Standing in front of the mirror as the sun rises on the crisp September morning outside, I button up my white blouse and then put on my navy blue pullover sweater on top of it. I smooth down my uniform skirt, even though it's already free of any creases thanks to my ironing job last night, and then lift my chin to look at my reflection.
"You aren't just a good student, you're a great student," I say, blinking my eyes open wide. I'm not usually one for much makeup, but since it's the first day of school I put on mascara and a little lip gloss.
I tuck my auburn hair behind my ears and shake my head a little so the curls bounce. Over the summer, I got my braces off and chopped my hair so it rests on my shoulders instead of halfway down my back. I was tired of my older sister, Libby, telling me that I looked Amish.
Plus, it was time for a change. And I'm glad I did it now, even though without the blanket of it sometimes I still feel a bit naked.
"A great student," I repeat, and straighten my collar.
Today is my first day of senior year at DePaul College Prep High School, and I already know it's going to be a great year. Libby finally moved out and is going to college in Ohio, so I don't have to be constantly overshadowed by her presence; Kimmie is a sophomore this year and Alice is just entering high school. Finally, our oldest sister is gone and I won't have someone bossing me around both at school and when we come home, too. I'm looking forward to being my own person.
I walk out of my room that I no longer have to share with her and adjust my knee socks once I get to the top of the stairs. Since I'm standing there, I walk a few steps further and knock on Alice's door. "Wake up, Ali," I say. "You're not gonna make me late today."
"Go away, Duckie," she says, using the nickname that makes me cringe but is so ingrained in my family's heads that I know I'll never get rid of it. "I'm coming. Go away."
"Be downstairs in five," I say. "Or we're leaving you again."
Alice is the late one between the three of us remaining. If she takes forever, today it wouldn't be the first time that Kimmie and I have left her behind. Especially on the first day, I'm not willing to be late.
Kimmie is already sitting at the table when I get downstairs, dressed and ready. "Hey, Duckie," she says, a spoonful of cereal to her mouth. "Al coming?"
"Says she is," I say, picking an apple from the bowl on the table.
Five minutes pass, and it's getting close to the time we need to leave and catch the bus. Even though I'm turning 18 in the spring, I don't have a car. We take public transportation to school because it's just easier that way. We don't have a lot of money. Libby never had a car either; if one of us gets something, it's expected that all of us do. And cars aren't cheap.
"Mom, can you get Alice?" I sigh, as our mother appears in the kitchen wearing a purple cardigan and black dress pants. "We're gonna be late if she doesn't hurry."
She walks over and gives me and Kimmie each a kiss on the head. "You two look so pretty," she says. "I need a picture."
"Okay, but can you get Ali first?" I ask, feeling my stomach twist with anxiety as the clock ticks later and later. "I don't want to be late."
Exactly six minutes later, the whole family is outside on the front lawn, including Dad. He's standing beside Mom, looking over her shoulder at her iPhone to see what the picture will look like. My sisters and I are standing on the sidewalk in front of our house on Grace Street, black shoes covered in droplets of dew from the frosty grass we walked through, arms wrapped around each other to pose for the first day of school photo that we never miss.
"Smile," Mom says enthusiastically. "Say, 2017!"
We all repeat it back to her, and she animatedly presses her finger on the screen to take the photo. "Lovely," she says. "One more. For safekeeping. April, your glasses are glaring, honey. Take them off for this one."
I do as she asks and tuck them in my pocket. It takes my eyes a second to adjust, but I can see enough to know when I can put them back on again.
Once we're done posing, I hoist my backpack up onto my back and corral my sisters in the direction of the bus stop. "Have a good day at school, girls," Dad says, waving us off.
"Can't wait to hear all about it when you get home!" Mom says, blowing us each a kiss.
The three of us walk through the doors of the school together, and Kimmie gets pulled away by her friends before we can get very far. Alice and I watch her trot away, throwing a hasty wave over her shoulder at us.
"You have to pick her up after school," I shout after Kimmie, pointing down at the sister beside me. "I'm tutoring now. I won't be here."
"Okay, okay!" she calls back, giving me a thumbs up.
Alice sighs and holds on tight to the straps of her backpack as I walk her upstairs to the freshman hallway. "You're not gonna be here after school?" she asks.
"What's your locker number?" I ask, and she hands her schedule to me. It's 492. "And yeah. Ms. Montgomery asked me to tutor a college student over at DePaul."
She stops in her tracks and looks at me with wide, green eyes. "Whoa. Really?"
"What?" I say, shaking my head slightly. "Yeah. It's not a big deal."
We stop at her locker and I stand in front of it, holding her schedule with both hands. As she stares at me, I push my glasses up on my nose and raise my eyebrows. "Yes, it is," she says. "Do Mom and Dad know?"
"Of course they know."
"You're so smart, April," she says. "That college kid must feel pretty dumb to be getting tutored by someone in high school."
She somehow managed to compliment and insult me all the in same breath, but it doesn't bother me anymore. I'm used to it, growing up with them. "Well, he's just gonna have to deal. I'm good at writing, and he's not. So I'm gonna teach him. I'm not gonna get paid, which-"
"Wait," she says, sticking her hand out with the palm facing me. "He?"
I roll my eyes. She keeps talking.
"A boy?"
"Yes, what's the big deal?" I snap, then glance down at her schedule. "Try your combination. It's 36, 9, 12." She spins the lock, turns the handle, and nothing happens.
"Mom and Dad seriously know you're tutoring a college boy," Alice says.
"Yes, okay?" I say. "I'm gonna be late. Just let me do it." I spin the combination on her locker and it pops right open. "I have to go. I'm not gonna be here to do that for you every single time, so you have to learn." I give her a quick hug. "Good luck on your first day. I'll see you at home."
"Have fun on your date!" she calls after me, way too loud. I don't even turn around to acknowledge her.
I bluster into AP Biology one minute before the bell rings, sliding right into the desk next to one of my best friends, Lexie Grey. "Nice of you to finally make it," she says out of the corner of her mouth as class begins.
I try and gather myself, pushing my hair out of my face and straightening my things on my desk.
"Is that lip gloss I see?" she asks, elbowing me. "And some mascara? You look amazing. What's got you feeling saucy today, little priss?"
I snort. "Don't call me that," I say with a smile. She knows she could call me just about anything and get away with it - Lexie is always teasing me about something. Making up new nicknames for me every two seconds is one of her favorite pastimes. "It's the first day. I wanted to… I don't know."
"Well whatever 'I don't know' is, I approve," she says. "Has anyone said anything about your haircut yet?"
I give her a look. "As if anyone cares about my haircut. Give me a break."
She rolls her eyes and takes a syllabus from the stack that's getting passed around. "Here, let's pretend I wasn't there the minute you chopped it." She turns around, then turns back animatedly. "Oh my god, April? April Kepner? Is that you?" She reaches out and fluffs my bouncy hair. "I love your hair, girl. It looks amazing. Oh my god, like, it totally brings out the 1800's English schoolgirl in your uniform!" She covers her mouth with both hands and wiggles her shoulders. "You have to tell me where you got it done. I'm totes going right after school!"
"I feel like somehow, you're insulting me," I say, trying to keep the smile off my face.
"People should notice," she says, folding and refolding the corners of the syllabus. "You look hot."
"Yeah, sure," I say.
"You do!" Lexie insists.
"Uh-huh."
"If I was into girls, I'd totally date you," she says.
"And probably get expelled for it," I say, eyes widening.
"It'd be worth it. Catholic ass school," she mutters under her breath.
"Grey," Mrs. Bailey's voice cuts through the soft murmur of voices throughout the room. "Watch your language or get a demerit."
"Sorry," Lexie mutters, then makes a face when Mrs. Bailey turns her back. She mouths the word 'bitch' and then puts on a winner smile once the teacher turns back around. "Swear to God, she doesn't hear me when I'm sitting here shouting the answer for ten years, but when I whisper the word…" She mouths it. "Ass, her hearing suddenly turns bionic."
"Have you ever considered… not saying it?" I ask pointedly, smiling and making my eyes big.
"Out of the question," she says, pretending to wave me off.
Lexie is about to start talking about something else, but then Mrs. Bailey stands at the front of the classroom and begins the lesson. My best friend shrugs at me and I face forward, both hands on my desk, sitting up straight with both feet flat on the floor, heels together. I'm going to make this year the best I can, academically, if it's the last thing I do.
At lunch, I sit at the usual table with Lexie and our other best friend, Arizona. We all pull out lunches we brought from home, except for Lexie who got hers from her boyfriend, Mark. We have a closed campus, but he always finds a way to go and get her what she wants. Today, she has a sub from Subway. I have a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I made last night and let sit for too long.
Arizona chews on a carrot as she talks about her first period physics class, and then waves at someone over my shoulder. I turn around see Alice coming, her red hair coming out of its ponytail in flyaways around her face.
She sits down in a huff, her brown paper bag lunch crumpled in front of her. "Can I sit with you guys?" she asks me.
"Sure," I say. "Why are you all…?" I gesture to her overall disheveled appearance.
"I didn't know I had first lunch," she says, opening her bag. "I didn't read my schedule right, so I just went to my next class. I only realized once it was halfway through that I wasn't supposed to be there, so I ran here. I wanted to have enough time to eat." She pulls out a Lunchable, and I smile to myself at her choice of what to pack.
"Glad you made it, Al," Lexie says, pulling a too-big piece of lettuce off her sub.
"Hey, how did you get Subway?" Alice asks, peeling the plastic off of her Lunchable.
"Mark," Arizona cuts in, giving Lexie a playful side-eye.
Lexie sets her shoulders proudly and Alice slumps hers. I hold up my PB & J. "Some of us can't be that lucky," I say, and nudge my little sister's shoulder.
Some time passes, and then Alice pipes up again. "Where am I supposed to meet Kimmie after school again?" she asks. "She won't text me back."
Alice has her phone out on the table, so I snatch it and look around to make sure no teacher saw. "They'll take that away from you so fast," I say, and shove it into her purse. "Just wait by the front doors. I'm sure she'll show up."
Arizona looks at me confusedly. "Al's going home with Kimmie? Where are you gonna be, Apes?"
I open my mouth to answer, but Alice gets to it first. "She's tutoring a college boy," she says, her tone lilting.
I shoot her a nasty look. "Shut up," I say.
"What? You are," she continues.
I can feel both Arizona and Lexie's interested eyes on me, dying to pry for more answers. "Since when?" Lexie asks.
"Montgomery asked me to," I say. "It'll look good on my record. It's over at DePaul, and that's where I want to go anyway, it just looks really good for me."
"Maybe he'll be cute…" Arizona says.
"I don't care about that," I insist.
"Maybe he will, now that Brace-Face is Brace-Face no longer," Lexie says.
"Okay, I'm gonna need you to shut up," I say. "It's not a thing." I run my tongue over my teeth out of habit, now that Lexie brought up my old braces. "You don't need to make it a big deal."
"And your mom and dad know he's a college boy," Arizona says.
"That's what I said," Alice cuts in.
"Yes, they know," I say, and start to gather my things. "I'm going to the library. I need a book for Lit."
As I get up, Lexie calls after me. "Come on, Tweety Bird. We're just messing with you!" I don't look back, I just push my hair behind my shoulders and keep walking, but she keeps talking. "I'm in that class, too, and we don't need a book!"
I ignore her and go to the library anyway. I need some time to myself.
When the last bell rings, I beat the crowd and head to the bus stop at Irving Park and California with my backpack high on my shoulders. It's early September, so the air is still warm with the memories of summer but it's Chicago, so there's always a steady breeze. It feels nice, though, gently blowing my skirt as I wait for the bus to take me to Lincoln Park.
As I ride to the Irving Park Brown Line stop where I'll transfer to a train, I cross my legs sitting in a sideways-facing seat and pull out a worksheet that's due tomorrow for AP Calc. I chew on the end of my mechanical pencil and balance my calculator on one knee as I work on it, unbothered by the shifts and groans of the bus. I'm used to them. I can work through almost anything.
This bus ride wouldn't be that long if it weren't for traffic, but because of it, I end up finishing my homework just in time to get off. As I ride the train, I look out the window with my chin rested on my closed fist and watch the city's afternoon pass by. I retie my shoes while I sit and wait, then run a brush through my hair as I go over the writing assignments of my student's that Montgomery sent me last week to prepare.
They're not horrible, but still decently hard to get through. He doesn't seem to know how to get a point across clearly without diverting into ten different subjects. I can tell he's smart, he just seems incapable of communicating his thoughts. And I can help with that.
I get off at Fullerton and take the short walk to DePaul's campus, taking my time in looking around to imagine what I'll be seeing as a freshman next year. I haven't been officially accepted yet, but that time isn't far off. Early admission is in November, and my application is already all prepared. It's just the act of sending it in.
I stop outside Arts & Letters Hall and look at my reflection in the glass doors. I can't help but feel out of place and a little bit intimidated as I stand here in my private school uniform, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst all of these college students who are all so obviously older than me. I don't belong here. At least not yet.
I pull my socks up to my knees and make sure they're even, then step through the doors. No one bothers to move out of my way, they just bustle around on either side of me like I'm a boulder in the middle of a flowing river, so I do my best to work around them. I get inside the atrium and look around, pushing my glasses up on my nose as I do so. I don't know what he looks like. I just know that we're supposed to meet here, somewhere on the first floor. There are so many people everywhere that I'm not sure how I'm supposed to figure out which one is my student.
Just as I sigh and think about turning around to get out of here, I feel a presence sidle up beside me. "You must be April," a voice says, and when I look to my left I see a tall, blue-eyed boy with a short-cropped curly black hair and a killer smile.
"Oh, um, yeah, hi," I say, crossing my arms tight over my chest. "Yeah, that's me. Are you Jackson? How'd you know it was me?"
He walks out of the way of people coming down the stairs and I follow. "You don't see school uniforms around here very often," he says. "Didn't know you'd be in one, that's kinda hot, but it's fine. I'm Jackson Avery."
He sticks his hand out for me to shake, and I stare at it for too long before gripping it. "I'm April Kepner," I say with the attempt of a smile. "I have, um, some of your old work-"
I try and adjust the binder of papers in my arms, but as I do so it slips out of my grasp and falls to the floor where the clips come open so the papers scatter everywhere. "Oh, Jesus Christ," Jackson says, then kneels down immediately.
"It's okay, I'll get it," I say, kneeling down too, but carefully so my knees stay together. I tuck a bit of hair behind my ears and just end up getting down on the floor to try and gather everything.
"Don't worry about it," he says. "It's all my shit, anyway. And when I say shit, I mean shit. Probably didn't take you very long to figure out that I can't write."
I chuckle softly as I stand back up. He hands me the topsy-turvy pile of papers and I shove them haphazardly back into the red binder. "No, it wasn't-"
"You're my tutor," he reminds me. "Don't lie to me."
I take in a deep breath. "It's not that it's bad," I say. "It just needs shaping and molding. Which is why I'm here."
We move into a study room that's much quieter than the main entryway, and Jackson sits across from me leaned back in a swivel chair. As we talk, he chews arrogantly on a piece of gum. I'm not sure how the act of chewing can look so arrogant, but he makes it that way.
"So what I'm trying to say is that I can see the bones of what you're trying to do in your papers. You just get going on so many different tangents that your points get hard to locate after a few paragraphs. And by the end, well… by then, I think it's a totally different paper than what you intended. Do you ever proofread?"
"Proofread?" he asks.
"Yeah, like go back over it with-"
"Yeah, I know what it means," he says. "But no, I don't proofread. Do you think my work would be this shitty if I did? I finish something, I turn it in. I somehow got out of writing classes my whole freshman year, but they piled them up on me this year. I don't care about them. I'm good at math and science. Not this. It isn't gonna help me later in life, so I don't try. Simple as that."
I feel a prickly sensation on the back of my neck that reminds me of the feeling I used to get when Libby told me I looked Amish. Defensiveness and annoyance mixed together in one, slowly spreading out through my body. He's so arrogant, I can't see straight. He doesn't really want my help, I can see that now. It didn't even take me that long to see that. And I'm not even getting paid for this. This is all out of the goodness of my heart.
Well, and because Montgomery wants me to. And my mom and dad do, too. They were really proud of me when I told them that I would be doing this every day after school. They told me that helping others who aren't as gifted as I am in certain areas is God's work. And I truly believe them.
So I don't give up. It hasn't even been an hour; I won't give up.
"Writing is important in any walk of life," I say. "You read and write every day."
"Not dumb ass essays like that one," he says, gesturing towards the analytical essay on Shakespeare's King Lear that sits between us.
"This essay is not dumb," I say. "Actually, a lot of your points are really smart. Redundant, but still. You're a smart person."
He scoffs with a hint of a smile. "I know that," he says.
I purse my lips and roll my eyes, mostly to myself. "You just need to learn how to organize what you're saying. The next paper assignment you get, bring it and we'll outline it. And from the outline, it'll be a lot easier to write."
"I mean, I have an assignment," he says, eyebrows raised as he looks down the length of the table instead of at me. "Got it today. From my Brit Lit class."
There's a weird pause between us. "So…?" I say. "Can I see the rubric?"
He sighs and reaches down to dig in his backpack. When he sits up, out comes a crinkled sheet of paper that I have to smooth out against the side of the table to be able to see anything on it. I start to read out loud. "Choose one of the poets from the Romantic period and write a three to four page paper telling your classmates about the writings and what you think the poet was trying to do in his or her work. You will want to choose a common theme in poetry, a common type of poem written, or a common use of symbols or metaphors. It is expected you will discuss at least three poems in your paper." I skim down the rest of the paper and then set it down. "When's this due?"
"Next week," he says.
"Plenty of time," I say. "So, what needs to happen first is you need to pick the poems you want to write about. Are there any that… stick out to you, or anything?"
He sighs and rubs his temples. "I have no idea," he says. "I don't do poetry. I don't get poetry."
I sigh now. "There's nothing to get. It's not as hard as people make it seem. The Romantic Period poets are just a bunch of guys with fluffy collars thinking they're more important than they actually are." That gets a giggle out of him, and I feel something flutter in my chest because of it. I smile and clear my throat. "Do you have a book or something? For this class?"
He digs in his backpack again and deposits a thick book on the table, right smack in the middle of us. "Yep, that's a book all right," I say, then tug it over to myself. "Have you even opened this?"
He gives me a deadpan look.
"I thought as much," I say, then place it on my lap. "Wheel over here. We'll find three poems and then that'll be it for today."
He rolls backwards in his chair over to sit next to me, and looks down at the book resting on my lap. As we flip through pages, I catch sight of my knobby knees uncovered by both my socks and my skirt. The socks don't go up high enough and the skirt doesn't reach low enough. They're just knees, but suddenly I feel self-conscious of them. I press them together and glance over at him, only to have his eyes dart to me.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say, and hide my stupid blush my looking at the book again. "How about this one by Lord Byron?"
I watch his eyes skim the words. "It's kinda nice, I guess," he says.
"Reading them out loud always helps me to see if I like them or not," I say.
"So read it out loud."
I scoff. "It's your paper," I say. "You read it out loud."
He looks at the page for a long moment before opening his mouth. "She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies, and all that's best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and in her eyes, thus mellowed to that tender light, which heaven to gaudy day denies…" He rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair again. "This is dumb."
"It's not dumb," I say. "Keep going."
He looks at me for a while, sizing me up I'm sure. Wondering how far I'll push him. I can tell already that I've pushed him further than most.
"I sound stupid," he says. "I don't even know what this dude's trying to say."
I press my finger to the page, though I don't look down at it. I keep looking at him. "It's not always what they're trying to say. It's how they say it. What words they use. How they want the words to make you feel." He frowns and deep creases on his forehead appear. I sigh and falter slightly. "Fine, I'll read the middle stanza. But you're reading the last one. Deal?" He nods, and I look down at the page. "One shade the more, one ray the less, had half impaired the nameless grace, which waves in every raven tress, or softly lights over her face. Where thoughts serenely sweet express, how pure, how dear their dwelling-place." I lift my eyes and urge him on. "Okay. Your turn."
He leans close again so he can see the print. "And on that cheek and over that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent, the smiles that win, the tints that glow. But tell of days in goodness spent, at mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent." His shoulders slouch a little when he finishes. "I like it when you read better."
"Well, me, too," I agree, and he rolls his eyes as I laugh at my own joke. "I'm kidding, you sound fine."
"Dude still sounds like he's on some shit," Jackson mutters.
"He might've been," I say. "But I think that one might be easy for you to write about. Lord Byron is literally just writing about this girl he loves and finds attractive. I'm sure you have plenty of those."
He eyes me. "Oh, really? And what makes you say that?"
I hadn't expected him to call me out on that, so I'm caught a bit off-guard, though I try not to show it. "Oh, whatever," I say. "Your eyes, your whole...demeanor thing you've got going on, don't even try to pretend that you don't have like, thirty girlfriends."
"Thirty-one," he says, pointing a finger in the air. "Can't forget that one."
"Yeah, yeah," I say. "Pick two more poems already."
"Only if you'll read out loud to me again," he says.
"Maybe," I say. "Just pick."
He picks two more poems; one by Keats and one by Wordsworth, and then closes the book dramatically. "That's all I got for today," he says, then stands up from his chair and forces it behind him with the backs of his knees. It hits the wall and I flinch. He sloppily gathers his materials and shoves them into his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder after everything is piled in. I get up to go, too, organizing everything as it should be inside my bag before I follow him out of the room.
Before I can solidify our meeting time for tomorrow, he raises his hand high in a wave to someone he knows. "Hey, Percy!" he shouts over the din of mingling students. "Hold up!" I watch his back as he walks away, and he doesn't even turn around to say so much as goodbye to me.
I pinch my lips together and hold onto the straps of my backpack as I walk out of Arts & Letters Hall. I don't come across many boys in my life, but I can confidently say that I'm glad about that. Boys are stupid. And complicated. And stupid.
"So, tell me everything," Lexie says, throwing the medicine ball at me full-force.
We're in gym class, dressed in our other uniform. Mid thigh-length navy blue shorts and a gray t-shirt with a navy blue ring around the neck with our school's crest emblazoned across the front. My hair is in a high ponytail on top of my head, just like most of the other girls in the room during our conditioning unit.
I catch the red ball with a great amount of difficulty, stumbling backwards with the weight. "Not much to tell," I say, and try to throw it back. It makes it about halfway to her before plummeting to the ground with a pathetic thump. We both stare at it, but she breaks and retrieves it first.
Lexie grunts as she picks up the ball. "Bullshit," she says.
"Grey!" A voice barks from right behind me, and I jump from the surprise. Mrs. Altman is standing below the basketball hoop, clearly within earshot. "Quit with the language, or get a demerit for the day."
When Mrs. Altman walks away, Lexie rolls her eyes and then pretends to look afraid as she mouths the words, "Ooh, a demerit!" She shakes her head and steps closer to me to throw the ball a shorter distance.
"Back behind the line," Mrs. Altman says, seemingly seeing with the eyes on the back of her head.
Lexie looks at her and squints. "April can't throw it that far," she says.
Mrs. Altman glances to me, then back to my best friend. "Sounds like her problem. Behind the line, and throw the ball." She blows her brash whistle and I cringe. "Throw!"
Lexie's eyes widen as she stares at the rubber gym floor, and she takes a step back like she was told. She throws the ball to me and I do my best to catch it with what looks like ease, but it's hard. My arms are like limp noodles.
It appeases Mrs. Altman, though, and she walks away to give another pair a hard time.
"I know there's stuff to tell," Lexie says, stepping forward after looking both ways to catch the ball as far as I can throw it. She steps back once she has it in her arms. "You don't go hang out with a college boy for an hour and not have stuff to tell."
"We didn't hang out," I say, then shake my arms out. "I tutored him. How many more? I'm going to fall over."
"Four," she says. "And spill. Or I'm gonna chuck this at you."
"I told you!" I say, "There's nothing to spill."
She follows through on her promise and chucks the ten-pound ball at me as hard as she can. It hits me in the stomach and I fall backwards with the blow to fall right on my butt, and we dissolve into a fit of laughter.
"Kepner, get up off the floor," Mrs. Altman calls, glaring at us from across the gym.
Using the ball to push off of from, I stand up again and brush the dust off my shorts. "You suck," I say, and swing the ball up from between my legs. "He showed me a rubric from his British Literature class. He has to write an essay on Romantic Period poets."
"Ooh, romance," Lexie says, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
"Stop," I say. "So we picked poems. He was pretty okay at reading them out loud."
"Oh, my god," she says. "You read poetry out loud. I'm dying."
I narrow my eyes and brace myself for the ball. "It was for an assignment," I say. "And anyway, he was totally rude. He thinks way too highly of himself, and it was really not becoming at all. Whatsoever."
"So...what did he look like?" she asks. We've found some sort of rhythm with the ball, going over our allotted ten tosses now.
"Bluey-green eyes, they're kind of both at once. Nice teeth. Pretty tall. Short, curly hair. Freckles, too."
"You were close enough to see freckles?!"
"Lex, please," I say, and set the ball down so I can brace my hands on my knees. "Can we please move on?"
"No, we can't move on," she says, sauntering up to me. "We can ditch the medicine ball, but you're gonna tell me every single detail while we jump rope, Double Dutch."
In the middle of lunch a couple hours later, I feel something bump into my back. I turn around to see what it was and find Alex Karev standing there, backpack lazily hanging off one shoulder, as he talks to his group of friends. I scowl at the bag that hit me and then try to shrink myself to get out of his way, but it doesn't do any good. It repeatedly hits me.
I don't plan on saying anything, but Lexie notices and cuts herself off midsentence. She swivels her shoulders and sees who's standing there, then pokes him in the arm. "Alex, watch where you're swinging your shit," she says.
He looks down with a leftover grin from the conversation on his face. He and Lexie aren't friendly with each other – actually, exactly the opposite - but he's best friends with her half-sister, Meredith.
"What?" he spits, squinting his eyes.
"You're hitting April with your backpack," she says, and I want to crawl into a hole. I do my best to never catch Alex's attention. Last year when I had big, frizzy hair and braces, I could never catch a break from him. I don't expect that now will be much different. He'll never change from being the same cruel person.
"And?" he says, adjusting it. He glances down at me as I try and make myself smaller and then does a double take. "Oh, look who found a mirror. Nice hair, Kepner."
I smooth my hand down over it and feel my cheeks flame up. "Thanks," I murmur.
"No, not thanks," Lexie says aggressively, standing up.
"Sit down, Lexie," Alex says, rolling his eyes.
"Don't talk to April like that," she says. "I'm really sick of it. And she is, too."
He looks at me. I wish he would stop. "What? She smiled."
"Yeah, because you embarrassed her!"
"I gave her a damn compliment," he says, squaring his shoulders.
"She's always been pretty," Lexie insists.
"Lex, just stop," I plead, wrapping my fingers around her wrist and pulling. "Just leave it. It's fine."
"See? She said it's fine," Alex says.
"It's not fine," she argues.
I feel Alex's eyes on me, but I can't look up from my sack lunch. "It was a compliment, Kepner, right? Got the braces off, cut the bushy-ass hair, just gotta get those glasses off you next. Then you'll be hot. Well, kind of. Closer, at least."
I gently push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and feel my cheeks somehow get hotter.
"Shut the fuck up, Alex," Lexie growls, and then we hear a different voice cut into the mix.
"Grey, to the office now."
I flip around to see the geography teacher, Mr. Burke, standing close to us looking furious. "You know the policy on language, Grey. If you need a refresher, I have plenty of copies of the handbook that you'll have time to look over in detention."
Lexie turns around slowly and I can see the cogs working in her mind. She glances back at Alex and then down at me, then opens her mouth. "Mr. Burke, Alex was just-"
"I don't want to hear it," he says sternly. "Office. Now. I'm right behind you."
I look up at her with wide eyes. "Lex…" I say apologetically.
"Wasn't you," she says, and I know she means it. "Talk later."
I give a curt nod and then wave as she stalks off towards the office. Once she and Mr. Burke leave, Alex stays hanging with circle of friends around him, Callie, Izzie and Denny. And even though lunchtime isn't over yet, I gather my stuff in preparation to leave. I don't want to be here anymore.
"Where're you going?" Arizona asks as I stand up.
Alice looks at me desperately. "Duckie, don't g-"
"Don't call me that here," I say between gritted teeth. "Don't. You're fine without me. I have homework to do."
Without waiting for either of their responses, I make my way to the bathroom on the first floor near the staircase. Once I peek under the stall doors to make sure I'm alone, I shut myself in the one farthest from the entrance and pull my knees up to my chest while somehow balancing on the toilet seat.
With my books on the floor, I wrap my arms around my legs and cry while rocking back and forth slightly. I hate the way that Alex makes me feel - and it's not just him. If I hadn't gotten out of there when I did, his friends would've jumped on me, too. I usually know what it takes to avoid getting targeted, and it involves not speaking up. And today Lexie spoke up, which will only make things worse for me in the long run. She doesn't have to worry about them. She's Meredith's half-sister; they can't touch her. Even though she's the person closest to me, they won't touch her. But me, on the other hand, I'm free game to them and I always have been.
As the clock ticks closer to fourth period, I wipe underneath my eyes and gather my things back up. When I walk out of the bathroom, I hurry to the senior hallway and hope that I don't catch the attention of anyone who might be leaving lunch early. While keeping my eyes cast down on the gray carpet, I fast-walk to my chemistry classroom and then sit down in my usual seat near the front, next to my lab partner, George O'Malley, who's already there.
"Hey, April," he says, seeming twitchy.
"Hi," I say, and take my glasses off so I can wash them. Once they're clear, I put them back on and sniffle a little bit.
He pauses for a minute before asking, "Are you okay?"
I frown and wipe beneath my eyes. I'm suddenly glad that I didn't choose to put mascara on today like I did yesterday. It would've been running like crazy."Yeah, of course," I say. "I'm fine."
"I was just wondering, you know, because you almost ran into me coming out of the girls' bathroom a few minutes ago," he says, chuckling awkwardly. "It looked like you were pretty upset."
"I wasn't upset," I say quickly. "I'm fine. I didn't see you, though… coming out of the bathroom. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run you over."
"You didn't. Just almost," he clarifies. "You looked flustered is all."
"I promise I'm not," I say, forcing a smile and tucking a piece of my hair behind my ears.
"Did you cut your hair?" he asks. I nod and turn to the worksheet that's being passed out. "It looks nice. Really nice. I like the shorter. Short hair. Most people, you know, think long hair is usually prettier, but I mean, I can see that's not always the case. It's not very typical. What I think I'm trying to say is, you're typical. I mean… no, wait. Not typical. You're not typical. Not like you're weird or anything, that's definitely not… not what I mean. At all. Oh, my god," he says. "I'm gonna shut up now."
I click my mechanical pencil's lead out. "Thanks," I say. "About the hair. Not about the shutting up." In all honesty, I zoned out and didn't hear much after his initial compliment about my hair. George has always been nice to me, but he talks too much. Especially to me, for some reason.
We get through half a project before it's time to leave and we have to put the rest of it off until tomorrow. "See you later, April," George says as I tuck my books under one arm. "Hope the rest of your day is good."
"You, too," I say distractedly, and walk to my next class. Only two more until I'm done for the day and can get out of here. Most days I really enjoy school, but today is not one of those days.
When I'm standing at my locker putting things in my backpack to bring to DePaul, Arizona saunters up beside me. "I saw you in chemistry earlier," she says, leaning on the locker beside mine.
"Really," I say, uninterested, as I balance my bag on my knee so I can zip it up.
"Uh-huh. I left Calc to pee. I was kinda roaming the halls and wasting time and stuff. And I peeked in your classroom and saw you sitting next to your favorite lab partner ever, George O'Malley."
I heave my backpack up on my shoulders. "And? Get to the point, AZ. I have to leave soon or else I'm gonna be late."
"April, you're so blind and I hate you. You're so totally blind. George is like, in love with you."
I scoff. "Stop."
"I'm not even kidding. The way he leans into you, his eyes were like, lit up when he was talking to you. He totally wants to bang you, Apes."
"Arizona," I say sternly, eyes widening. "Don't. Don't talk like that, I'm serious."
She giggles. "What?"
"Don't… say stuff like that. It's not funny. You know how I feel about that. And how you'resupposed to feel like about that, too."
"April…" she says, rolling her eyes. "It's a saying. I'm not saying go and jump into bed, or-"
"I'm done talking about this," I say, walking down the hallway with purpose. She follows me, though. "I have to go tutor."
"April, come on…" she says. "Lighten up."
"I don't feel that way towards George, okay?" I say. "And you saying it is only going to make me awkward. And I don't want that. I don't want to think about boys like that - any boy. I have enough on my plate as it is."
As I turn down the sidewalk to go one way and Arizona turns to go the other, she takes me by the shoulders. "You really need to loosen up," she says. "I'm just saying. Breathe once in awhile. It'll do you some good."
I shake my shoulders to get her hands off and then roll my eyes lightly. "See you tomorrow morning for the prayer circle. By the flagpoles."
"I'll be there, bright and early," she says. "Have fun with your college boy."
I ignore her loaded last comment and turn on my heel, away from her.
With Jackson today, I'm removed and distant. When we get close to the end of the session, he leans forward to lean on his elbows and narrows his eyes at me. "You're not peppy," he says. "What's up with that?"
I raise my eyebrows slightly. "Excuse me?"
"The bounce. The weird sparkle and zest for learning, it's not there," he says, gesturing with his hand in my general vicinity. "Something's off."
I scoff. "No," I say. "This is our second meeting. I don't know why you think you know my life story or the way I am or anything like that."
"Well, I do have eyes and a brain," he says. "No matter how much my writing makes you think otherwise."
"I already told you, I don't think that you're writing is that-"
"Don't divert," he says. "Tell me what's wrong. I'm a good listener."
"Nothing's wrong," I insist, then make a point to look up at the clock high on the wall. "I have to get going. My mom and dad'll be wondering where I am."
He narrows his eyes. "I have eight minutes left with you," he says. "And you're not going anywhere."
My hands freeze on the book that I had been closing. "I have to leave," I insist. "I just have to go."
"You're avoiding talking about whatever it is," he says. "And you think you're damn good at hiding it, but I gotta tell you, you're not." He smiles and shakes his head. "Look, I'm not gonna force it out of you. That's creepy. I just want you to know that if you need someone to talk to-"
"Please stop," I say. "I don't. I'm fine. I just need to go home now." I pick up the last of my things and let out a long sigh with my hand braced on the doorknob. "I'll see you tomorrow."
When I get home, I hear the sound of my family getting ready for dinner as I'm placing my shoes on the mat by the door. "Hi, Duckie, is that you?" Mom calls out.
"Yes," I say, hanging up my backpack on a hook. I come around the corner and see that dinner is already on the table and everyone is just sitting down. I join them at my place between my sisters and then take each of their hands as my dad prays.
"Dear God, thank you for blessing us with this meal. Please help it nourish our bodies and our minds so we can continue to live our lives in Your grace. Thank you for helping April, Kimmie and Alice start their school years off the right way, and please continue to bless them with the strength to be the upstanding figures who walk in Your light. We are so grateful for all You've done for us, God. In Your name we pray, amen."
I break my hands away and then reopen my eyes, picking up my silverware to start eating. I stay quiet for most of dinner, getting lost in the conversation topics that my sisters bring up, until my mom speaks directly to me.
"April," she says. "You've barely said a word, honey. How was your day at school? How is tutoring going?"
I get a flashback from earlier today where I see Alex's smug face looking down into mine, making fun of me in front of both his friends and mine. I get a flashback to Lexie sticking her neck out for me and getting detention because of it. I see George talking too much and Arizona talking too much and Jackson talking too much and now my family talking too much. I just want today to end already.
"It's good," I say, then set down my spoon. I've only finished about half my plate, but I want to be done here. "May I be excused?"
Dad looks at my plate and then at me with concern written all over his face. "You didn't eat much," he says.
"I know," I say. "I had a big lunch."
I feel Alice's eyes on me. She knows what happens at lunch. I will her not to open her mouth, and luckily she stays silent.
"Sure, then go ahead," Dad says, and I walk around the table after putting my dishes away to give him a hug around the neck.
"I'm going to my room to do some homework and go to bed," I say. "Night."
They all wish me goodnight and tell me they love me, and I head upstairs to my room. I take off my uniform and throw it in the dirty clothes basket after changing into my nightgown, and then sit down on the edge of my bed. I don't have any homework to do like I had told my family just moments ago, and I'm thankful for that. I don't think I'd be able to concentrate. I can't stop thinking about the uncomfortableness of today. No matter how hard I try to force it out of my mind, it won't go.
I switch my light off and then crawl under my covers. I take my glasses off, fold the bows in, and put them on my bedside table and set my alarm for early tomorrow morning. It's early; only about 7:45pm, but I cry myself to sleep.