mom would wear. Needless to say, I returned the outfit to my closet and picked out an outfit I was more comfortable with, frayed jean shorts, a plaid long sleeve shirt, a red braided belt across my waist, and flip flops. I rolled the sleeves of the shirt up to my elbows. Much better.

I went down into the kitchen. May was standing over the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes. Only about four potatoes were peeled so far. There were at least twenty unpeeled potatoes standing in a pyramid next to the sink.

“Sheesh. How much potato salad are we making? You can feed a third world village with all those potatoes.”

“Just shut up and help me peel,” May said. She threw a potato at my head. I dodged and plucked it out of the air.

“PMS-ing much?” I asked as I stood next to her at the kitchen counter.

May sighed. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve been peeling potatoes for ten minutes now and I’ve nicked myself about twelve times,” she said, showing me the backs of her hands. Several Band-Aids covered the gouges.

Thirty minutes later all the potatoes were peeled, diced, and mixed with the necessary fixings, thanks to the recipe my mom left on the table. I had doubts about how the potato salad turned out; I had never been great at cooking. The way I saw it, as long as no one went home with food poisoning I was in the clear. Together, May and I cleared up the kitchen and put the potato salad on a picnic table outside. According to my mom, our guests would be coming any minute.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. It only took seconds for my mother, clad in a white skirt and blue blouse with three inch heels, to answer the door. She swung the door wide open, a large white smile plastered on her face.

“Hi, so glad you could make it…”

And so it began. Over the next hour dozens of people walked through our house and to the backyard where my dad was grilling hamburgers, hotdogs, and all sorts of goods. I didn’t recognize any of the people in our backyard. There was a blonde family with three blonde kids that looked slightly familiar. Maybe they were our neighbors? I couldn’t be certain, though. Everyone looked the same.

“This is boring,” May said as she came up next to me. “I’m going to play Call of Duty. You game?”

I shrugged. Call of Duty wasn’t really my thing, but this party was dead boring. There were only adults and kids. No one my own age. “Sure.”

May and I loaded our plates with food and retreated to the bonus room. The bonus room had to be my favorite room, apart from my own room. To get there, you had to open the closet door under the staircase. That leads you to another staircase, leading to the basement where all our entertainment equipment was held. It was my sanctuary.

Our sixty-inch plasma screen was waiting for us. I plopped down on the beanbag chair and grabbed an Xbox controller.

We spent the next hour switching turns on playing the game. May always got further than me. Like I said, this wasn’t my game. I was watching May shoot a couple of bad guys when I heard my mom calling my name from the top of the stairs.

“Aaa-nnaaa,” she called sweetly. But her voice was strained. She was pissed.

“Yeah, Mom?” I asked, stuffing a handful of Doritos into my mouth.

“Come up here. There is someone I’d like you to meet.”

I rolled my eyes and May laughed. “Mom’s trying to hook you up with some khaki-wearing rich prep,” she joked.

I scrunched my face at her and threw the remainder of my hamburger at her face, causing May to shriek. “Bitch!” she cried.

I simply laughed, got off of the bean bag, and ran up the steps. When I came to the top, I saw my mom with a strained face, a forced smile. “There you are, Annalisa,” she said, her voice once again sickly sweet. I hated when she used my full name. She only used it when she was trying to impress people. “Here, I’d like to introduce you to Tom Wright, the kind man who offered your father the promotion.

Tom was one of those attractive older men. He had a thick head of light brown hair, just starting to show traces of gray. He was clean shaven, with tanned skin, and had smile lines at the corners of his gray eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” I said politely. I could feel my mom’s eyes bearing down on me, judging my outfit. She noticed I wasn’t wearing the ensemble she had set out for me, and she didn’t like it. Finally, thankfully, she turned her attention from me and to Tom.

“Will she now? What year?” he asked me.

I was about to answer, but my mom cut me to the chase. “This will be her senior year.”

“Senior year. That is an important year. What colleges do you have in mind?”

“Wes—“ I started, but I was once against interrupted by my mom.

“Annalisa has been dreaming about Stanford since she was a little girl. I am positive she will get in.” I ground my teeth in annoyance. Where the hell did Stanford come from? I wanted to go to Western Washington University, and have since I was twelve!

“Stanford is a top notch school. I went there myself,” Tom said. “My son is thinking about Stanford. Of course, that’s if he keeps his grades up.” Tom laughed lightly. “He is also a senior at Percival. Perhaps you will meet him.”

“Oh, yes. Where is your son, Tom? I was expecting him at the barbeque today,” my mom said, absently placing her hand on his forearm. I suppressed an eye roll. Could she be any more obvious?

Tom simply gave a small smile. “He’s actually at soccer practice.”

“Soccer? It isn’t soccer season,” I said, finally having a chance to get a word in edgewise.

“The soccer team at Percival Preparatory Academy is year round. They went to Nationals two years ago. Did you know that?”

An image of the overly friendly hostess at Puccini’s Pizza Parlor flickered in my mind. “Yeah, I think I remember hearing that…”

My mom, tired of having been forced out of the conversation, found a way to butt her way back in. “Can you imagine how wonderful it would be if they went to Nationals this year?” she asked, faking enthusiasm. “Tom, let me be the first to reserve the victory party this spring when they win…”

My mom led Tom Wright away and into the back yard, leaving me standing awkwardly alone in the foyer. I guessed her hopes of fixing me up with my dad’s boss’ son failed, because I knew that’s what she was planning on doing. I could only imagine the plans she had for me; marrying me off to a rich, upper class Maine Socialite, getting local fame and fortune, and she would benefit from it as well. It was all so very Medieval thinking, marrying your daughter off for status, but I could see the gleam in my mom’s eyes when Tom Wright mentioned his son. It could mean no good for me.

By the time the sun had set all the guests were gone I had retreated to my room. I was exhausted, much too exhausted to go to my computer and respond to Christy’s emails, which I have already put off for the past three days. Much too exhausted to look at the last few problems in my Calculus book that I hadn’t figured out yet. All I managed to do was gather all my school materials, stuff them in my backpack, set aside my uniform for tomorrow, and send Jeff a quick text.

I love you, I sent.

Jeff’s reply was instantaneous. I love you too. Good luck at school.

I smiled at his thoughtfulness, but my stomach quickly twisted in knots. Tomorrow would be my first day at Percival Preparatory Academy. It would be the first first day of school where I didn’t have Christy by my side, where I didn’t know at least half of the other kids in my class. God help me.