The minute Gwen walked into Dillon High she knew her father lost his mind. Though the middle of fall, everyone still wore bright colors, and oh God, football jerseys. Two fingers gripped her Dolce & Gabbana oversized sunglasses and pushed them back over her perfectly highlighted auburn waves. Clearly she missed some fashion memo about small towns in Texas because only she wore more than an ounce of black. Her black leggings and shirt dress along with black ballet flats and a thick turquoise belt didn't seem to accurately blend with all of the brightly clothed teens of Dillon High. Her senior year and she had to graduate from this ----hole? She bet they didn't even offer AP Calculus let alone AP Studio Art. Gwen toyed with her turquoise beads absently as she tried to ignore the stares from the students in the hall. Unfortunately for her, this day would not get easier and she wouldn't go unnoticed her first day at Dillon High. One 'dashing' football player stepped in her way and continued to block it as she tried to step around him.
"Hey hey hey, where you goin'? The Smash makes it his job to know all the lovely ladies at Dillon High and I certainly haven't see your fine..." Luckily for Gwen a girl with pretty hair and a flowered shirt slapped her hand over "Smash"'s mouth before he could say anymore. The girl seemed sympathetic enough towards Gwen's plight; obviously this happened to quite a few girls, not just herself. Her savior from Smash's 'attentiveness' proceeded to step around Smash and give him a no-nonsense look to which he responded by backing away and throwing his hands up in the air defensively. Perhaps this 'Smash' had a vulnerability with this girl, a note Gwen made sure to take. Things could go either way at Dillon High; she played the rebel and popular chick before so if things went badly her first day at Dillon High her decision would be made for her.
"Hey look baby you know I was just welcoming the new girl..." A stony glare once again caused him to shut his mouth, and the girl, who Gwen began to suspect held the official title of Smash's Girl, slid an arm through his. Gwen stared at them for another few seconds, and then simply walked past them, heading for her locker. She couldn't tell whether she just felt shocked or if she wanted to give them the cold shoulder. Pretty sure that they didn't have a clue what her motive was, Gwen just continued down the halls and hoped she would make it to her locker without any more incidents. She needed a game plan for handling a high school like this. All the other schools she figured out pretty easily. Rebel in Detroit, New York, Seattle. Popular in Boston, Philly, LA. She still received e-mails from everywhere but her hometown of Baltimore, which she didn't remember much of anyways. Whether she went towards or against the grain the fact existed that Gwen Phillips knew how to make friends and keep them for life.
Only here it almost seemed like she didn't have a choice. Usually Gwen would take this school as a rebel. She knew that fashion changed down here but she expected to be thought of as trendy or stuck up, not... anti-social. But every suburban school near a city that she attended had two clear groups- popular mainstream and popular anti-mainstream. Only here did she find they all fell into the popular mainstream category. If she decided to go the popular anti-mainstream route only she would belong to that group. Gwen felt completely annoyed that Dillon Texas messed up her pattern. All her preppy clothes from Boston didn't fit, besides the fact they were five seasons old. Her trendy Los Angeles clothes would never fly here and her clothes from Philly fell into the relaxed category more than the fashionable one. Looked like she would get a whole new wardrobe that weekend.
Finally, finally Gwen reached her locker, able to avoid the rest of the football players in the hallway. Opening her hand, Gwen stared at the numbers written in black eyeliner: 34-2-20. Her eyes stared at the palm of her left hand as she twisted the knob. Come on, come on... the locker popped open with a click as she lifted her finger under the plastic mechanism. With just a hint of pressure from her finger she swings the vented metal door open to reveal... nothing. No neon paint marks, no band stickers, no crumpled pictures, nothing. Just a pristine, empty locker. Taking her oversized bag off her shoulder, Gwen digs into it for her lunch packed in a clear plastic container filled with organic food. She bet the nearest organic shop was in San Antonio or something. Then a bell out of a cheesy 80s teen flick like The Breakfast Club rang and the other students started to move to class. Gwen took her precious time. After all, as the new girl she planned on using that for an excuse why she would waltz in late to economics, looking all frazzled and rushed. That gag worked every time, so Gwen just reached into the bottom of her bag and pulled out her precious little shoebox of photographs and magnets. With Carrie in Detroit, a picture taken on the last day of school in their 'really cool' baggy black pants and striped tank tops making an 'I'm too cool for school' pose. She tagged that up with a magnet. Next the smiles of her and Stephanie and Reed, all in brightly colored bathing suits on the Cape that summer, tanned and freckled and burned, respectively. She tagged that one up under the first picture, so drastically different from the first. About to tag up the bohemian clothed gang from New York sitting in a booth at the Hard Rock Cafe, a teacher with long blond hair seemed to have spotted her and walked towards her with a purpose. Uh oh, busted.
"Honey are you deaf or are you just blatantly ignoring this school's rules on getting to class on time?" The woman stood with her arms crossed over her chest and a no non-sense look formed on her face. She would have to come up with something really good, like a sob story or something to cover her butt or she would really get off to a bad start here at Dillon High. With a quick, shocked, doe eyed expression, Gwen dropped her lower lip into a surprised, non-offensive position and made sure her eyes turned wide and innocent. Gwen attended an arts school in New York. She knew she could pull the wool over the eyes of some simple southern teacher. She clutched the precious shoebox to her chest, making clear effort to keep the box safe.
"I'm sorry I'm new here... I just couldn't bear getting through the school day without putting up the pictures of my friends from home..." she said, her voice trailing off with emotion. She tried to give the teacher enough emotion to actually get off the hook and the teacher seemed to buy it. Teachers had the same mentality everywhere. They remained predictable, even in this crazy little town called Dillon. She wondered if they gossiped about her new house being built as if the most exciting thing other than football sat down the street in the form of a southwestern style mansion. Dad promised this house would come to symbolize home. Gwen doubted that one; if she could she would get them back to LA in a month or less.
"Let me see your schedule while you put the rest of you pictures up. I'll show you the way to class." Great, now she had the teacher babysitting her. What next, getting roped into baking pies for the county fair? She dug out the envelope with her schedule inside to hand it to the teacher; Gwen told her father to try and make it just like her senior schedule in LA. One glance this morning told her she had economics first, and economics hadn't been anywhere on her schedule back in LA. Gwen couldn't bring herself to look at the rest of the schedule to see if she could continue with AP Studio art. Pulling the last three pictures from her shoebox, Gwen hung them neatly on the board. Relaxed and chilling in front of the Liberty Bell in Philly with Jett and Sarah, at a rock concert in Seattle with Grayson and Liam, and most recently shopping in LA with Lydia, Veronica, and Lauren. Her life so far, leaving every place she went to. She had hoped that they would remain in LA after she started her second year there, but as usual her father had other plans.
"Economics with Welley, should be this way," the teacher said, pointing. "I'm Mrs. Taylor, the school guidance counselor by the way. You're... Gwendolyn Phillips. Gwen then?" Mrs. Taylor held the paper back out to her. Gwen nodded with a slight smile of approval to let her know the answer to her question, but said nothing in return. The guidance counselor gave her a funny look and started down the hall. Gwen paused, unsure of whether she should follow, and decided to anyways. After walking past decorated bulletin boards that she found only in middle schools at her previous home and big poster projects, they stopped in front of the uniform blue doorways to what Gwen assumed contained Economics 101. What did her father think, that she'd take over his stupid 'empire' someday?
"Um, thanks for your help," Gwen said, and pressed down on the gold handle. She needed luck though if she would ever survive Dillon High.