Blurring the Lines

There were those girls who sauntered into the school with a sassy, confident stride, gaining everyone's eye. Their looks were full of envy, respect and awe as her fantastically curvy hips swayed in time with her perfectly straight, long hair. They were visions of pure adolescent beauty, the kind of beauty that only exists in a world like this, full of shallow and petty girls who see looks as the only way to escape from their extremely lackluster lives.

Then there are those girls who barge through the door with as much grace as a drunken stampede of elephants, two huge AP text books in one arm, a stack of scholarship applications in the other, a backpack weighing about half their body on their shoulders, a huge travel mug of steaming hot coffee in hand and a brown paper bag of homemade muffins between their teeth. The envying stops and the pity begins as they try not to fall face first onto the dirty linoleum floor, making it even easier for everyone to snicker and whisper as she walked by. Nobody looked at her with respect or awe, but a sort of thankfulness that they weren't her.

It was disappointing, really. I was honestly loosing faith in this next graduating class little by little everyday as I stepped through the doors of the school. It's as if my brains and hard work weren't as important as Heidi Young's Wonder Twins and designer denim. I suppose brainwashed middle class suburban white kids will be brainwashed middle class suburban white kids.

“Geez, Georgie! Don't you think you're going a little overboard with this?” Sammi asked, gripping the bag of muffins and taking the books from my hand.

“With what? Working my ass off senior year unlike some people?” I asked, raising my brows at her as she clenched her jaw. “Oh, no. Definitely not. I want to get as much free school as possible before I have to pay for it.”

“Stuff it,” Sammi muttered, shoving her hand into my bag of breakfast. “You're apology will be in the form of this muffin. And you're forgiven for that bitchy comment. Bitch.”

Rolling my eyes, I snatched the rest of my breakfast from her hands. We wandered down the halls, chattering mindlessly about the upcoming Senior Fundraiser assembly, this year organized by the cheerleaders and bound to be ridiculous, and the first annual Winter Bash, another grind-fest for the overly-sexual students of the school. We always came back to the topic of the fundraiser and Sammi looked at me eagerly.

“I heard their doing one of those 'Bachelor Auction' things, you know?”

“That actually wouldn't surprise me,” I muttered, shoving the door to our homeroom open. “I'm sure they'd all top the bids, anyway.”

“God, you're such a downer these days,” Sammi commented, returning my glare with a cocked brow. “I think all this homework is stressing you out.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” I responded, rolling my eyes.

“Don't sass me,” she said, slapping my shoulder roughly. “You should hang out with Rayna and I tonight.”

“I can't,” I sighed as we slid into our normal seats. “I have to work.”

“Well, how about tomorrow?” she asked, a little less hopeful.

“Homework, work, sleep,” I said, folding my arms and resting my head on them. She groaned, slumping in her seat.

“I guess Sunday's a no, too.”

“You guessed right.”

I was half way asleep the entire ten minute homeroom, even through Sammi's constant griping. I'd been up until two thirty in the morning editing papers and fixing the printer my dad had jammed without informing me. I definitely wasn't in the mood for her complaints about our friendship going to hell because of homework. It wasn't, obviously, but she was generally an overly dramatic person.

I almost dropped on my knees and thanked God when the bell rang, saving Sammi from asphyxiation and me from beating my skull in with a textbook. Her face was red and angry as she took a few desperately needed breaths, tossing her bag over her shoulder as we exited the room.

“I'll see you later,” I said, juggling the stack of applications and books in my arms. “I have to drop some stuff off at the counselors office.”

She harrumphed as she walked away. Rolling my eyes, I shuffled down the halls until I reached the cozy room the academic counselor Mr. Evers was always in. Someone walked in right in front of me, not caring to hold the door as it slammed in my face. I grunted, struggling to finally pull it open.

“Oh, hi Georgia,” the counselor smiled, the figure revealing himself to be Walker Lovenbury. I glared at him and he glared right back, watching me carefully as I placed the scholarship applications on Mr. Evers' desk. He gave me a smug look, almost as if he was telling me I wasn't fit to receive any of them. “Aw, man, Walker. You've got some stiff competition here.”

His face fell and he blinked at me while trying to conceal his anger. I smiled with a small laugh, feeling my smile turn into a smug expression in Walker's direction. He glared at me as I waved goodbye to Mr. Evers.

The stack of papers was like literally and metaphorically lifting a weight off my shoulders. I made my way down the hall, towards my Pre-Calculus class, the only non-honors or Advanced Placement class I was taking this year. It was also the class I despised most, both my dislike for math and low tolerance for stupid people contributing to it's awfulness.

As I walked into the room, my heart sank when I read the words TEST TODAY sprawled messily across the board. Most of all, my forgetful and obviously careless teacher made this class hell on earth and a disastrous start to every single day.

Today was definitely no exception.

--- ---

The day ended up to be terrible just as I expected.

I'm almost one hundred percent positive I failed that test, I stood in front of my AP American History class to give a presentation with my fly unzipped the entire seven minutes, I was paired up with creepy Jimmy for the AP Chem lab and I fell sleep on my textbook in French, having what looked like jibberish tattooed on my cheek for the last forty five minutes of class.

After school, I was cut off in the parking lot by some stupid bimbo who can't drive a stick shift. When I got home, I spent fifteen minutes rubbing off the black ink from my face along with a few layers of skin. And then, I realized I had to work that night.

I sat at the kitchen table, watching cartoons as I munched on Chinese leftovers for dinner. It was one of the rare moments in my day where I could sit and relax. I looked up at my father, who sauntered down the stairs, with his salt-and-pepper hair, almost all salt now, combed to perfection. His typical date ensemble looked as good as always, giving him a mysterious and dashing appearance. I grinned at him.

“Dang, Dad. Hot date?”

He chuckled, ruffling my hair as he fumbled with his tie. “You know it.”

I sighed, standing on my chair to help him. “Just be home by midnight.”

“Who's the parent here?” he asked with a cocked brow. I smiled as I straightened the now decently knotted silk. “Oh, that's right. It's me.”

“Hah,” I said, giving him a grin. “Now you kids go have fun.”

“Love you, Georgie-Porgie. And don't give Analynne a hard time because God knows you're a handful.”

“Gee, thanks. Love you too, Dad.”

He chuckled as he shut the door leading to the garage, the sound of his BMW groaning to life muffled by the concrete walls. I smiled as soon as I was sure he was gone, shaking my head.

Although I hated to admit it, I was utterly and completely jealous of my fathers extroverted personality.

Ever since my mom's accident, my dad's been dating every woman who will say yes. Some of them were nice, some of them were rude, but none of them stayed for long. He's always been a social person, but losing the only woman who'd ever loved him as much as his mother was gone, so he was trying to find a substitute. No one could replace her, no one could even try.

Well, they could try. And they did. It never worked. They just couldn't measure up to the high standards my mother set earlier in life.

It was just hard for me to face the facts that she wasn't coming back, even today.

--- ---

I remember the day Walker Lovenbury first decided to make my life a living hell.

It was a hot September day and we were all eating lunch outside with our class after being the Read-A-Thon champions. Mrs. Thomas' first grade class all sat in a circle, faces covered in orange Cheeto dust and sticky peanut butter and jelly globs. Heidi Young's mom, being the ass kissing bitch she was, brought dozens of cookies for everyone to have as she sweet-talked her daughter into a part in the school play.

I couldn't have care less about how I looked. I was always a softer kid, but it didn't matter when I was six or seven and the only thing important to me was getting to watch Spongebob Squarepants after school. Just like every other kid, I dove towards the cookies, picking about three just like everyone else.

“Geez, George,” Walker sneered, still smarting over his loss in the Spelling Bee to me two weeks ago. “You don't need anymore cookies!”

I frowned at him, sticking my tongue out at him. “Well at least I'm not stupid!”

“Well at least I'm not a fatty!”

I was also slightly aggressive as a child and the tallest girl in the grade. Due to my size, attitude and terrible personality, I tackled Walker to the ground and proceeded to beat him with flailing fists, only one actually hitting his face right under his eye. After a trip to the office, an argument between our parents, a hollow apology to the sorest loser I knew and a secret congratulatory scoop of ice cream from my father, I had decided that Walker Lovenbury was my arch nemesis for life.

I sure as hell hadn't forgiven him for calling me a fatass in elementary school and I'm sure he hasn't forgiven me for giving him a big shiner under the eye with all the teasing included. After that, the competition between us still held strong. All our spats were far less physical, but still strongly academic, and they weren't extremely verbal, either. A smug look or an evil glare here and there was all it took to know that the heat was on, and the winner took all.

To be fully honest, I didn't exactly know what all really was. The few times I did win whatever it was, it seemed to be a huge ego boost and something to hold above his head. Of course, his winning must have been much more satisfactory, considering he was a total egomaniac and he could actually hold something above my head. I wouldn't ever admit it out loud or to him, but the kid was better than me at almost everything and I still persevered to, hopefully, win whatever the grandest prize was to be and rub it in his dimple-smiled face.

Now, Walker Lovenbury, shaggy haired, dimpled, broad shouldered and deep voiced, stood in front of me on the other side of the counter at Analynne's Sweets. He grinned, that stupid goddamn dimple gracing his face as he looked down at me. Analynne bumped my hip with a sugary sweet smile while ignoring my glare.

“Welcome! Excuse Georgie's rudeness. She's not a people person,” she said, shaking her head and waving off her comment. “What can I get you, cutie?”

He blushed. Blushed. Shaking his head and laughed nervously. “Uh, I just need to talk to Georgia.”

She looked at me, impressed, as though we were in talks of a romantic relationship. “Ah. I see. Talk away!”

I sighed at him, folding my arms over my chest as Analynne popped back into her office, no doubt listening in on our conversation.

“You're really good in English, right?”

“Yeah,” I started slowly, leaning across the counter slightly. “Why? Come to rub something else in my face?”

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head before rubbing his forehead. “No, God. I have a serious question and I'm desperate right now. Listen, I need help in AP Lang to pass. Would you be willing to help me?”

“What do I get in return?”

“The satisfaction of being a good person?” he suggested innocently, knowing full well enough that it wasn't going to be enough for me. I shook my head and smiled up at him as I leaned up on my hands.

“I'll do it, but you owe me, big time,” I said, hoping to milk as much out of this situation as possible. “An apology would be nice.”

“For what?” he asked, looking confused before his face sank in realization. “You're kidding me. I was six and I was jealous! What did you expect?”

“I don't know what I expected then, but now I'm expecting an apology.”

He chewed his lip before sighing. “I'm sorry, okay?”

“For...?”

“Calling you a fatty in the first grade,” he grumbled, glaring down at me. “Are you always this immature?”

“Hmm, well, on a scale of one being seriously immature and one hundred being extremely mature, I'd say I'm about a sixty-nine.”

He flushed, biting back an uncomfortable smile. “I'm free every day after seven.”

“I can help Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays plus weekends. You can just stop by my house then or I can go over to yours whichever works.”

“Awesome,” he said with a stupid grin, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Now, if you're not going to buy something, get out,” I told him with a straight face. He blinked at me, shaking his head with a chuckle as she sauntered off out the door. I jumped with a yelp as Analynne reappeared. Grinning wildly, she bumped her shoulder against mine.

“He's a cutie! Where have you been hiding that one?”

“Sometimes I wish six feet under the ground.”