Chapter 4: Degrassi
Petra's P.O.V.
"School picture!" Tim calls, running down the stairs waving a camera. Ethan, Jeremy and I all wince; this happens every year and every year it just gets more painful. I give Jeremy a hopeful look, praying that this once he'll pull the reins in. But no, all I get is a sad smile.
"Mirror check!" Tim cries manically, waving us over to the hall mirror. There's Jeremy, tall and dark and soft looking, like a teddy bear, Tim, tall, sharp featured with wiry blonde hair, Ethan, pale, tall, dark haired, and disinterested. Then there's me: long hair, annoyingly short, freckly, with a little button nose. Cute. I'm always cute.
"Okay, let's have Petty sit cross legged on the ottoman, with Ethan putting his arm around her. Jeremy, you and I will stand in the back. Everyone got it? Good. Let's go." Tim orders, propping the camera up against the credenza and setting the timer. I plop down on the ottoman, Ethan slides around me, and Tim and Jeremy stand in the back.
We sit there for a few awkward seconds, waiting for the flash. It finally goes of and Tim flies at the camera. "Perfect. Now let's get out the door. It's already 7:30! You don't want to be late the first day of school. What message does that send?"
I slide into my beaten maroon, lace-up boots and grab my bag, plain khaki with little rivets. The same one I've used since 7th grade. My outfit is pretty boring; this is the first day back at school, in my memory, where I haven't spent hours fretting over my outfit. It feels strange, but also…exciting.
I've also overturned the no skirts rule Noelle and I made in 6th grade; it's a brown miniskirt so short it worries me. But no one in my family said anything, although considering they're all guys, one of them is related to me and the other two raised me, I doubt they'd notice the length of my skirt, so I'll wear it. It's just too big, as most things are now and when I walk it starts to slide off of my skinny hips. Topping it off is a plain, beige-y tank top. I think I look kinda cool, but I remind myself not to think about it seconds later.
Ethan and I trudge out to our shared car. Which is actually only Ethan's because I don't, under any circumstances, want to drive. Ever. It terrifies me.
Once we're in and driving away, I start to feel hungry. Mind blowingly hungry. I want to ask Ethan to make a stop at a coffee place or something, but I know that even if I do eat, if I can, it'll all just come back up later.
The stress-vomiting started back in March. When I got beaten out for the solo in the spring recital by Harley Millner. It was afterwards, when the Dads had taken me out to celebrate the solo they assumed I'd get, but weren't sure how to react when I told them I didn't get it. So we still went. Ethan refused to come; we were fighting that day.
I was eating a delicious piece of grilled chicken, with pepper and lots of spices. But every time I took a bite, that little voice inside my head pops up, reminding me that I don't deserve a celebratory meal, that Harley Millner isn't having one; she's practicing. And Harley actually has something worth celebrating. I was such a loser.
And then I started to think about all the tests I had that week, how little I understood in the extra Latin class I was taking at the community college, how I was never going to get into a good school. My stomach was churning. I calmly stood up, asked to be excused and promptly heaved my guts out in the bathroom.
When I was done, I sat there leaned up against the wall for a few minutes. Finally, I stood up, wiped off my mouth, went back outside and told Jeremy and Tim that I had a head ache. I didn't tell them about the vomiting. I thought it was a one-time thing.
How wrong I was.