Surviving High School

My alarm began to sing “World is Mine”, from Vocaloid, to break me from my wonderful slumber. It was September 29th, and high school was well in session.

I poked it, not wanting to break it, it was all the way from Tokyo, Japan! The moment Miku silenced, I flipped the switch twice, and forced myself to rise from the warmth of my blanket cocoon. I gazed at my outfit from afar: it looked like shojo girl school uniform. Orange pleated skirt, white collared blouse, olive green blazer and matching tie, grey knee-highs and black (shined-the-day-before) platform Mary-Jane buckle shoes. The best part? The cotton candy pink wig that was drawn into a ponytail with that little hair out in the front at the 45-degree angle.

My heart jumped into my mouth as my identical twin step brothers slammed the door into the wall singing into my room. “FIRST DAY OF HIGH SCHOOL AT WINDOVER ACADEMY OF THE AHHH-RRTS!”

Then everything just sort of crashed into the back of my head, like someone rear-ended me in a car. Dad's dating, so is mom. I've been moved to live with her and her fiance, Richard Harson, in his mansion somewhere in the outskirts of New York City.

Yeah, I was moved from small town, Brentwood, New Hampshire to the outskirts of New York City...Well, a town on the outskirts of it. Windover, New York. I hardly ever went into the city, I didn't like it. And no, I am not a fashonista super-bitch. I shop in the stores in Windover. Occasionally, my mom will drag me to an NYC thrift store (good deals, my friends!)

My new school, like my old one, is like Hollywood Arts in Victorious. No academics, just creative and expressive arts. I love it. My passions are acting, film, and stage makeup and hair. I hated leaving my friends, and my crush, Devin. Brown-black hair, that tanned Italian skin, dark brown eyes, major talent in manga, and I kind of think he liked me back. Not to mention he knew how to play the violin. Charming, right?

I snapped back to reality. Jacob and Issac were standing there with wide doe eyes, their identical faces probably around three inches from mine. “GOOD MORNING, BLONDIE! IT'S FOUR A.M.!” They turned on the lights and my eyes exploded. “You two are sixteen! Quit it!”

The danced around merrily. “NEVER! WE'RE ALWAYS THIS LOUD.”

I rolled my eyes and bypassed the twins. I was at least they didn't hate me. Far from it, appreciating my existence in their life. My little sister, however, didn't. Oh, no, she didn't hate me. She though my existence was her existence. She could never seem to stay out of my room, and the recent addition to Richard's mansion: my cosplay room (which was nice, I can do whatever I want in there).

I strolled out the door to find myself the kitchen in this castle of a house. I felt my cat wind herself around my legs, nearly tripping me. Sometimes, that cat was like a train wreck in slow motion. “Chikako!” She promptly left my legs and lept onto the warm spot in my bed. “Thanks,” I whispered sarcastically.

After winding aimlessly around walls, I finally managed to find the kitchen. It was enormous! Everything was stainless steel...Well, you know, what everyone wanted in their kitchen. It was a big change from Brentwood.

I pulled open our steel monolith of a freezer and began to dig through it to find something to eat for breakfast. My goal was toaster waffles. I pulled out that Pillsbury shit that's just like a poptart, only it's flaky and filled with that jelly gel that they use at the dentists office. Better than nothing, I suppose.

I sighed and placed them on the counter. Time to find the toaster. I scoured the kitchen, but ended up finding the toaster in a closet in the hallway. I found an outlet and plugged in the toaster, pressing down the switch with the garbage I was going to stomach.

Then I heard it. The pounding of six feet. “GIVE IT BACK!” I could hear Jacob yell, but his voice was singed with anger instead of his usual whimsical tone. “No! It was left out for me!”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

She was wearing my wig! Cassidy, the little daughter of a bitch! I followed the screaming and found them in Cassidy's den. Filled with Barbies and Bratz and always had that sticky layer of who knows what from being a little kid.

“No!” She whined. “Cara left it out for me!”

“I did not!” I screamed as I pinned her against a wall. “But Cara, we're sisters! We're supposed to share!” She said as tears began to flow down her cheeks.

“My stuff is not to be shared! When you can get money, you can buy whatever the hell you want, but my outfits are NOT your dress up clothes!” I screamed into her ear. She began to cry harder, and I moved my hands to pull my wig off her.

She just as quickly moved her hands to the wig to keep it on. “C-Cara!” I gripped her wrists and began to dig in her skin. I didn't care if there was blood: she didn't need to take my stuff when she felt like it.

“Ow, Cara! Ow, Cara! OW, CARA! STOP!” She began to yell. I began to dig in farther. “OW, CARA! STOP IT! STOP!”

I glared at her. “Take off the damn wig!” “But –” “I said, take it off!” She held onto my wig, desperate to keep it on. I was done playing her games. I took one hand off her and immediately, she began to try to get away. With my free hand, I smacked her stomach and she began to wail.

I removed the wig from her head. “Don't take my stuff again, bitch.” She shot up, all signs of sadness gone. “I'm telling Daddy you swore at me!”

“Go ahead, tell him,” I sneered. “I DARE you.” “I will!” “He wont be home for another two months, dumbass!” I walked out of the room holding the wig, and that's all that mattered. I had nothing, I didn't care if I got grounded.

As I examined the wig, I noticed that it now had mad flyaways and was completely messed up. I didn't care about breakfast anymore, I had an important matter on my hands.

I read the clock as I entered my room. 4:30. Great, I'd lost thirty minutes. I quickly got changed, but let the tie hang loose and undone. I put the wig on a wig stand and let the ponytail down. I have to admit, it did look great like that.

After admiring it like that for a few minutes, I decided to get the dry cleaner and straighten it out.

The wig would go way past my butt and be a major attention getter. I brushed it out carefully to avoid ripping a snag out, and began to dry clean it with the steam that made it surprisingly silky soft and straight.

I combed some hair from the front-side part to cover up where a face would be. I took some scissors from my dresser and gave the 'face' a hair frame and I gave it bangs that curled outward, but slanted down.

I'm so glad that my old high school had a club for stage makeup and hair now, otherwise that could've been a disaster. A horrible $150 disaster.

Pleased with it, I slid it on over my real hair and grabbed my messenger back. 6:00. I ran into the kitchen and drank two glasses of milk and one half glass of water. Later, I knew I was going to pay for that.

I quickly brushed my teeth and flossed and whatever, and I dashed out the door, almost forgetting my phone. I saw a lot of littler kids, probably Kindergarten-3rd grade. And lucky me, they were all headed to my bus stop. Time for judging.

I could hear a few kids snicker, but there were just as many who 'ooh'ed and 'ahh'ed. I could hear a few of the younger girls comment on my hair, thinking it was real. The boys thought it was hilarious. Or at least some of them.

I felt a tug on my skirt, and there was a boy, really no higher than my hip. “Hi,” he said timidly. I glanced down, kind of huffy because of the morning's events. “Hey,” I answered bluntly, closing my eyes, and feeling the weight of three false eyelashes.

He remained silent. “Sorry,” I whispered. “It's just not my day.” I looked down at him, hoping for a glance at me. He was missing a front tooth and he had big, round ninety's glasses. “You're going to WAFA, aren't you?” “Wah-fa?” I said confused.

“Windover Academy for the Arts?” “Yeah.”

We stood in silence for a minute or two still waiting for the bus. “Cara Parr,” I stated. “Ash Simons.” In my head the only thing that really clicked was: Ash = Ash Ketchum. And to me, that was cool.

“This is going to make me look...” I paused noticing my appearance already. “Weirder, but your name reminds me of Pokémon!” I giggled. I liked this kid already. He looked down and sighed. “That's what a lot of kids say.”

“Oh!” I immediately took it back, feeling bad, but I was determined to fix it. “I like your name! I think it's cool!”

He slung his backpack around and unzipped it. He unveiled a hat. Ash Ketchum's hat from season one! He slapped it on his head and slung his backpack back on his back.

“I think it's cool too. I can't wait for Halloween: I'm going to be Ash, and my mom is going to dress up my baby sister as Pikachu!” I smiled wider. “Sounds fun! I don't know what I'm going to do...”

The bus's blaring white headlights turned around the corner and melted out everyone's eyes. It stopped, released air, and the doors swung open. I let them all run ahead, I didn't have anyone to sit next to anyway: even Ash was pulled away by a friend.

From an inside pocket, I drew out green headphones and reached into the pocket to hit play.

'All the other kids

With the pumped up kicks,

You better run, better run,

Better outrun my gun...'

I slid into a seat, propping my platformed shoes up on it. I couldn't help but to lip-sync along. Ash and his friend were looking at me from the seat across from me and I pulled out a headphone. “Yeah?”

Ash made a funny poker face and blurted out, “He thinks you're pretty!” And then he sat back in his seat, with a believable poker face. “I do not!” I smiled. “You're pretty too!” I said back. The bus lurched forward and began its trek to the next stop.

I'm glad that it didn't take too long for the next stop. A group of kids walked on, all probably popular. I watched them all take their seats. A blonde boy sat next to a brunette boy, who both had long hair that they could flip, but groups of hair ended in spikes, not like Beiber flippy. More like an anime boy haircut.

Two girls sat next to each other, dirty blonde, bleach blonde, and a normal light blonde. Predictable. They wore revealing clothing – I wont call it slutty clothing, being slutty has nothing related to clothes, sluts just start shit in relationships that aren't theirs – and it's just common sense to know that they had they're phones and were texting all over shit.

Lastly, a boy walked on alone, and I could see why the pops wouldn't associate with him. He seemed like he was someone like me. He had more Beiber like flippy hair, and it was a dark, dark brown. Way darker than Beiber's. He was wearing slim jeans (NOT SKINNY, GET OVER IT.) and a black t-shirt with something on it I couldn't quite see yet.

He bit his lower lip as he received the death glare from the girls. The boys shrugged as he walked by, as if apologizing for the girls. He slightly hung his head, and I just prayed that he would like me enough to sit by him: I wouldn't let him go on in this misery.

I shoved the messenger bag over so I had more than enough room for him to sit. I stood up quickly – got a minor head rush – and I dashed over to him, and apparently my pink hair had been concealed behind the seats. I could hear the girls laugh at me. I sucked in my lips. Sometimes the ridiculing hurt.

I still had one headphone dangling and slung an arm around his should and grabbed his arm with my left. “You can sit with me,” I whispered in his ear. I pushed over as far as I could, so my face was practically pressed against the window. There was no way that Beiber would want to associate with me. I almost cried, but I couldn't think of why.

I felt a soft tap on my shoulder, and I turned to look at him. “Thank you,” he mouthed. I nodded. I was about to plug in my other headphone, when I heard them.

“Where's that pink-haired chick?”

“The pink haired chick is over there!” Said another, probably popular, boy I hadn't noticed walk in. He was a red head. I could see his thumb over the seat in front of mine. The girls waited for the bus to stop at a red light before coming back to me. “What do you want?” The boy hissed.

The leader of the pack rolled her eyes. She had heavy black eyeliner, bangs like the one I cut into the wig this morning, but her hair was drawn into a high ponytail. She was wearing a V-neck without a tank top, and her (most likely) B to C cup boobs were begging to bust out. The cotton candy pink shirt was tucked into a short white skirt. I was right, she's not a slut. She's probably a whore. Or a skank.

Her manicured nails pulled me up by my blazer. “Wig, honey? Are you a wittle cancer patient?” I looked away. It was happening all over. I loved Brentwood Creative and Expressive, but there were some real...Mean girls. And they loved me to death, now didn't they.

“What the hell happened to you?” She said, looking me over. “W-What do you mean?” I said, biting my lip. “Oh, sorry...You probably missed it. God made me pretty, what the hell happened to you?”

I turned around to sit down again, but she pulled on my sleeve signaling she was not done. “Are you going to WAFA?” I nodded, but it was barely noticeable. She put her finger to her lip. “Geez, they have low standards now, I thought they only let pretty people in...Oh, you have something ugly there on your neck.” I brought my hand to my neck, actually worried about what I looked like for once.

“Sorry, just your head!” Her mouth curled into a smirk. “Are those tears? Hm, I don't know what your problem is, but I bet it's really hard to pronounce.” I looked into her cold blue eyes for the first time. The light blonde girl and the dirty blonde girl stood behind her. “What are you even supposed to be?” The light blonde said.

“Some cartoon idiot or whatever, they have festivals for them all the time downtown,” The dirty blonde said. The bleach blonde called her friends over.

“Girls,” she said, looking me over again. “This sore thumb is gonna be hard to miss, I think I just found my new subject to torment.” She flicked my chin up with a finger. “Earth is full. Go home, freak, nobody wants you here.”

I looked down, trying to avoid her icy stare. “Nobody wants you here, nobody likes you here, nobody cares about you here, and nobody cares if your Richard Harson's step-daughter. Just grab a rope and kill yourself.”

She pushed me back into my seat. I stumble-fell back into it, and faced the window. I really did not want anyone to look at me right now. Even in Brentwood, all the others would do is make snide comments on my hair, not tell me to kill myself because no one likes me.

So I let myself cry. I mean my tears aren't that big of a deal, I barely make any noise either. But I do slump over, and cup my face in my hands. That's enough for anyone to know what you're doing.

I felt a circular motion on my back and a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?” I heard a quiet voice whisper. I shook my head still in my hands. The boy pulled me up and turned me toward him. “Terrance Wentworth, pianist, and a vocalist. Sort of; I'm a work in progress.”

I smiled, but it faded in half a second. He leaned down and unzipped his backpack. “Here,” he whispered again, handing me a tissue. “Your mascara's running a little.” He pulled out what looked like an iTouch and handed that to me too. “It's a little scratched on the back, but it works as a mirror just fine.”

“Thanks,” I replied, but it was basically inaudible. I cleaned up the gray streaks and handed him back his iPod. I stuck the tissue in my messenger bag and sat back, closing my eyes. “Thanks,” I finally got out.

“The girl who was being mean, her name's Tamara, but she goes by Tara. The light blonde is Lindsey, and the other one is Lillian.” He paused, thinking for additional information. “They're the school's most popular girls, but also the biggest bitches you will ever meet. I promise,”

“Heh,” I pushed down my skirt, and relaxed. “Cara Parr. I'm an otaku, and I am curious to know what's on your shirt,”

He laughed a little. “It was a gift from a friend for my birthday, it says 'Hi, I'm a Mac.'” I smiled. “We had this on going thing about Mac and PC and...Yeah, you probably think I'm lame, right?”

I rolled my eyes with a side smile. “You're normal to me, Terrance.”

♫ ♪ ♫ ♪

We chatted all the way to school. It was a nice difference from my morning. “Hey, you're new right?” I nodded. “You have to go to the front office for everything. You shouldn't be going to any classes today, today you're getting a tour of the school. Can I see you're schedule?”

“Sure!” I pulled it out of my bag and handed it to him, hoping we had one class together. It would be a blessing. “We have seventh period, lunch, third, and fifth. Oh, and homeroom too,”

“Good!” I exclaimed loud enough for both of us to hear. “I'm excited. You're really nice!” He rubbed the back of his head. “Thanks, I don't hear it too often.” I shrugged, slightly dumbstruck. “Why not?”

“This school is a K-12th school, once your labeled, that's where you'll probably be staying for the rest of your school career. So you pretty much keep the same friend group, unless one of them moves away or transfers or something,”

“Oh. Well, I'm sure I'm gonna rise to the! Bottom.” I dead-panned the last word for emphasis. “Here, give me your number, I'll text you during class to see how you're day is going.”

“Okay,” I tried to keep a poker face as I handed him my Rumor 2. Don't laugh, better than nothing! At least it's not a dinosaur! I could barely contain my excitement as he handed it back.

“What's your number, Cara?” Terrance asked as he handed me his iTouch. I gave him a confused look. “Free texting app: mom loves it.” I laughed. “Cute.” I quickly put in as much information as I could. “I'll be back to fill in more on the ride home!” I giggled as the bus began to pull up to the school.

“Wait!” He exclaimed as everyone rose to get off. “Can I have a picture of you so you can remember your first day?”

“Ha ha, sure! Why not?” I said, smiling widely as he took the picture. I grabbed my phone and slung my arm around his shoulder. “Stupid face!” I called as I took a picture. I glanced at it. It was sheer gold. “'Kay, now smile!” Both turned out pretty good. And I was at least glad I met Terrance this terrible morning.

But the worst was yet to come. Now I have to take an actual TOUR. Cool.