It's early September, 1994, and it's Nicky's first day of high school. She couldn't be any more underwhelmed. Her mom decided to send her to a "non-religious private high school." Nicky didn't even know those existed, but apparently they do. Nicky is Jewish, but her mom hates all the Jewish private schools in the city. She thinks they're "half-assed and not worth her heart-earned money." She dresses up in her new school uniform that she claims to hate more than anything.

"Why can't I just go to public school?" she asks her mother as she takes a bite of her pancakes, made by her nanny - never her mother, "It's free and I don't have to wear this ugly shit," she complained. "Nicole, don't curse around your mother, you're only fifteen." Nicky wanted to interrupt and say that she is actually only fourteen, but it was no use. Before she could, her mother cut her off, "And you should be thankful you can afford to go to private school. You'll be getting a better education and you won't be near those druggies that hang around all the public schools." Nicky was half listening, she always knew what her mother was going to say before she said it. Her mother would never understand that no matter where you go to school, no matter how expensive or how fancy, there will always be the same types of kids. Money doesn't care about that. Anyway, she secretly didn't mind the uniforms, as the girls had a choice between khaki pants or skirts, and Nicky quite liked a good skirt – she'd even wear them all the way through the harsh Manhattan winter. "I had Paloma call a cab for you, it'll be downstairs at 7:00, school starts at 7:30. Here's some money so you can get a cab home," she said as she handed Nicky five twenty dollar bills.

"Marka? A hundred dollars? What am I taking, a limo taxi?"

"It's for the next two weeks, Nicole. I'm going to be at a lot of meetings so you won't be seeing much of me."

"Meetings? Is that keyword for staying with that douchebag Paulo at your other apartment?"

And with that, her mother grabbed her coffee in her obnoxious to-go cup, picked up her keys and purse, and walked out of the door saying, "You know, Nicole, you should really start being more grateful." And Nicky wanted to scream after her – tell her that she doesn't like being called Nicole, and that she has no reason to be grateful when she didn't ask for any of this. But she didn't say anything, because she may only be fourteen, but she had already stopped trying.

About ten minutes later, she was waiting in the lobby of her fancy apartment building when the cab pulled up. She got in, told the driver where to go, got there, payed the driver, got out. She'd been doing this same ritual by herself since fifth grade, it was as normal to her as it is for most people to get in their own car and drive themselves somewhere. Only now she was going to a different school – high school. Only few of her friends from her public middle school could afford to go to private school, and she didn't think she would have classes with the ones that did. She wasn't sure if she should be bummed out or glad that she could start over. She ultimately decided to be glad – she already had too many other things to be bummed out about.

When she entered her first period Spanish class, she only saw one familiar face. Her friend Steven from her old middle school, one of her few friends that could afford public school. She sat next to him and they caught up for a few minutes before the teacher came in. She was a very pretty, very young hispanic woman. It was all great until she actually opened her mouth, and it was evident that she was going to be a 'strictly playing by the rules' and 'no joking around' type of teacher. Nicky attributed this to her young age, she was probably new at this and was afraid of getting fired. She introduced herself as Ms. K, never saying her full name. She sat them all in alphabetical order, and Nicky knew she was screwed being that Steven would end up being at the very end and her somewhere towards the middle. As the teacher got closer to the letter 'N', Nicky got nervous, not knowing who she'd have to sit next to for forty minutes every morning when she was barely awake.

"–And behind him is Lorna Morello, and then then in the last seat in that row is Nicole Nichols. Okay, next row–" That was when Nicky stopped listening and moved to the last seat in that row, behind a girl with messy, soft brown curls no longer than her collar bones and bangs pinned up to her forehead to make a poof (Nicky's least favorite of all the stupid typical 90's hairstyles). The teacher handed out textbooks and asked everyone to write their names and contact information on an index card incase the textbook had gotten lost. "Shit, shit, shit." Nicky heard whispered from in front of her, but ignored it. The girl turned around to face Nicky, and in a very Boston-esque accent asked her "Hey, um, do you have an extra pen?"

"Oh, Jesus, really? The first day?"

"Whoa cut me some slack alright, I was running late."

"Yeah, whatever. Here, keep it." Nicky said as she gave her a pen and reached for her bag to take another one out for herself.

"Thank you, um...Nicole is it?"

"Nicky."

"Oh okay, I'm Lorna," she whispered, and then quickly turned back around because the teacher had asked them what all the conversation was about and if we'd like to share with the whole class. Which Nicky thought was incredibly stupid, being that anyone with eyes and a brain could see that she was just giving her a pen, but whatever.

The days passed miserably slow, and Nicky hated high school. She made a few friends that she'd only talk to during class, never outside those walls – except Lorna. By the time Christmas break rolled around, there was some kind of a bond between them. They had shared phone numbers and would call each other every night. At first their conversations were just about homework or to study together (which Nicky hated, she was naturally smart and good at memorizing – she only did this to help Lorna). Eventually, they started talking about other things, like real friends do. Nicky would talk about all the upcoming concerts coming to town that she wanted to go to, and Lorna would talk about all the new fashion and how she wished she could afford it. Nicky had wanted to ask this for a while, but it wasn't until now that she felt them close enough to do it.

"Lorna, how come you never want to hang out outside of school? Is it because of me?"

"Oh god, Nicky no. No, it's not you. It's me. Well, my family. They're embarrassing. We live in this tiny shithole apartment with seven people, and it's an embarrassment."

"Well then how come you never want to come to my apartment?"

"Because you're rich, and I'm a slob, and I don't want your family to hate me."

"Oh please that is the last thing you'd have to worry about. My parents are divorced, my dad moved to the suburbs with his new girlfriend and my mom is hardly ever home. Between working she spends all her time with her new obnoxious foreign boyfriend who hates children. She's usually at his apartment or with him in fucking Brazil."

"Brazil? Like the country?"

"Yes, dumbass, like the country."

"So do you have siblings then? Or are you alone all the time?"

"Hell no, no siblings. My mom would never dream of having unprotected sex ever again after having me ruin her life. I live with my housekeeper slash nanny. She's a lovely woman, really. She's probably spent more time with me in my life than Marka has. Actually, she definitely has."

"Marka? Is that your mom?"

"Yeah. I hardly call her 'mom' because that would do injustice to all the moms out there that actually do their jobs as mothers."

"Hmm. Makes sense. So do you want to hang out then? Do you have plans for over the break?"

"Unless sitting in front of the television or laying in bed listening to music for a week straight like a sack of potatoes counts as plans, then nope. Why don't you just come sleep over and we can be bored together."

"Sounds like a plan, just tell me your address and I'll be over within the hour."

So Nicky told her, and sure enough within twenty minutes the short brunette with obnoxious, bright blue eyeshadow known as Lorna was buzzing to be let into her apartment. Nicky let her up, and the second she saw her all she said was "Wow, you look different without the khaki skirt and polo top."

"So do you, nice sweatpants."

"Shut up."

They sat on the queen sized bed in Nicky's room playing cards and eating warm chocolate chip cookies that Paloma made when Nicky told her she was having a friend over. "A guest! Oh, I'll make cookies!" she had said, and Nicky thanked her with a hug and a smile. Lorna took a solid ten minutes to admire all the band posters littering Nicky's walls and ceiling, all the old records and record player that used to belong to her father, and her new cassette player as well as all her tapes. Nicky put on the new Oasis record, her favorite one. When Lorna asked why not the new cassette tapes, Nicky explained how she preferred the sound of the records. After listening, Lorna agreed. They stopped playing cards and listened to the music and talked for a little while. They talked about their favorite bands, books, television shows, about their annoying Spanish teacher. Until it got silent for a couple seconds, and Nicky asked,

"How can you afford private school? I mean, since you said you live in a shitty crammed apartment, and you always say about how money is tight and stuff." They were laying on their backs staring at the ceiling, but Nicky looked over to check Lorna's facial expression and make sure she didn't offend her. She wasn't sure how to ask that, but she wanted to know, and she felt like they were close enough now. Lorna felt her stare and turned to look back at her.

"Wow, just going straight for the nuclear question, huh?"

"I'm sorry, shit, I'm sorry, I knew I shouldn't have said that, I just–"

"–It's okay, jeez! I was just pushing your buttons. Anyway, my dad was injured in an incident at his old job. He's paralyzed from the waist down now and he's in a wheelchair, so he was able to sue the company big time. That's why we moved from Boston to New York. My parents figured that they could afford a shitty apartment and to send one kid to private school. I told them that was stupid, it would make more sense to send us all to public school and get an apartment that actually fits us. But they didn't care what I thought."

"So you're the only one of your siblings going to private school?"

"Yeah. My sister Franny is a senior anyway, so it's no use paying for her to go private for only a year. And my other siblings are in elementary and middle school, so they won't be in high school until I'm already graduated. My parents think if they save up now, they'll be able to afford to send them to private later. And if not, they don't care. They don't think my brothers have as much potential as me."

"That's some twisted parental logic, but I guess I get it. You do have potential. I'm just glad they decided to do that, because now I have a best friend for the first time in my life."

"Me too."

And then they fell asleep. Still facing the ceiling, listening to the quiet comfort of Liam Gallagher's voice on the new record, softly singing: "I think you're the same as me, we see things they'll never see, you and I are gonna live forever..." with the window cracked open and the sounds of the city that never sleeps spilling into the twentieth floor window.