A/N: I don't own Degrassi, or the characters. And I don't own Paige's
outfit either, it's one I found Lauren Collins wearing in a picture on a
Degrassi fan site. This story will contain some mild language later, and
will be femmeslash. If this bothers you, please don't flame, because I'm
giving you fair warning. And yes, this will be the shortest chapter of the
story. The rest will be about twice this length.
I rested my forehead against my locker door and closed my eyes, hoping I wouldn't be forced to rip it off its' hinges. Not how I wanted my first day to go. Not at all. No one seemed to notice me, though, which is the story of my life.
"Need some help?" said a voice behind me, and I turned my head only slightly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a girl. I think I had a cerebral aneurysm just looking at her. She was only a few inches shorter than me, I'd say, but that was where any sort of similarity would have to end. Her honey blonde hair was hanging down over her shoulders, obviously straightened, sprayed, blow-dried, and gelled into submission, and her light gray eyes were framed by gold lashes and pale glitter eyeliner. She was smiling a sort of quirky half-smile. Her lips were the only thing that looked untouched, except for maybe some lip balm. Her clothes were unlike anything I'd ever catch myself in. Blue tank top, and a long sleeved shirt made of some thin, almost-transparent, gold material, with a tie in the front, with a pair of jeans. She leaned against the locker next to mine, and her shirt rode up a few centimetres. She had a belly button ring. Okay, that was our only similarity.
"You must be new," she said. I nodded. She reached out and brushed a hand against my locker door, turning the dial slightly.
"May I?" she asked. I nodded again and stepped back out of her way.
"What's your combination?" she asked. I fumbled in the pocket of my pleated black and red plaid skirt for the piece of paper with my combination on it. Once I'd found it, I held it out. She pressed her knee against the locker door and pulled on the lock, dialling in the combination. She yanked down on the lock, and the door swung open. She handed me back the paper.
"Thanks," I said awkwardly. I swung my backpack off my shoulder and hung it up on one of the hooks inside. I pulled out two notebooks and a pen, and closed my locker door. She was still standing there, looking faintly amused, half interested, and completely beautiful... I decided to name her Pretty Girl.
"What class do you have first?" Pretty Girl asked. I opened my notebook to my class schedule.
"English with Kwan, room—"
"I know where it is. I'll take you, if you like," Pretty Girl offered.
"Okay," I said. She set off down the hall, and I strayed a few steps behind her. It must have made me look like a stalker, but I knew enough about school to know that she wouldn't want to be seen with me if she could help it.
"Kwan's a good teacher, but she's tough. Doesn't take any... where are you?" Pretty Girl asked, looking from side to side.
"I'm right here," I said. She spun around.
"Why are you walking behind me?" she asked.
"Because it's always socially safer not to be seen with someone like me," I said. She rolled her eyes and hooked an arm through mine.
"Hun, if I had a problem with being seen with you, you'd still be trying to open your locker. And by the way, you really got stuck with a bad one. You might want to see if you can trade for a better with someone," she said. My arm was on fire, but no one seemed to feel it. Pretty Girl didn't, because she kept it linked to mine all the way to Kwan's classroom.
"What do you mean, trade?" I asked.
"Well, every year some people get stuck with back lockers, or ones in hallways away from their friends. Since yours is actually a piece of junk, and not just in a bad place, you might have to throw something in. Like, a CD and your locker for a better one. I could find somebody to trade, if you like," she said.
"Okay," I said. She led me into one of the classrooms towards the end of the hall.
"Go tell Kwan that you're new, and she'll give you the books," she said. I looked around the classroom. It was a lot bigger than the ones at my old school, and there were tables instead of desks, but other than that, it was normal. I walked up to the teacher's desk. She smiled at me slightly.
"Um... I'm new here, and this is my first class," I said.
"What's your name?" Mrs. Kwan asked.
"Ellie Nash?" I said, and I cringed. Whenever I get nervous, I phrase things as a question. It was my only bad habit. Well, almost only.
"Welcome to Degrassi Community School, Ellie. Why don't you have a seat, and I'll get you your books, alright?" Mrs. Kwan asked. I nodded and scanned the room for Pretty Girl. She was sitting in the front with several other girls. No seat in sight. Besides, she might not hate me, but the same wouldn't necessarily apply to the rest of them. There was an empty seat in back, next to a slightly tanned boy. I couldn't tell if he was Hispanic or Italian, but I wasn't taking a survey on his nationality. I approached him hesitantly, and he didn't look up from his notebook.
"Sorry, but is this seat taken?" I asked, touching the back of the chair next to him. He looked up, then at the seat, then at me.
"No, it's free," he said, smiling. If everyone here smiled all the time, and not just at the new girl, I was going to move away just as fast as I'd moved to begin with. I sat down slowly, pulling the chair in more.
"I'm Marco. Marco Del Rossi," he said.
"Ellie Nash," I replied. Marco leaned one elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand.
"So, Ellie Nash, where'd you move from?" he asked.
"Just the next town over. Not far. My dad's in the military, so we move a lot, so I'm used to it. My mom doesn't really work much, but she isn't home a lot anyways, because she's on a bunch of committees, and—" I felt my face heating up. "Sorry, I'm kind of babbling. I just haven't met a lot of people here," I said. Marco grinned.
"It's okay. Didn't you come in with someone though?" he asked. I nodded.
"Who was she?" Marco asked.
"I don't exactly know her name," I said. Mrs. Kwan appeared at my shoulder, holding out a small stack of books.
"Here are our books, Ellie. You'll need them covered by tomorrow. You can find someone to find out what we're learning now, right?" she said.
"I'll help her," Marco offered, grinning at me.
"Thank you, Marco," Mrs. Kwan said, and she returned to her desk. I glanced over at Marco.
"Is she always like that?" I asked.
"Like what?"
"Like... one of those really strict people who talks really fast and expects you to already know everything?" I said. Marco laughed.
"Pretty much," he said.
"Before I forget," I said. Like you could do if you tried. "Who's that girl over—"
"Okay, class, today we'll be reading some more out of Lord of the Flies. If you could please turn to page fifty, Hazel, can you start us off?" Mrs. Kwan said. I flipped to page fifty in the book, and wrote a two on my notebook. Number of times I'd tried to find out Pretty Girl's name. I planned to keep count until someone got around to telling me.
Hazel, apparently, was the girl sitting next to Pretty Girl. I wish I were Hazel. Halfway through class, Pretty Girl opened her notebook and started to write. Mrs. Kwan was obviously deeply enthralled in the cannibalistic pleasures of Lord of the Flies, so no one noticed. Except me. Once Pretty Girl had finished, she tugged the page out of her notebook and folded it up. And dropped it. I wanted to pick it up for her, but if there was one thing that could seriously qualify as 'stupid', it would be ducking under my desk to pick up a note and hand it to her, because I know which one of us would get in trouble.
Pretty Girl didn't seem to mind though, because she simply pressed the toe of her tennis shoe over the note and slid her foot back. She moved to the edge of her seat to slide the note further across the floor. Until her foot his mine. She straightened up and glanced back at me while pretending to find her spot in the book. The edge of the note was now tucked safely under my boot. I picked up one of my pen and started to tap it against my knee. After a few seconds, I let it slide from my fingers onto the floor. I bent to pick it up and shoved the note up the bottom of my sleeve. I straightened up and glanced around. Marco was grinning and shaking his head slightly. He evidently saw me, but I didn't care. I unfolded the note in my lap. What are you doing after school?
My heart might have stopped. I'm not sure. I wasn't sure if it was because she was asking, or because I knew what I was doing, and it (to my sudden dislike) didn't involve her. I uncapped my pen. Probably unpacking some, I wrote. Why? I folded it up again, following the creases Pretty Girl had made. I glanced over at her. Her right arm was at her side, palm facing up towards me. I slid the note off the edge of the desk onto her hand, and she started to unfold it. She paused, looking at Hazel, who, having finished her turn at reading, was watching her with slightly raised eyebrows. Pretty Girl shook her hair out of her eyes and read the note, scrawling a reply on the bottom. She tore the note silently in half (I'd have to ask her how to do that) and folded it. She waited. And waited.
For at least five minutes, she waited. Hazel turned her eyes back to the book, and Marco seemed to have forgotten. Pretty Girl looked down at my feet, which were stretched out on either side of the chair. She leaned to the side slowly until she could grab my shoe. She straightened back up, still holding onto it. I propped it up on the edge of her seat as she untied it as fast as she could, before anyone would notice. Once the laces were undone, she pressed the note against them and retied the shoe. She released my foot and I pulled it back under my desk. No one noticed a thing, which surprised me greatly. It had been less subtle than before. I pulled my shoe up onto my other knee and yanked the note from under the laces. I glanced at Marco, who was still reading along to the new voice—Johnny, was it? Jimmy? Something like that, I didn't care. I unfolded the note. Paige Michalchuk. 555-6122.
I folded the note again and shoved it in my pocket. So Pretty Girl had a real name. I wasn't surprised, just... maybe I liked thinking of her as Pretty Girl.
A/N: I'm looking for a beta, as I mention in my profile. Check there if you're interested, because I'm stupid and need all the help I can get. And I know Paige and Ellie's note-passing is very unlikely to go unnoticed, but I used to do that with a friend, so it must work somewhat.
I rested my forehead against my locker door and closed my eyes, hoping I wouldn't be forced to rip it off its' hinges. Not how I wanted my first day to go. Not at all. No one seemed to notice me, though, which is the story of my life.
"Need some help?" said a voice behind me, and I turned my head only slightly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a girl. I think I had a cerebral aneurysm just looking at her. She was only a few inches shorter than me, I'd say, but that was where any sort of similarity would have to end. Her honey blonde hair was hanging down over her shoulders, obviously straightened, sprayed, blow-dried, and gelled into submission, and her light gray eyes were framed by gold lashes and pale glitter eyeliner. She was smiling a sort of quirky half-smile. Her lips were the only thing that looked untouched, except for maybe some lip balm. Her clothes were unlike anything I'd ever catch myself in. Blue tank top, and a long sleeved shirt made of some thin, almost-transparent, gold material, with a tie in the front, with a pair of jeans. She leaned against the locker next to mine, and her shirt rode up a few centimetres. She had a belly button ring. Okay, that was our only similarity.
"You must be new," she said. I nodded. She reached out and brushed a hand against my locker door, turning the dial slightly.
"May I?" she asked. I nodded again and stepped back out of her way.
"What's your combination?" she asked. I fumbled in the pocket of my pleated black and red plaid skirt for the piece of paper with my combination on it. Once I'd found it, I held it out. She pressed her knee against the locker door and pulled on the lock, dialling in the combination. She yanked down on the lock, and the door swung open. She handed me back the paper.
"Thanks," I said awkwardly. I swung my backpack off my shoulder and hung it up on one of the hooks inside. I pulled out two notebooks and a pen, and closed my locker door. She was still standing there, looking faintly amused, half interested, and completely beautiful... I decided to name her Pretty Girl.
"What class do you have first?" Pretty Girl asked. I opened my notebook to my class schedule.
"English with Kwan, room—"
"I know where it is. I'll take you, if you like," Pretty Girl offered.
"Okay," I said. She set off down the hall, and I strayed a few steps behind her. It must have made me look like a stalker, but I knew enough about school to know that she wouldn't want to be seen with me if she could help it.
"Kwan's a good teacher, but she's tough. Doesn't take any... where are you?" Pretty Girl asked, looking from side to side.
"I'm right here," I said. She spun around.
"Why are you walking behind me?" she asked.
"Because it's always socially safer not to be seen with someone like me," I said. She rolled her eyes and hooked an arm through mine.
"Hun, if I had a problem with being seen with you, you'd still be trying to open your locker. And by the way, you really got stuck with a bad one. You might want to see if you can trade for a better with someone," she said. My arm was on fire, but no one seemed to feel it. Pretty Girl didn't, because she kept it linked to mine all the way to Kwan's classroom.
"What do you mean, trade?" I asked.
"Well, every year some people get stuck with back lockers, or ones in hallways away from their friends. Since yours is actually a piece of junk, and not just in a bad place, you might have to throw something in. Like, a CD and your locker for a better one. I could find somebody to trade, if you like," she said.
"Okay," I said. She led me into one of the classrooms towards the end of the hall.
"Go tell Kwan that you're new, and she'll give you the books," she said. I looked around the classroom. It was a lot bigger than the ones at my old school, and there were tables instead of desks, but other than that, it was normal. I walked up to the teacher's desk. She smiled at me slightly.
"Um... I'm new here, and this is my first class," I said.
"What's your name?" Mrs. Kwan asked.
"Ellie Nash?" I said, and I cringed. Whenever I get nervous, I phrase things as a question. It was my only bad habit. Well, almost only.
"Welcome to Degrassi Community School, Ellie. Why don't you have a seat, and I'll get you your books, alright?" Mrs. Kwan asked. I nodded and scanned the room for Pretty Girl. She was sitting in the front with several other girls. No seat in sight. Besides, she might not hate me, but the same wouldn't necessarily apply to the rest of them. There was an empty seat in back, next to a slightly tanned boy. I couldn't tell if he was Hispanic or Italian, but I wasn't taking a survey on his nationality. I approached him hesitantly, and he didn't look up from his notebook.
"Sorry, but is this seat taken?" I asked, touching the back of the chair next to him. He looked up, then at the seat, then at me.
"No, it's free," he said, smiling. If everyone here smiled all the time, and not just at the new girl, I was going to move away just as fast as I'd moved to begin with. I sat down slowly, pulling the chair in more.
"I'm Marco. Marco Del Rossi," he said.
"Ellie Nash," I replied. Marco leaned one elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand.
"So, Ellie Nash, where'd you move from?" he asked.
"Just the next town over. Not far. My dad's in the military, so we move a lot, so I'm used to it. My mom doesn't really work much, but she isn't home a lot anyways, because she's on a bunch of committees, and—" I felt my face heating up. "Sorry, I'm kind of babbling. I just haven't met a lot of people here," I said. Marco grinned.
"It's okay. Didn't you come in with someone though?" he asked. I nodded.
"Who was she?" Marco asked.
"I don't exactly know her name," I said. Mrs. Kwan appeared at my shoulder, holding out a small stack of books.
"Here are our books, Ellie. You'll need them covered by tomorrow. You can find someone to find out what we're learning now, right?" she said.
"I'll help her," Marco offered, grinning at me.
"Thank you, Marco," Mrs. Kwan said, and she returned to her desk. I glanced over at Marco.
"Is she always like that?" I asked.
"Like what?"
"Like... one of those really strict people who talks really fast and expects you to already know everything?" I said. Marco laughed.
"Pretty much," he said.
"Before I forget," I said. Like you could do if you tried. "Who's that girl over—"
"Okay, class, today we'll be reading some more out of Lord of the Flies. If you could please turn to page fifty, Hazel, can you start us off?" Mrs. Kwan said. I flipped to page fifty in the book, and wrote a two on my notebook. Number of times I'd tried to find out Pretty Girl's name. I planned to keep count until someone got around to telling me.
Hazel, apparently, was the girl sitting next to Pretty Girl. I wish I were Hazel. Halfway through class, Pretty Girl opened her notebook and started to write. Mrs. Kwan was obviously deeply enthralled in the cannibalistic pleasures of Lord of the Flies, so no one noticed. Except me. Once Pretty Girl had finished, she tugged the page out of her notebook and folded it up. And dropped it. I wanted to pick it up for her, but if there was one thing that could seriously qualify as 'stupid', it would be ducking under my desk to pick up a note and hand it to her, because I know which one of us would get in trouble.
Pretty Girl didn't seem to mind though, because she simply pressed the toe of her tennis shoe over the note and slid her foot back. She moved to the edge of her seat to slide the note further across the floor. Until her foot his mine. She straightened up and glanced back at me while pretending to find her spot in the book. The edge of the note was now tucked safely under my boot. I picked up one of my pen and started to tap it against my knee. After a few seconds, I let it slide from my fingers onto the floor. I bent to pick it up and shoved the note up the bottom of my sleeve. I straightened up and glanced around. Marco was grinning and shaking his head slightly. He evidently saw me, but I didn't care. I unfolded the note in my lap. What are you doing after school?
My heart might have stopped. I'm not sure. I wasn't sure if it was because she was asking, or because I knew what I was doing, and it (to my sudden dislike) didn't involve her. I uncapped my pen. Probably unpacking some, I wrote. Why? I folded it up again, following the creases Pretty Girl had made. I glanced over at her. Her right arm was at her side, palm facing up towards me. I slid the note off the edge of the desk onto her hand, and she started to unfold it. She paused, looking at Hazel, who, having finished her turn at reading, was watching her with slightly raised eyebrows. Pretty Girl shook her hair out of her eyes and read the note, scrawling a reply on the bottom. She tore the note silently in half (I'd have to ask her how to do that) and folded it. She waited. And waited.
For at least five minutes, she waited. Hazel turned her eyes back to the book, and Marco seemed to have forgotten. Pretty Girl looked down at my feet, which were stretched out on either side of the chair. She leaned to the side slowly until she could grab my shoe. She straightened back up, still holding onto it. I propped it up on the edge of her seat as she untied it as fast as she could, before anyone would notice. Once the laces were undone, she pressed the note against them and retied the shoe. She released my foot and I pulled it back under my desk. No one noticed a thing, which surprised me greatly. It had been less subtle than before. I pulled my shoe up onto my other knee and yanked the note from under the laces. I glanced at Marco, who was still reading along to the new voice—Johnny, was it? Jimmy? Something like that, I didn't care. I unfolded the note. Paige Michalchuk. 555-6122.
I folded the note again and shoved it in my pocket. So Pretty Girl had a real name. I wasn't surprised, just... maybe I liked thinking of her as Pretty Girl.
A/N: I'm looking for a beta, as I mention in my profile. Check there if you're interested, because I'm stupid and need all the help I can get. And I know Paige and Ellie's note-passing is very unlikely to go unnoticed, but I used to do that with a friend, so it must work somewhat.