Cornchip 1 Shot
The shrill sound of her father's whistle brought the sleeping girl back to reality. Her eyes flew open and she sat up straight in bed.
"Rise and shine, Theresa!" Lieutenant LeMaise rapped on her door. He didn't dare come in; now that his daughter was in her teens, he had finally started to respect her privacy. But he wasn't above waking her up in the morning—especially since today was her first day of high school.
"I'm up, Daddy," Theresa—once known as Cornchip Girl—called back, scrambling out of bed with a wide grin splitting her face. She had been looking forward to this day for four years; and now that it was finally here, she could hardly believe it.
She dashed into her en suite bathroom, across the bedroom that was as neat and orderly as it had been when her father had still made his weekly inspections. Theresa was a creature of habit, and keeping her things organized was just another routine for her.
Flicking on the light in the bathroom, she stopped in front of the mirror, checking out her reflection. Not a blemish in sight, not an uneven or dry part of her skin (though her cheeks were flushed pink with excitement). Her dark brown pixie-cut was a mess, but that was easily remedied. At fourteen, she was small for her age; she stood at five-foot-one and remained thin but relatively muscular due to the aerobics classes she was now taking with her best friend Lucille. Satisfied with her complexion, she tore off her clothes and jumped into the shower.
When she was clean, Theresa dried herself and quickly got dressed, pulling on a pair of dressy black jeans and a baby blue blouse. She towel-dried her hair, then combed it flat, parting it on the right and letting the ends flay out beneath her ears. She swiped the towel across the mirror to get rid of the fog and stole another quick glance at herself; she hesitated, and then opened a drawer, pulling out a seldom-used container of lip-gloss. Dabbing it on her lips, Theresa gave her mouth a smack and grinned at her reflection.
"High school at last," she murmured, and dashed downstairs for breakfast.
Her father was waiting for her at the dining table. There was a plate of fresh scrambled eggs on the table before him, he had the morning paper stretched out in front of his face and a cup of black coffee in his hand; the perfect picture of the typical American father.
Truth be told, Lieutenant Luke S. LeMaise was anything but the typical American father; for one thing, he was single. Penelope LeMaise had died when Theresa was only three, leaving her husband alone with a young son (Jacob, who had been ten at the time) and an even younger daughter. Luke had been a good father, if an unconventional one; adhering to his naval background, he had pulled a Von Trapp and taken to teaching his children a secret language of whistle calls. Jacob had rejected the idea, but Theresa had loved it. She responded readily to his whistling and even began whistling back. As she had gotten older, the novelty had worn off for both her and Luke, and the whistle-blowing had been reduced to short bursts when the Lieutenant wanted to call her in from another room.
Theresa sat down at the table and gave her father a quick peck on the cheek. He smiled at her. "You look lovely, sailor," he said.
"Thanks, Daddy," she smiled back.
The housekeeper, Daria, who had once been Theresa's nanny, slid a plate of eggs in front of her. Theresa grinned. "Thanks, Daria," she said happily, shoving a spoonful of the stuff into her mouth—in the politest way possible, of course.
"Well, well, somebody's hungry," Daria remarked, raising an eyebrow. "It's almost as if you're, I don't know… starting high school today, or something."
Theresa swallowed. "Was I that obvious?" she laughed.
"Like a lighthouse in the middle of the night," Luke LeMaise said dryly from behind his paper. Theresa could hear the smile in his voice.
She laughed again and finished her eggs as quickly as she could. Giving a kiss to Daria and another to her father, she waved goodbye and stepped out the door with a bag slung over her shoulder.
"Wish me luck," she said.
"Luck," Daria replied.
"Have a good day, Theresa," Luke called, putting the paper down and waving as his daughter scampered out the door.
The school was crowded—Theresa squeezed through the thick mass of students, most of them towering above her, until she finally reached the locker she had been assigned yesterday as part of the 1-hour introduction. She opened it, placing the lunch she had packed the night before neatly at the bottom. She shut the locker without further ado; she expected that she would have to organize the single shelf with her new textbooks by the end of the day.
She checked her wristwatch, an old military-grade digital that her father had given her when she was six. According to it, there were ten minutes left until homeroom. And only one minute and twenty-six seconds until…
"Corny!"
Theresa spun around to see a tall blonde boy approaching her. He was rather muscular and a full head and shoulders taller than her. He was wearing brown hiking boots, faded jeans, and a khaki army vest over a simple white t-shirt. His hair was still close-cropped, and he still wore those clunky, blue-rimmed glasses. It was the glasses, and the big goofy grin he wore, that gave him away more than anything.
"Gus!"
Theresa's laugh was almost choked out of her as her old friend caught her in a great big bear hug. Gus Griswald, once the smallest scaredy-cat Third Street Elementary had ever seen, had definitely hit his growth spurt.
As he set her down, Theresa caught her breath and gave him a mock stern look. "You're early," she said. "Is your watch off?"
"Nah", he chuckled, "I saw you from down the hall." He tapped the rim of his glasses and Theresa laughed again.
"I can't believe we're in the same school again," she said. "It feels like forever since you left Third Street."
"Yeah," Gus' voice cracked a little, and he coughed, attempting to deepen it. "Yeah," he repeated. "And look at you! You… haven't grown since fourth grade, have you?"
She giggled. "Shut up," she swatted his arm playfully. "I'm petite. It's cute."
"Whatever you say, Corny," he grinned.
She flinched and looked around to make sure nobody had heard. "Um, Theresa," she corrected him in a low voice.
His face fell a little. "Are you serious?"
"Well," Theresa was surprised to find herself feeling defensive, "I couldn't go into Middle School with a name like Cornchip Girl, could I?"
"I guess…" his brow furrowed, "wait, Middle School? I was calling you Corny just a few months ago—how come you're only correcting me now?"
"We-ell, that was different. We were at Kelso's," Theresa shrugged. "I just… well, I'm not a kid anymore, Gus. It was bad enough when people still called me Cornchip in Middle School—I'm sick of being referred to as a snack."
Gus sighed, "Ok. Whatever you want."
Theresa felt bad. No matter that she was trying to distance herself from her reputation as Cornchip Girl, she didn't really mind when Gus called her by her old nickname. At least he said it with affection—everybody else simply hadn't bothered to learn her real name.
"Hey," she nudged him. "This only applies at school, 'kay? As soon as the final bell rings, you can call me Corny all you like."
He grinned. "I knew you couldn't resist," he leaned an arm against her locker. "You want me to show you around later?"
"Sure," she replied, even though she had already gotten a tour the day before. It was worth it to spend some more time with him; since Gus had left Third Street, they had been seeing each other less and less. They had met up at Kelso's every other day for the first couple of years, but as soon as Gus hit ninth grade, their meetings had been reduced to once every week or two. And with their fathers being the men-of-action that they were, the Griswald and LeMaise households were constantly on the move during the winter, spring, and summer vacations. As the years had gone by, they had grown apart, but Theresa still wanted them to stay close; after all, Gus was her oldest friend.
Gus checked his watch—similar to hers but a completely different make. "First bell for homeroom should ring right abo-o-out… now!"
The trill of the bell overlapped with his final word.
"Niiice," Theresa grinned, impressed.
"So I'll meet you back here at lunch to show you around?" Gus said, backing into the fast-moving crowd.
"See you then," Theresa replied.
"Oh, almost forgot," he stepped out of the current of bodies and pressed a small box into the palm of her hand.
"By the way," he said as he slipped back into the mob, "your watch is eighteen seconds off!"
"Wha—?" Theresa checked her watch—he was right. She laughed and made a mental note to resynchronise at lunch. She wrapped her fingers tightly around the box Gus had given her and scuttled through the throngs of kids to her homeroom class a little further down the hallway.
As she stepped into the room and found herself a seat—the same one she had taken yesterday at the introduction—she opened her fist and inspected her gift. The box was the same colour as her shirt, with a thin ribbon wrapped around it. Theresa couldn't help a small flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach as she undid the ribbon and opened the box.
A pair of mother-of-pearl earrings sat atop the cotton cushion. Theresa gasped and picked one of them up; it was flat, and curved into the shape of—what else?—a corn chip. She laughed and put them on as the rest of the class filed into the room.
There was a note at the bottom of the box; beaming despite herself, Theresa pulled it out and read it:
Welcome to Fifth Street High, Cornchip Girl!