Wendy stood in front of her mirror, tying a blue bow into her hair. Transferring to a new school was hard for her. She already missed all of her old friends and was wishing her father had never gotten that job offer so far away from home. For Wendy's brothers, John and Michael, the move wasn't as difficult. They were still so young, it didn't seem to bother them at all. She adjusted her shirt and pulled on a jacket. She was ready.
"Wendy, darling!" called her mother, Molly. "Are you ready to go? You wouldn't want to be late on your first day, now would you?" Wendy rushed down the stairs. She grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter of the kitchen.
"Yes, mother, I'm ready to go off to the land of torture you are so cruelly sending me off to. You truly have no consideration for my feelings." Her mother merely laughed.
"Oh, Wendy. You are such a teenager sometimes. Have a good day!" Wendy walked out of the door with a roll of her eyes. The bus was waiting two blocks away from her house. She found an empty seat near the back. She pulled out her sketchbook and lost herself in drawings of pixies and flying pirate ships. A voice brought her out of her imagination.
"What are you drawing?" The voice belonged to a boy who looked about Wendy's age. His blonde hair was swept across his forehead and there was a mischievous look on his face. He was smirking at her. She suddenly felt self-conscious.
"It's nothing," Wendy said, trying to hide her sketchbook from the boy.
"Well from what I saw, it's not nothing. Those were really good. Can I see them again?" A wave of confidence came over Wendy. If she didn't want to show him her drawings, she didn't have to.
"No, you may not see my drawings. I don't even know you."
"In that case, I'll introduce myself. I'm Peter, I'm a junior, I like stories and music and football. There, now you know me. Can I see those drawings?" Something about Peter bothered Wendy. She slipped the sketchbook back into her bag and crossed her arms. Peter's smirk grew to a grin.
"Very well, then. May I at least learn your name, madame?" Wendy thought about it. It seemed that she was going to be seeing Peter frequently for the next two years, so he would learn her name eventually. She saw no reason to keep it from him.
"I'm Wendy," she replied, trying to sound indifferent.
"Very nice to meet you, Wendy. I do hope that you will eventually show me those drawings of yours. Ah, here we are. Northland High School. Have fun, Wendy. I'll see you around." With a wink and another grin, Peter hopped off of the school bus.
Wendy made it through her first two classes without any first-day-of-a-new-school awful experiences. There was of course the awkwardness of being introduced to a new group of people, but she could handle that. Her third class was history. She walked into the classroom and her eyes immediately traveled to Peter. He was sitting directly in the middle of the room, surrounded by a group of cheerleaders. They had draped themselves all over his desk and they were all staring at him with fascination painted on their perfectly made-up faces. As Wendy got closer, she could hear what Peter was saying.
"…and that's when I saw him running at me, full speed. Keep in mind that this was the biggest, meanest player on the team. He's practically the reason they're called the crocodiles. Anyway, he was coming at me, and I had to make sure he didn't get the ball. I started to run, but then…" he paused, and all of the cheerleaders gasped.
"What happened next, Peter?" asked one of the cheerleaders, a blonde girl who was sitting at the desk in front of him.
"But then," Peter picked up from where he had left off, "he reached out both arms and tried to grab my legs and trip me." The cheerleaders looked honestly worried about the outcome of the story. Wendy sighed and rolled her eyes. Peter must have heard her because he looked up from his circle of admirers. The cheerleaders all looked at her too.
"Who's she?" asked the cheerleader sitting in front of Peter, flicking a perfectly curled blonde ringlet over her shoulder.
"Girls, Wendy. Wendy, girls." Wendy flashed them a fake smile and plopped down in a seat at the back of the classroom. Peter raised his eyebrows at her as if to ask, what do you think you're doing back there? He pushed through his little audience and leaned his elbows on Wendy's desk.
"Can I help you, Peter?" Wendy asked.
"Yes, in fact, I do believe you can. You see, history is a painfully boring class, and I happen to be the opposite of boring. I wouldn't want you to have to sit back here suffering when you could be sitting next to me, enjoying yourself immensely." He was so full of himself.
"Actually, I think I'll stay back here. I wouldn't want to intrude," she said, pointing at the huddle of girls eagerly awaiting Peter's return. He looked over his shoulder and then back at Wendy.
"Yes, you do have a point. Very well, I'll try again tomorrow. Enjoy being bored to death back here, Wendy." With that, Peter returned to his posse and resumed his story. After what seemed like an eternity, the class started. As much as she hated to admit it, Peter had been correct. She was practically bored to death. When the class ended, Peter turned and smirked at Wendy. Then he left the classroom.