Summer Hathaway should have been in her glory. All summer long, she
had felt rather useless and lethargic, but now school was starting. School
was definitely her forte. Nothing else gave her that rush of happiness she
felt when she raised her hand and answered the question correctly. Not that
she was ever incorrect, of course. Making a fool of yourself was much worse
than feigning ignorance at a question. The other kids might have called her
a teacher's pet (overstatement of the century), but it was a title she was
proud of.
This year, the start of ninth grade, and her first year in high school, was different for Summer. Over the past few years, she had been the manager of a "class" band, The School of Rock. It had been started by a "false" substitute teacher named Dewey Finn, and since then, it had snowballed into a successful New York City garage band. The School of Rock had become the most important thing in the world to Summer. She would have never made it through vacation without the thought of the first fun band sessions that would begin to meet as soon as school started. Her parents were a little worried about her lack of enthusiasm about her summer homework, which normally was the highlight of her day. Now, however, Summer spent her days figuring out how to better her band. That was how she thought of it. Her band. Whispering that, even if only to herself, gave her a sense of power, accomplishment and triumph that no correct answer could have ever given to her.
On the first day of school, Summer woke up at 5:30 in the morning just to make sure she had enough time to get ready. She brushed her thick, dark hair and practiced smiling in the mirror. Perfect. In her closet, she had already neatly hung the clothes she had planned to wear that morning; a dark blouse, white pants and a navy-knit scarf her friend Marta had made for her in the sixth grade. After getting dressed, she went over to her mahogany vanity and carefully opened her jewelry box. Being ever so gentle, she drew out a pair of matching butterfly hair clips, a silver necklace and a silver bracelet with her last name engraved on it.
Summer loved that bracelet. It had been a gift from her late Uncle Ben, a gorgeous joke. When she was younger, she had loved her last name. Hathaway. It sounded so... romantic and timeless. In fact, for a week, she had insisted that no one in her family could call her by anything but her last name. Her parents, unused to such eccentric behavior from their driven daughter, had called her Uncle in a panic. Fortunately, Ben had three children, all girls, of his own and he knew how to handle it. The next day, he drove over to her house, gave her the bracelet and explained that such a beautiful name must not be spoken allowed like a common word. Instead, it must be treasured forever in silence.
Summer had allowed people to call her by her first name from then on. It had been five years since then, but Summer still wore the bracelet, amazed to find that every time she put it on, it still fit. It must have been her thin wrists that accounted for it. Smiling at herself once more in the mirror, she walked out of her room, closing her door behind her. She was ready for her first day of high school. High school, however, wasn't entirely ready for her.
This year, the start of ninth grade, and her first year in high school, was different for Summer. Over the past few years, she had been the manager of a "class" band, The School of Rock. It had been started by a "false" substitute teacher named Dewey Finn, and since then, it had snowballed into a successful New York City garage band. The School of Rock had become the most important thing in the world to Summer. She would have never made it through vacation without the thought of the first fun band sessions that would begin to meet as soon as school started. Her parents were a little worried about her lack of enthusiasm about her summer homework, which normally was the highlight of her day. Now, however, Summer spent her days figuring out how to better her band. That was how she thought of it. Her band. Whispering that, even if only to herself, gave her a sense of power, accomplishment and triumph that no correct answer could have ever given to her.
On the first day of school, Summer woke up at 5:30 in the morning just to make sure she had enough time to get ready. She brushed her thick, dark hair and practiced smiling in the mirror. Perfect. In her closet, she had already neatly hung the clothes she had planned to wear that morning; a dark blouse, white pants and a navy-knit scarf her friend Marta had made for her in the sixth grade. After getting dressed, she went over to her mahogany vanity and carefully opened her jewelry box. Being ever so gentle, she drew out a pair of matching butterfly hair clips, a silver necklace and a silver bracelet with her last name engraved on it.
Summer loved that bracelet. It had been a gift from her late Uncle Ben, a gorgeous joke. When she was younger, she had loved her last name. Hathaway. It sounded so... romantic and timeless. In fact, for a week, she had insisted that no one in her family could call her by anything but her last name. Her parents, unused to such eccentric behavior from their driven daughter, had called her Uncle in a panic. Fortunately, Ben had three children, all girls, of his own and he knew how to handle it. The next day, he drove over to her house, gave her the bracelet and explained that such a beautiful name must not be spoken allowed like a common word. Instead, it must be treasured forever in silence.
Summer had allowed people to call her by her first name from then on. It had been five years since then, but Summer still wore the bracelet, amazed to find that every time she put it on, it still fit. It must have been her thin wrists that accounted for it. Smiling at herself once more in the mirror, she walked out of her room, closing her door behind her. She was ready for her first day of high school. High school, however, wasn't entirely ready for her.