On My Own

“A teenage girl from Los Angeles was reported missing last night when her friends and family couldn’t find her. Seventeen-year-old Brittany Perkins was last seen Thursday morning with her friend, Jeremy. He said she left his house and said she was going shopping. Later, their other friend’s tried calling her and got no answer and her two siblings and parents haven’t seen her. Police are searching for her.”

“We knew one day she would try running away, but we always told her to just come stay with one of us. We’re all worried sick.”

“Police found remains of what resembled her cell phone on Hollywood Drive, but no one recognized the picture her family gave police. Police and Brittany’s family ask if anyone has any information to contact them immediately.”

I spit into the sink and rinsed the sink. I slid on my glasses and threw my bag over my shoulder. I shut the television off and went to the lobby. “Can I pay for the days I’ve stayed so far?” I asked. The receptionist nodded and I handed over the hundred and fifty dollars for the three nights I’ve stayed at the hotel, plus the fifty for tonight. I checked how much money I had and figured if I got a job within the next two weeks I’d be fine.

I headed towards the school and became glad that I wasn’t the earliest person for the first day. I went to the main lobby and turned in my registration papers. The secretary told me that seniors had to report to the gym so I followed her directions there. I went up the bleachers and sat down.

“Hello!” I turned and saw a brunette walking towards me. “I’m Stephanie! You must be the new girl that Miss Bus was talking about.”

“Probably. I’m Adeline,” I introduced, giving a wave.

“Now that is a cool name,” she told me. I laughed and nodded in agreement. We started chatting and found out we were in love with a lot of the same things. We talked for about ten minutes before a voice told our class to be quiet. I glared at the short, over-weight man in front of us. He explained our class sponsor, Mr. Sanders, was busy and started talking about how important our senior year was. Barely anyone listened to him. Stephanie explained how that was Mr. Jackson, our principal.

After an hour of him talking about this year, he dismissed us to our first class. Stephanie and I had it together, so she showed us where Consumer Education was. We were handed our syllabus and our teacher went over what the class was going to be like and whatnot. Stephanie and I compared schedules and found out we had periods zero together every day and then, because of our block schedule, we would have two, three, break, lunch, and five together.

Our classes were all the same. They only handed out parent forms and syllabuses and explained about the class. We weren’t going to receive textbooks until next week, so this week was just a relax week. I met up with Stephanie after fourth hour and we went to lunch. She started asking about if Miss Bus was correct about my mom being ill. I lied and said I was, because that was my story.

We walked to our Creative Writing class and looked around for our teacher. The rest of the class grumbled about having to wait for him and I sat in a desk a couple rows back, rolling my eyes. I pulled out my phone and smiled at the text message that Matt had sent, asking if I wanted to hang out around five. I typed my reply and slid my phone back in my pocket. “Sorry, I’m late!”

“Fuck my life,” I muttered, staring at the teacher in front of me. He was also the guy who had just asked me if I wanted to hang out later. And, he was the guy that I had been making out with on the beach the other night. “God hates me. He truly hates me.” Stephanie gave a ‘what’ look my but I shook my head.

“Alright, let’s do roll call and then we’ll talk about this class,” Mr. Sanders said. “Adeline Armstrong.” And then Matt’s eyes widened. He glanced back down at the sheet and scanned the room. His eyes landed on me and he repeated, “Adeline?”

“Right here,” I told him, giving a small wave. His jaw dropped for half a second before he shook his head and continued with roll call. He kept sneaking glances at me and I couldn’t believe Matt was my teacher.
Matt did not seem like the teaching type. At. All. He went to bars! He had tattoos and piercings! He seemed like the musician or tattoo artist type, not the teaching-teenagers-how-to-write type. “Fuck my life,” I said again.

“Miss Armstrong, please see me after class,” Matt told me as he walked by. I rolled my eyes and he continued with his syllabus. The bell rang and I waved to Stephanie. I walked up to Matt’s desk and smiled innocently.

“Yes, Mr. Sanders?” I asked.

“When were you going to say that you were underage?” He snapped in a whisper.

“The same time you were going to tell me you were my teacher,” I replied.

“Adeline, do you realize how much trouble I could get in?” Matt asked me. “I could lose my job! And what were you thinking trying to buy liquor? You’re not even of age yet!”

“Well, I’m sorry! I paid good money for a proper identification that would allow me to buy whatever the fuck I wanted! You’re the one who just assumed that I was legal,” I said.

“Your parents could have me arrested,” Matt groaned putting his face in his hands. I rolled my eyes and sat down in a desk for Matt’s study hall as other students filed in. I pulled out my cell phone and texted Matt. ‘We still on for later?’

‘Yes.’