Hey, guys! Well, it's been ages since I've written anything for fanfiction (or anything in general aside from school papers). I'm sure you've all heard the news by now, but Cause of Death is in fact ending. ): But just because the game is ending doesn't mean the fanfictions have to! I still plan on writing CoD fanfiction, because I love the characters so much.
I've been wanting to write about the topic of bullying for a while, and I've actually had this half-finished story in my drafts for ages-I just haven't gotten around to editing and posting it. The story is set when Mal and Nat were in high school. For purposes of this fic, they go to the same high school; Mal is a junior, and Nat is a freshman. The first part of this story does start out kind of sad, as I center Nat as the one getting bullied. (I picked her because based off of what the game revealed about her high school days, she wasn't exactly the most popular girl.) Hopefully you'll understand Mal's portrayal (though you won't see much of him until at least the next chapter). I'll talk more about that as it comes. (:
On another note, I probably won't be continuing Beginning Again unless people really want me to. I'm just kind of run dry of ideas for it, and whenever I sit down to write it, I end up coming up blank. If multiple people really want it finished, I will do my best; but otherwise, I'm just going to leave it incomplete. I have plenty of other ideas for different fics. (:
Anyways, I apologize for the long author's note. Also, not every chapter will be this long-there just wasn't a good place to break it, and I wanted her entire first day to be in one chapter.
Enjoy, and please let me know what you think! (:
I wake up with a start as the alarm on my phone goes off. I groan and roll lazily over onto my back. Rubbing my eyes, I reach over and turn the alarm off. It's only six-thirty, but the early-morning September sunlight already filters in through the shades of my closed windows.
Summer is over, and today is my first day of high school.
I suddenly feel a flurry of nervous butterflies in my stomach. I don't know why I'm so intimidated by the day. It's just a different building with new teachers—high school can't be much different than middle school... Right?
I push the nerves down as I climb out of bed and head for the bathroom. I take a quick shower and start on my mascara as I let my hair air dry, listening to music on my phone as I get ready.
Suddenly, there is a knock on my door. "Natara, sweetie?" my mother calls as she opens the door a crack. "Oh, good, you're up. Breakfast is almost ready."
"Okay! Thanks, mom," I say with a smile as I twist the mascara wand back into the tube. She smiles back and quickly closes the door, leaving me alone to decide what to wear. I try on a few different things before I settle on a lacy white top and light blue jeans. Might as well keep it simple for the first day—I don't want to stick out too much.
"Natara!" my mother suddenly calls from downstairs. "Breakfast is ready!"
"Coming!" I call back as I pull the shirt on over my head. I quickly adjust it and throw a final glance at the mirror before slinging my backpack over my shoulder, grabbing my clarinet, and heading downstairs.
"Good morning," my mother greets with a smile, setting a steaming plate of eggs and sausage at my seat at the table. My one-year-old sister, Neha, is in a highchair across from me, already eating small, chopped up pieces of egg and sausage.
"Morning," I say, dropping my bag on the chair next to me. "Hey there, Neha," I add in that certain weird voice most people adapt when speaking to little children. Neha just giggles in response.
I eat my eggs and sausage as my mother talks to me. "Are you excited?" she asks.
"Sort of," I say, swallowing another bite of egg. "Nervous, too."
"Nothing to be nervous about," she reassures me. "You're a bright young lady, you'll do just fine!"
I smile. "Thanks, mom." I swallow my last bite of sausage and take my plate to the sink, quickly rinsing it before downing a glass of milk.
"Almost ready?" she asks.
I nod. "Yep, let's go."
Twenty minutes later, my mom pulls her car into a fifteen-minute parking spot in front of the local high school. The nervous butterflies flutter in my stomach again, but I do my best to ignore them as I grab my bag and open the car door.
"Have a good day!" my mother calls as I close the door. I watch as she drives away, then proceed to walk up to the large front doors of the school. I take a deep breath, then push them open.
I am immediately greeted by a large, bustling hallway. People mill around everywhere; some are talking and laughing, while others look about as lost as me. I follow the crowd into the gym, where we are supposed to obtain our schedules and locker assignments. Upon entering the gym, I notice that there are four tables set up, each with a large, handwritten sign taped to the wall above them. I make my way through the crowd to the line in front of the sign that reads 'freshmen'.
As I reach the front of the line, the already-tired-looking lady behind the table prompts me for my name.
"Natara Mansingh," I say clearly. She shuffles through several bins of folders until she comes upon the tab labeled with an 'M'. A few moments later, she pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to me.
"Here's your schedule," she says as I accept the paper. "If you have any problems with it, check into your homeroom for attendance, and then stop by the office. Your locker number and combination are on the top, too." I nod, thank her, and am about to turn away when she stops me. "And since you're a freshman, here is a map of the building and a few other materials you might need."
I accept the other papers, and flash her a smile. "Okay, thank you," I say. She just nods as she turns to the next person.
I make my way out of the gym—and out of everyone's way—before looking at my schedule. I can tell right away that something's not right.
Homeroom 9C – Paulson, Jacob (Room 122A)
1. Concert Choir – Sorenson, Leah (Choir Room A)
2. Honors English 9 – Walker, Ryan (Room 108A)
3. Honors U.S. Government – Ives, Peter (Room 201B)
B-Lunch (Cafeteria A)
4. Honors Geometry – Banks, Timothy (Room 130A)
5. Concert Band – Andrews, Sullivan (Music Room A)
6. AP Physics – Roberts, Sara (Room 107B)
7. Physical Education – Woods, Hannah (Gym A)
I look up from my schedule, confused.
Choir? I never took that. And AP Physics? That's a junior-level class; I can't even take that yet. I signed up for Honors Physical Science. What the heck?
I sigh and walk off to find my locker. It's on the first floor, number 391. I'd been to it once at freshman orientation, but I don't remember which one it is. As I'm looking around for my locker, not paying much attention, I smack right into someone I don't know, nearly knocking us both over. It's a tall girl who looks older than me; I'm guessing she's a junior or senior.
"Hey!" she exclaims, catching herself before she trips over me. "Watch where you're going, freshie!" She scowls at me and brushes past before I have time to apologize.
"Sorry," I call after her anyways.
Freshmen problems.
Dismissing it, I finally find my locker. I twist the dial to input the combination, and on the third try, am able to pull the door open. My locker shelves, magnetic mirror, and whiteboard are already set up from freshmen orientation a couple weeks ago; all I have to do now is stack my binders and notebooks. I quickly do so and finish just as the ten minute warning bell rings. I grab a notebook and my pencil pouch before closing my locker and heading off, schedule in-hand, in search of my homeroom.
I find it with four minutes to spare. I look around for someone to sit by, when I recognize two familiar faces. Janelle and Rebecca, two of my friends from middle school, sit near the back, talking and laughing with each other. As I start to cross the room to walk up to them, I notice how different they look. They both look taller, for one, but it's more than that. As I get closer, I notice that their extremely tight Hollister t-shirts hug their small frames, their jeans are adorned with rhinestones, and it appears that they each have roughly five pounds of make-up on.
"Hey, guys," I greet with a friendly smile, setting my stuff down at a desk in front of Janelle. They both glance up at my greeting, but say nothing, and continue talking. I briefly wonder if they don't remember me, but that would be silly; we were best friends last year. Plus, braces don't make me look that different.
"How were your summers?" I try again. They look over at me, and Rebecca looks me up and down, taking in the white top and blue jeans from Target and Kohls, respectively. My mom had offered to take me to designer stores before, but even though I knew we could afford it, I've never been big on dressing like it.
"Nice outfit," she smirks before she turns back to Janelle. They exchange a look and laugh lightly but don't acknowledge me further. I bite my lip and turn around, resolving to play with the zipper of my pencil pouch until I hear the tardy bell ring.
"Alright, class," a booming male voice calls from the front of the room. "My name is Mr. Paulson, and I will be your homeroom advisor for both semesters of this year. I'm going to call off attendance now, so if you could all please be quiet, we can move on to other things."
The class quiets down as Mr. Paulson begins to call off names alphabetically by last name. When he gets to my name, he struggles to pronounce both my first and last name.
"Natara Mansingh," I correct timidly. A few people snicker, and I look down, slightly embarrassed.
Who names their kid "Natara," anyways? Oh, right—my parents.
"Thank you," he says. "Sorry for the mis-pronunciation."
"It's fine," I dismiss, glancing up at him. I'm not gonna lie; I'm pretty used to that happening.
He continues until everyone has been called.
"Now I understand that some of you have schedules to fix, but I have forms for you and your parents to sign that I legally must give out. Raise your hand if you need to go to the office for scheduling reasons."
I raise my hand and glance around; about a third of the class also has their hands raised, including Janelle and Rebecca.
Man, they must have really screwed up the schedules this year.
"You may go after you receive these papers, then," he dismisses. He hands a stack to the front of each row with instructions to take one and pass them back. I take one and pass the rest back to Janelle, who snatches them out of my hand, takes one, and drops the rest carelessly onto the desk of the boy behind her. I stand and grab my stuff, about to leave, when Janelle and Rebecca shove past me, nearly causing me to lose my balance. I quickly catch myself and scowl as they bounce off, once again giggling loudly.
"Girls," Mr. Paulson says sternly, "Leave quietly."
"Oops, sorry!" Janelle exclaims in a fake-sounding voice, flipping her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.
I quietly follow the crowd to the front office, where a surprisingly-full room of students impatiently wait. Some sit down in the padded office chairs, but most lean against a wall and chat with friends. I stand in line at the office desk, silently observing people as I wait for those in front of me to finish. When I finally get to the front of the line, the frazzled lady asks me what's wrong with my schedule.
"I somehow got Concert Choir instead of Honors Spanish One," I say, "and AP Physics instead of Honors Physical Science."
The woman sighs and hands me a half-sheet of paper. "Write your name, grade, and what classes need to be switched for what hours. Then add it to the stack."
I nod, taking the paper. "May I just go to the classes I signed up for, then?" I ask.
"It'll take us the whole day to change all of these, so I'm afraid you'll have to go to what's on your schedule," she states tiredly. "Sorry."
Wait, I have to go to Choir? Great.
"Oh, uh, okay," I stammer. "Thanks." I walk away from the desk and press the paper to a wall as I quickly fill it out, finishing just as the dismissal bell rings. I set it on the already-huge stack of class requests, then reluctantly head to Choir Room A.
I'm immediately greeted by an overly-energetic lady, seemingly in her mid-forties. "Hello!" she greets cheerfully. "Welcome to Concert Choir!"
"I'm, uh, not actually supposed to be in this class," I confess shyly. "My schedule's wrong. I'm, uh, supposed to have Spanish. I'm not really good at singing."
"Anyone can be good at singing!" she exclaims flamboyantly. "But I understand. Just take a seat for today, please."
"Okay," I murmur submissively. "Thank you." I head to the front of the room to see students already sitting, chatting loudly amongst each other. I take a seat on the edge of one of the rows, hoping to be as invisible as possible. As the tardy bell rings, Mrs. Sorenson scampers to the front of the room.
"Good morning, students, and welcome to Concert Choir!" She perches on the edge of the stage. "For those of you who don't know me, I am Mrs. Sorenson. We're going to start with introductions, then we'll move on to some basic warm-up activities, just to see where you all are. Sound good?" A chorus of voices murmur affirmation. "If everyone could seat yourselves in a circle, we can get started." Everyone immediately obeys, some nearly tripping over themselves to position their chairs by a friend. I notice Rebecca with a group of people I don't know, but other than that, nobody looks familiar.
I slowly climb the couple stairs to the raised platform and timidly find a spot next to a girl who looks to be about my age. Her golden-blonde hair is straight and long, and her green eyes meet mine as I sit down next to her.
"Hi," I offer with a shy smile.
"Hi," she greets back, returning the gesture.
That's probably the first positive interaction I've had all day.
As the last few kids amble on stage and filter into spots, Mrs. Sorenson walks to the center of the circle and begins speaking again.
"Alright, boys and girls!" she calls, gaining everyone's attention. "We're going to start with a basic get-to-know-you exercise. Turn to someone next to you, tell them your name if you don't already know them, and try to find one thing in common. Go!"
I turn to find the guy to my right already talking and laughing with another guy; I assume they knew each other already. I turn to my left in time to see the person on the other side of the blonde girl turn away from her to talk with someone she looked like she knew. We make eye contact, and she smiles again.
"I'm Bethany," she introduces with a friendly handshake.
"I'm Natara," I greet. "It's nice to meet you."
"You too. Are you a freshman?" she asks.
"Yeah," I answer. "I'm not actually supposed to be in this class. I got put in here instead of Spanish."
"Neither am I," she says. "I'm not supposed to be here, either. I took art; I can't sing to save my life."
"Looks like we found our thing in common," I laugh.
"Yeah, guess so," she replies, also laughing. "What other classes do you have?"
I pull my folded schedule out from my pocket and hand it to her. She glances over it.
"We have Honors Geometry the same hour," she tells me.
"Sweet," I smile. At least I might have someone to sit with.
"I wanted to do band," she says next, "But I don't play an instrument, and I didn't have time to learn one. What do you play, anyways?"
"Clarinet," I say. "I've only played a few years, though."
"Cool," she says with a nod. "I like your shirt, by the way."
"Oh, thanks!" I'm about to ask her a question when Mrs. Sorenson speaks up over the dull roar of students' chatter. "Alright, time's up! Turn to the person on your other side that you haven't spoken to yet!"
We both turn away, and I'm now facing the guy again.
"Hi," I greet with a smile. The guy glances at me, looking rather disinterested.
"Hey," he says gruffly with one of those tough-guy nods. Not to be judgmental, but he immediately doesn't strike me as the "choir type."
"I'm Natara," I continue, offering my hand.
"Mal," he says, lightly shaking it.
"I'm, uh, not actually supposed to be in here," I explain. "I took Spanish, not this."
"Oh," was all he said.
"So, um," I stammer, trying to make conversation. "Are you a freshman, too?"
"Ah, fresh-meat," he comments with a smirk, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
I'll take that as a no.
"Nope," he confirms. "I'm a junior."
"Oh, uh, sorry," I mutter, slightly embarrassed.
He shrugs clinically. "Whatever."
What a polite boy he is.
Not.
"So..." I start, trailing off and hoping he sparks some form of conversation. He glances at me expectantly, then looks back down again. We sit in silence.
Just then. Mrs. Sorenson walks over. "Come on, you two! Talk!" she urges. "I know you're capable of talking, Malachi."
Mrs. Sorenson turns away, and Mal rolls his eyes.
"What's your schedule?" he asks, though he still sounds like he couldn't really care less. He keeps eyeing Mrs. Sorenson as if she has eyes in the back of her head that are watching to see if he's actually conversing. I pull my schedule out of my pocket again and hand it to him. He skims it over and smirks again. "Smarty-pants," he comments.
I blink in surprise. "Uh... okay..."
He rolls his eyes before smirking, "I'm just kidding. Loosen up."
Just as I think I'm about to drown in this poor excuse for a conversation, Mrs. Sorenson speaks up.
"All right, everyone, we're going to move on to some basic warm-up exercises," she announces loudly. Group together in sections." Everyone hustles to their sections, but Bethany, a few others, and I stand there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. I quickly scramble to a group of both guys and girls, which turns out to be the tenor section. The rude boy, Mal, joins a group of his friends near me.
Close enough, I guess.
"Okay, let's just start with a do-re-mi scale," Mrs. Sorenson continues once everyone is assembled. She stands behind a piano and keys the notes as everyone sings.
"Do... Re... Mi... Fa..." I sing awkwardly and quietly, hoping that no one can hear me. It's not like I have a terrible voice, but it's not particularly glorious, either. "So... La... Ti... Do..."
I can hear Mal singing from slightly behind me, and I'm surprised to hear that he's actually really good.
"Very good!" she exclaims once we've finished. Now follow my lead, and please enunciate!" She pauses before starting a basic melody on the piano.
"Many mumbling mice are making merry music in the moonlight," she sings loudly and clearly, over-emphasizing the first syllable of every word. "Mighty nice!"
What the hell?
I find the short song weird, but I don't want her to call me out, so I am forced to sing when everyone else does. I follow along with the others, though I sound more like a mumbling mouse than something that's merrily making music. We repeat the wretched line a few more times, run a couple more scales, and are about to start a more complex melody-harmony version of the do-re-mi scale, when the bell finally rings, dismissing me from choir.
Oh, thank God.
I just about run out of the room, relieved that it's over. I briefly flash a smile at Bethany before she turns down an opposite hall. Since I don't need anything else from my locker, I head straight to Honors English.
Upon walking into the classroom, I immediately notice that the teacher is very attractive and barely looks out of high school himself. He greets students as they walk in, and I return a shy smile before hurriedly finding a seat near the front of the classroom. I look up to see Janelle and Rebecca, but I hastily look down again before they can make eye contact and agitate me further. I hear them loudly chatting as they take seats in the back of the room.
As the tardy bell rings, the teacher strides up to the front of the class. "Good morning, everyone," he greets with a friendly grin.
"Good morning!" Janelle and Rebecca spurt with a girlish giggle. I subtly roll my eyes.
"I'm Mr. Walker," he continues after a brief nod at Janelle and Rebecca, "And I will be your Honors English teacher this year. I hope you sat somewhere nice, because the seats you chose today will be where you sit for the rest of the semester."
A few people groan, but the majority of the students squeal in delight and exchange happy glances with their friends. I do neither and quietly look down, avoiding eye contact with people, since I know nobody is looking at me.
"Now," he continues, "Since I'm a new teacher this year and you all are freshmen, I would like to do something to get to know you." He begins to pass out papers to the first person in every row. "I've written up a quick 'about you' paper that I'd like for you guys to fill out. Just leave it on your desk when you finish."
When he gets to my row, I take the papers, say a quick thank you, and pass all but one to the person behind me. I write my name and class hour at the top, then start silently reading the questions while everyone else is still chatting.
Birthday?... October twenty-fourth... Favorite animal?... Horses... Favorite candy?... Milky Way... Favorite book?... "The Scarlet Letter"...
I finish soon enough and resolve to doodle in the margins until everyone else finishes. I eventually get bored and set down my pencil, resorting to examining the white-painted color of my nails. When it seems like the majority of the class has finished, Mr. Walker steps to the front of the room again.
"Now, for the last ten minutes of class," he announces, "I want you to partner up with someone you don't know well, introduce yourselves, and try to find some common ground."
Ugh, again with the find-something-in-common thing?
Though he had said "someone you don't know well," by the amount of chatter and laughter that soon follows, it appears that most people have just turned to a friend. I turn in my seat and look around awkwardly for someone to talk to, but everyone is already partnered up and chatting away.
Oh, great.
I turn to face the front again, and make the mistake of looking up. Mr. Walker notices me by myself and, surprised, says, "Oh, do we have an odd number?" Everyone stops their conversations and look around for the "odd one out," and their eyes eventually fall on me. I shift uncomfortably under their gazes, feeling my cheeks heat up in embarrassment and a lump in my throat begin to form.
"Hey, no big deal!" Mr. Walker dismisses nonchalantly, flashing me a reassuring smile. "I could've sworn I had an even number in this class, but I'll be your partner."
I hate the pity of an admittedly-attractive male, especially in front of the whole class, but I manage a smile back, nonetheless.
He pulls his rolling chair up to my desk and takes a seat. "What's your name?" he asks me, though the room is still quiet. I glance around awkwardly, head down slightly, and don't answer. He promptly takes the hint and says loudly, "All right, everyone, back to your conversations."
It's silent for another split-second before everyone slowly turns back to each other and resumes conversation.
"Natara," I answer once everyone's conversations pick back up.
"It's very nice to meet you," he says, shaking my hand. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I kind of put you on the spot there."
"It's fine," I say with a slight laugh.
"Are you new to the area?" he asks, probably thinking that was why I wasn't talking to anybody, and vice versa.
"No," I answer, looking down again.
Ugh, this is so embarrassing.
"Oh," he says, slightly surprised. "Sorry. Man, I'm on a roll today," he adds with a laugh. I can't help but laugh, too. He looks down towards my desk at the paper I just filled out.
"Ah, The Scarlet Letter," he comments. "I read that as a high school sophomore. If I remember correctly, it was a difficult read."
"It starts off slow," I admit, "But it's one of my favorites."
"Wonderful," he smiles. He takes the paper and skims it.
"Oh, you're a horseback rider" he asks.
"Yeah," I answer with a node and smile.
"Do you have one?" he questions.
I nod again. "Yeah, her name is Shadow."
"Ah," he says with a nod. "My ol' girl Hazel is at my parents' place in the country, but I try to get up for a visit whenever I can."
I don't know what to say back, so I just smile and nod again.
Say something, you idiot!
"How long have you been riding?" he asks, saving me from having to come up with a point of conversation.
"I kind of grew up with it," I answer. "My dad first taught me when I was six or so, and I've enjoyed it ever since."
"You must be a pro, then," he states. I laugh and, to my further embarrassment, blush. "I must've been at least twenty when I started... so, three years ago, I guess."
We exchange further chatter for a few more minutes before the dismissal bell rings. Everyone abruptly stands up, as do Mr. Walker and I.
"Okay, everyone," he nearly-shouts, "Have a good day! You'll get textbooks tomorrow!"
As I pick up my stuff and turn to go, he calls my name, and I turn.
"It was nice to meet you, Natara," he says with a friendly smile. "Have a nice day."
"Thanks," I say shyly. "You too." With that, I turn and hurry out of the classroom, exhaling a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I do not do well with attractive males.
Since we don't have books yet, I don't need anything at my locker, so I scurry off to Government. In class, Mr. Ives introduces himself and goes on an overview of what we'll learn this year. Thankfully there are no stupid get-to-know-you activities, but the rest of the hour goes by painfully slow. I've never had a particular enjoyment of social studies classes, and this appears to be no different.
When the bell finally sounds, I notice how hungry I am; I haven't eaten since breakfast. I drop my stuff off at my locker, then head down to the lunchroom. I pass the girl from choir, Bethany, on the way there, and she asks if I have lunch now.
"Yeah, do you?" I ask hopefully.
"No," she replies. "I had A lunch last hour."
"Oh, okay," I say, suppressing a sigh. "See ya'!" She smiles and walks off towards class.
I wander into the cafeteria alone and get in line behind a group of upperclassmen who are loudly talking about some "frickin' sick" party from the summer. I eventually go through the line and pick a ham sandwich, bag of chips, an apple, and a cookie. I grab a bottle of water, too, and the lady scans my lunch card.
"Thanks," I say as she hands the card back. She smiles in return.
Now the hard part: figuring out where to sit. Or, better-phrased, where I can sit. I glance around and immediately notice cliques. There are a group of loud, peppy girls at a table near the center, whom I take to be cheerleaders or something. They're surrounded by tall, built-looking guys—probably football players or "jocks" in general. There are some people I vaguely recognize from choir, but their table is full.
I suddenly spot my friend Annabelle who was in most of my classes last year. I don't know who the other girls are, but Annabelle and I were pretty good friends, so I figure I can sit there.
"Hey, Annabelle," I greet with a smile as I sit down across from her at an open spot. Annabelle looks up and starts to smile and greet me back, but a pretty blue-eyed girl with long, curled hair sitting next to her cuts her off. I think her name is Katie. I don't really know her, but we were in the same math class last year.
"Ew," Katie scoffs disdainfully. "Why are you sitting here? Annabelle, do you know this loser?" Surprised, I bite my lip and look at Annabelle.
Ouch.
She looks slightly taken aback and fumbles for words. "I, uh, well... She, uh... She was just in some of my classes last year, that's all."
Double ouch.
Katie scoffs again. "Well, we can't be seen sitting with her type," she laughs. "Come on." With that, Katie and the other four girls at the table stand, grab their lunches, and almost-robotically stride off. I think for a moment that Annabelle is going to stay, but I'm wrong; she stands up, grabs her tray, and glances down at me.
"Sorry, Natara," she says quietly before walking away and joining the other girls at another table, clear across the room. Now by myself, I feel that stupid lump in my throat that I get when I'm about to cry. I try to swallow it down with a gulp of water, attempting not to further embarrass myself by being seen crying alone at a lunch table. The boy I recognize as Mal walks by and sees me, but quickly averts his eyes as he hurries past. I abruptly look down in embarrassment.
The next twenty minutes seem to go by painfully slow as I sadly pick at my food, no longer hungry. I see Katie whiz by, and a few seconds later, she walks by again with a plastic fork in her hand.
Seeing my untouched food, she laughs, "What, do you not like eating, either?"
"Of course I like eating," I snap, my hurt momentarily turning to anger as I defiantly take a bite of my cookie and choke as I attempt to swallow. She just laughs and marches off. I glance over to the table she sits down at, and Annabelle meets my gaze. Her own eyes seem sad, for whatever reason, but this time, it's me who looks away first.
Finally, the dismissal bell rings. I quickly stand up, dump most of my food in the trash, and add the tray to the growing stack. I hurry to my locker, grab my stuff, and head off to Geometry, taking several deep breaths to calm down before I enter the classroom.
Bethany walks in and finds a seat next to me, and we exchange friendly grins as the teacher, Mr. Banks, heads to the front of the room. The class goes by annoyingly slow as Mr. Banks writes stuff on the board that I swear I learned in about sixth grade. He gives us a worksheet to go along with the so-called "lecture," and I finish it in about fifteen minutes, before he's even gotten half-way through. I zone the rest of the class out and am having a hard time staying awake by the time the bell finally rings. I immediately hand in the paper with a couple others as almost everyone else shoves theirs into their folders and leaves.
"Wow," Mr. Banks says, clearly impressed. "You guys finished already?" We all nod.
What is this, preschool?
"Impressive, thank you!" We nod again, then leave.
I grab my clarinet from my locker, then hurry off to band. I find the room and join about five or so other people that got there before me. I gingerly set my case down on the floor and immediately stick my reed in my mouth. I haven't played all summer, but I'm guessing nobody else really did, either. I slowly put my instrument together and join the others. I take a seat in the middle of the front row for now. We'll be put into chairs soon enough. I start idly playing a few scales as I wait for the others and the director.
Soon enough, others fill in the remaining seats, and Mr. Sullivan signals for us to stop playing and settle down.
"Welcome to band," he begins in a boisterous tone. "I'm Mr. Sullivan. Most of you probably know how this goes, but for you freshmen, I'll explain." A few of the upperclassmen snicker at this, but he ignores them. "The majority of your grade in this class will be participation, but you'll also be graded on scale memorization and other skill-related things. I know most of you are a little rusty because of the summer, so I'll give you a couple weeks to get back into the swing of things before I have you play for chairs. I'll let you know when the time gets closer, but for now, I'll just have you play music according to your grade. If it's a three-part song, freshmen and sophomores share third, juniors get second, and seniors get first. For four parts, each grade gets the corresponding piece. You'll play in front of me for chairs two weeks from tomorrow, so be practicing!"
He hands out some music and we start some tuning. "Clarinets, play the first note you have at measure thirteen." I have a low C, so I hold down the appropriate keys and play the note. It sounds surprisingly decent, considering I haven't played all summer, but I can tell someone else in our section is off.
Mr. Sullivan narrows his eyes and points to the three of us that have fourth clarinet. "What are your names?" he asks.
"Dylan," a shorter boy says timidly.
"Tess," the girl beside me says more confidently.
"Natara," I say quietly.
He nods. "Dylan, play your first note, please."
Dylan nods and plays what was supposed to be a C, though the only sound that came out was a high-pitched squeaky note. I wince, and the upperclassmen laugh.
Mr. Sullivan looks at the embarrassed boy. "Dylan, what note do you have at measure thirteen?" he asks.
Dylan looks down at his music. "I, uh... a low C."
"Yes," Mr. Sullivan confirms. "So why are you playing a B-flat?" Everyone snickers again, and I have to bite my lip so I don't start laughing, too. It was funny, admittedly, but it's not fun to be laughed at in front of everyone; I would know.
"I, um... I don't know," he stammers, cheeks flushing red. I can't help but feel bad for him, really.
"First three fingers," Mr. Sullivan says gently. "Try again." Dylan tries again, and successfully plays the note. It started out squeaky, but he played it.
"There you go!" Dylan nods at Mr. Sullivan and looks down again, cheeks even redder, if that's possible. I look over at him and flash an encouraging smile when he makes eye contact. He half-smiles gratefully back, but then turns and continues to look down.
"Tess," Mr. Sullivan continues. "C, please." Tess plays it almost perfectly, and he nods in approval.
"Natara," he says, looking at me. "C, if you will."
I nod and play the note, pleased to find it comes out nice and crisp. "Excellent!" he exclaims. "Now that we have that figured out, let's continue."
We read a few more songs, and the bell soon rings, dismissing us. I quickly put away my clarinet and just about run across the building to make it to AP Physics—a class I'm not even supposed to be in—on time.
The teacher introduces herself as Mrs. Roberts, and continues to explain to the class about a preliminary knowledge test to find out what everyone remembered from Physical Science a couple years ago.
Oh, fantastic. I haven't even taken that class yet.
We covered some physics-based material in Honors Science last year, but I'm sure a college-level class is quite a bit more difficult.
"The test is forty questions, but they're all multiple choice and should only take you about twenty minutes. We'll grade them in class once everyone has finished," she announces. I try to find an opportune time in which to tell her that I'm not even supposed to be in this class, but she hands me the test and quickly scurries on to the next row. I sigh and resolve to take it, show her the grade, and then explain that I haven't even taken Physical Science yet.
I begin reading the questions, and to my surprise, I somehow know most of them. The ones I don't know, I figure out with common sense.
I guess that stupid book I had to read for English about the laws of Physics was somewhat useful.
I finish the last question and glance around, making a cursory scan. About half the class seems to be done; the others are awkwardly biting their pencils, looking up or beside them, clearly unsure of what they're doing. As soon as everyone looks finished, Mrs. Roberts strides to the front of the class again, her heels clacking on the linoleum floor.
"Raise your hand if you're still working," she calls. I look around, as does everyone else, and find that nobody has their hand raised. "Very good," she continues. "Let's correct it!" About half the class groans as they search for a red pen. I pull one out of my pencil case and click the top, exposing the inked part of the pen.
"Alrighty then," she murmurs. "I'll go through the letter answers, and if anyone needs any repeated, ask at the end."
Everyone nods.
"Number one is B as in boy," she starts. A chorus of "yes" and "crap" rises up, and Mrs. Roberts scowls. "Keep your comments to yourself," she chastises before continuing. "Two is C, Three is A, Four is A, Five is D..." She continues to read the answers until she gets to number forty. "... And number forty is C. Any questions?" A few people raise their hands and ask for a certain number repeated, and she gives the answers. I'm extremely surprised to find that out of forty, I only got four wrong.
Not bad for not actually taking Physical Science.
Just then, the bell rings, and everyone stands up.
"Turn in your tests to me as you leave," Mrs. Roberts calls. I take my time gathering my things as everyone else leaves, waiting for the majority of the class to be gone before I approach her.
"Um, excuse me?" I say timidly as I approach her desk.
Mrs. Roberts looks up. "Hi," she greets with a smile. "How can I help you?"
"I'm, uh, not actually supposed to be in this class," I start, trying to explain. "I haven't even taken Physical Science yet."
"Oh, really?" she asks, clearly surprised. I hand her my quiz, and she looks down at it. "Wow, I wouldn't have been able to tell. You did better than most of the juniors. What grade are you in?"
"I'm a freshman," I answer. "I tried to sign up for Honors Physical Science, but I was put in here by mistake instead. I'm getting it changed."
"Well, based on your score," she starts, "if you want to do a couple more prerequisite tests, I could potentially get it cleared so you can skip Physical Science and take this instead. You'd have to do a little extra work to make up for what you won't learn in here, but it's doable if you're willing.
"Well, uh, if that's all right," I stammer, unsure of how to respond. "I mean, if you think I'll do well..."
"If you score as well on the other prerequisite tests as you did on this one, you'll do wonderfully. You seem to be a very bright girl!"
I smile and blush slightly. "That would be great, thank you."
I turn and walk out, then hurry to my locker to drop my things off so I can make it to my next class on time. I check my schedule and groan before heading to the gym. Once there, I join the group of students seated on the gym floor. As the tardy bell rings, an extremely pretty brunette walks up to the front of the assembled students. A few guys whistle cat calls, and the woman whirls around and stares at them with a glare that could melt the Arctic. Surprised, they immediately silence themselves and look down.
"Good afternoon," she greets pleasantly. "I am Ms. Woods. Welcome to physical education. We'll just be going over the generals of the class today, but I expect you all to come tomorrow ready to run a little." A few people groan at this. "And no groaning at the mention of exercise. This is a physical education class, and it won't kill you to run a few feet." Everyone snickers, as do I. "Right, well, first thing's first. Attendance." She calls off everyone's names and we each say "here" as she calls our name.
"Okay, now that that's taken care of, I'm going to explain what we'll be doing in this class. We'll be focusing on the sports that are in season at the time, so since it's fall, we'll start with soccer, then move on to volleyball, football, and a little cross country running if time permits. I'll have you all start with some fitness tests tomorrow to see where you all generally are, but I'd like to know if any of you play sports. Raise your hand if you're in a sport any season of the year."
Almost everyone in the room raises a hand, save me and a couple others.
"Wow, that's awesome!" she exclaims. "For those of you who aren't, don't worry about it. We all have different strengths.
She goes on for another five minutes about what we'll do during each sports unit before she moves on to P.E. uniforms. "Now, most of you already have them, but for those of you who don't, you'll need to purchase at least one P.E. uniform, though I'd recommend two so you don't have to wear the same shirt every day. Come and find me after class if you need to buy one, and we can talk then."
She continues telling us about the basic guidelines for shoes and shorts, as well as sportsmanship for when we play games.
"All right, I think that's all I needed to say, so you guys can have the last five minutes to chat. If you need to buy a uniform, follow me to my office. I have them there."
A few others and I follow Ms. Woods to her office where she pulls a large box of t-shirts out from underneath her desk. They're red and gold like the school colors.
I stand behind the other two as they tell Ms. Woods their name and what they need. They soon leave, and I step up beside her desk.
"Hi!" she greets with a warm smile. "What's your name?"
"Natara," I reply, returning the smile.
"It's nice to meet you," she says with another smile. "Size and how many?"
"Small, and two, please," I tell her.
"Wonderful. They're ten dollars each, so just bringing me the money sometime this week would be great."
"Okay," I say with a smile. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome, have a wonderful day!"
Yeah, what a wonderful day it's been.
"Thanks, you too!"
I take the shirts and trudge back to my locker, completely zapped of energy from the day.
It's only the first day of school and I'm already drained. Great.
I shove all my things into my bag before checking my phone to find a text from my mother saying she's outside waiting. I don't bother texting back and instead walk out the doors to find her. I soon find the black Honda and slide into the passenger seat, forcing a cheerful smile.
"Hi, sweetheart," my mother greets with a smile. "How was your day?"
"Pretty good," I lie as I buckle my seat belt.
"Make any new friends?" she asks.
I hate that question.
I think back to the day. The closest I got to making a friend was in a class I wasn't even supposed to be in, but to satisfy my mother, it will have to count.
"Yeah," I half-lie.
"That's my girl," my mother says peppily as she pulls out of the lot. My baby sister, Neha, coos from the back seat. My face instantly lights up in a genuine smile. I turn around half-way so I can see her, and she immediately reaches out for me. I extend an arm and she takes one of my fingers in her whole hand. I laugh as she giggles with glee before my mother tells me to turn around.
When we get home, I toss my bag on the floor. Since I don't have any homework, I resolve to watch TV until dinner. I was only really half-watching, though, because most of my mind was replaying the day, inwardly wincing at the stupid things I'd done.
Oh well, tomorrow will be better. I'll just sit with someone else at lunch and avoid everyone I don't wanna talk to.
I keep telling myself that tomorrow will be better, because I really think it will.
Or maybe that's just me hoping.