"If you ask me, that Jennie had a chip on her shoulders just like her parents." - High School receptionist.
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..JENNIE..
"Come on Jennie." Dad ushers me forward, straightening his tie and smoothing his dress shirt as we go. Students stare out the classroom windows, the ones on the football field standing still as they watch us. Taking a step forward, my eyes seem stuck on the field, on the blond haired girl in front of the crowd. Letterman jacket and eyes that seem to brand me from afar. She's familiar to me and my whole body acknowledges it as goosebumps dance across my skin.
Slow motion images string into the back of my mind of the night I threw my morals out the window with reckless abandon. That warm April spring night that I was left in a fancy five-star hotel and pissed at the world I couldn't recognize anymore. That night I lived like there was no tomorrow, like it was my last day on earth.
What started out as a walk around the parking lot soon turned into a night of exploration, and by fate, I just happened to stumble upon a backwoods party full of kids my age while mother and father were out looking for property to buy. We were moving, again. The longest we've lived in one place is a year, and then we're on the move again. So I was angry, like always. I was pissed at a lot of things that have raised to the surface in my family. I didn't know anybody at the party, and they didn't know me. But that didn't stop me from dancing in the night with bonfire smoke in my hair, and my will to find myself under the stars thumping against my chest.
Shaking my head, I push those thoughts of that night to the back of my mind and follow my parents inside.
Looking around, I can't help but notice there are no security officers at the front doors, nor cameras in the hallways. It's a small building, and it has that feel that everyone knows everyone - matching the town. Which meant they can not only be surprisingly brutal when idle, but I'll be even more out of place at this small-town school.
After all, it's not my first time attending a school this size.
I sling my tie-dye shoulder bag over my chest, my mouth dry at the mere thought of starting another new school, add on it's at the end of the year making it worse. I catch the receptionist running a disapproving eye over me, her thin brows narrowed in as if she's looking at an old throw pillow out of place on a fancy couch.
I'm used to side looks like that though. I've been told I don't dress or act like teenagers my age, and next to my parents, I'm a sore thumb. Looking down, I fiddle with my colorful bracelets. Hippie. Flower child. Bohemian princess. These are all names I've been called, but ask the fucks I give. I was born in the wrong era. I could have thrived in the sixties. A time where there was no judgment and everyone was friends with everyone. Life was wild, and the only morals anyone had was where they got their drugs from and who to pleasure.
I'm just like my grandma which my mother disapproves. She says I remind her of her mother too much. The way I dress and act so free willed. Seeing as how I hung out with my grandma until her death, it should be no surprise I act like her.
In all honesty, she could care less about what I'm into as long as I don't embarrass her and stay out of trouble. As far as she's concerned, a girl should be pretty and sophisticated. Preaching "Money follows beauty, Jennie." My being five foot two with long wavy chestnut hair, and green eyes isn't what bothers her though, it's my array of headbands I wear around my forehead each day, my bohemian style outfits, and lead-stained fingertips from drawing that has grossed her out. Grandma would love it.
My father, on the other hand, could care less what I look like, he's always on my back about keeping my head in the books, and that doesn't include art books. He thinks being an artist is a waste of brain activity and time. My grandma would disagree if she were still alive.
"The Kim!" My head snaps up at the mention of my last name finding a tall man wearing a cheap suit and a smug smile stepping out of a back office. The principal's office. His hair combed over and sprayed with hairspray so heavily it shines. He looks like he's trying out for a fifty's porno.
"I'm Principal Green, and can I just say how happy we are to have you in our town?" He grips my father's hand, shaking it a little too eagerly. Typical principals' reaction to my parents.
My dad's face remains somber, he's used to people being dramatically excited for his arrival. He smells of money, and he knows it. I could care less about money, especially now that I know how he earns it. Maybe I can say that because I've always had it, but I can tell you from behind closed doors it doesn't make people happy.
Flashbacks from growing up of my parents screaming at each other string in the back of my mind. I have to sigh heavily to veer myself away from that emotional roller coaster. They don't trust each other, always thinking the other is messing around the other's back. Knowing who they work for, I can see why now.
My parents met attending a seminar on 'How to Be the Richest Friend on The Block.'
My dad locked eyes with her from the stage and they said it was love at first sight. Twenty minutes later they were in the hotel room and I was conceived.
"You're here on business, correct?" Principal Green pushes. Wondering how long he's staying, and will he invest in the school activities I participate in, I'm sure. Giving my parents a sideways glance I can't help but wonder if everyone knows of the activities my parents bestow on each town they come to.
"Will we make you rich if that's what you mean?" Mother laughs, her fake giggles gyrating my nerves.
"Business later," Dad interrupts, rubbing my mother's back with a tight smile across his face.
"Right, we're here for our daughter Jennie's first day," my mother interrupts. The way she draws her words out as if her language is of riches, drives me crazy. She pulls at my green top, and sighs loudly when she tucks up behind me closely and whispers in my ear, "You couldn't wear something a little nicer?"
"I have my two piece romper back home. You know, the blue sequined one? It would go nicely with the mascot colors here, don't you think?" I sass, my tone and face serious. I've gotten good at acting when it comes to my mother. If I can't have fun with her, I'd be some depressed teenager who can't cope that her parents don't understand her.
"Right, let's get your classes in order and get you started!" Mr. Green slaps his hands together, making my mother jump where she stands.
"Do you have an art program?" I can't help but ask. My last school had tons of opportunities for me to dig my hands into something creative. But that was New York, not here in bo-donk hell.
I love sketching the most which is the most simple form of art I can think of, so surely they have something like that here. I can't help but ask because it's my only escape. I get lost in the drawing and drown out the faded blur that has become my existence. Art is my way of exploring an imagination, a world that is my own. Art is something nobody can take away from me, even moving from state to state. Art is who I am.
My parents both groan in protest at my question, but I ignore them and await the response of Mr. Green's reply.
"You want to be an artist?" he asks with amusement, his tone as if he was talking to a small child. I should say 'I want to be a stripper, where do I sign up for those classes' and really give everyone in here a shock they can't come back from.
I don't reply, because it will only earn me further growls from my parents who think art is a waste of time, and I really don't care to have that conversation here in the hallway. At least not this early in the morning.
Besides, I don't just want to be an artist, I want to be the art. Every step I take forward, or may it be backward, I want an array of colors to tell my story in my wake.
Mom hugs me tightly as if it's my first day of school. Well, it is, but the way she's squeezing me you'd think I was six and not seventeen. "What happened to the Chanel perfume I got you? You smell of pencil shavings," she scoffs in my ear, and I can't help but roll my eyes at her. That bottle was donated to the thrift store when we moved. It smelled so strong I couldn't smell anything but it. Her hand trails down my arm, and I know she's about to check my nails and fingers next. Which my chipped blue fingernail polish will no doubt be the wrong color and then she'll notice my lead-stained fingertips which will really get her going on me.
"Your locker is seventy-four." The receptionist hands me a small piece of paper with the combination written on it. Jerking my hand from Mom's grip, I take the slip from the receptionist, and the principal hands me my class schedule. I bite my cheek to hide how relieved I am for the distraction.
"Thanks," I whisper, praying I don't lose the small piece of paper with the combination on it.
"See you tonight, kid." Dad gives my shoulder a firm grip, the smell of his cologne strong. This is his usual way of telling me he cares about me, and have a good day. He's never been the touchy-feely kind, not that I can remember anyway. The lack of connection in our family can't be missed from wondering eyes, but I would have never noticed if it weren't for seeing other families hug and love on their kids, or watching movies or parents reading stories to their kids before bedtime.
It's whatever. I'm fine. You can't miss something you never had, can you?
"Don't be such a hippie," Mom whisper-yells behind her hand, giving a small laugh afterward conveying she's joking. "Seriously though, take that headband off and maybe a few bracelets," she points at my wrists.
Knowing I need to get away from her before she starts trying to pull my bracelets off herself, I take a step away and start down the hall.
With a tight smile pulling at my cheeks, I head for my locker to put my things away just as a loud bell rings. Warm bodies swarm the halls getting to their next class, and I quickly find my locker and hide behind the door to put my things away. Sighing heavily, I try to erase my parents' voices in my head. I've lived by the rules my parents have had carved in stone since I can remember. But for the first time ever, I feel the urge to… rebel.
I should, I deserve it after everything that happened in our last town.
A familiar smell wafts past me. One that is spicy and does things to my body. Tingles running up my spine, hair raising on my neck. Things that don't happen every day. Glancing over my shoulder, I see nameless faces, but I remember that smell from the night I ran away from a hotel into a field of fire. I'll never forget that night.
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Taking a deep breath, my dry throat feels like sandpaper, I open the classroom door to a room full of students. Their eyes suddenly all on me. I freeze.
"Can I help you?" an older man standing at the front of the class wearing a blue polo shirt and khaki pants asks.
"I'm Jennie, the new student." I hand him a slip that the front desk gave me, and his eyes light up with recognition.
"That's right! Well, welcome to biology. Find a seat and I'll—"
My bag clutched to my chest, I look around for an empty seat. It's so packed in here I start to panic I'll have to sit on the floor. Alas, there's one empty chair and it's at the back of the class and I all but run to it.
"Excuse me." I turn sideways, snaking myself through the tight space between desks.
Setting my bag down on the floor, I slip into the seat and it wobbles from my weight. Eyes wide, my hands strangle the side as I try and catch my balance. Looking down, one of the legs is shorter than the other three, like it's missing a peg or something. Shit.
Not daring to move, I situate myself carefully and look up just in time to find a tall girl wearing a letterman jacket with the number nine printed along the back of it. Her choppy blond locks fall into her face, and she hits me with a charming smile while she walks toward me.
Holy shit, it's the girl from the party with baby blue eyes I could never forget, looking right into my line of sight.
"Trade me seats?" she suggests. Her hooded eyes, sharp chin, and kissable lips remind me of that night like it was yesterday. Tension builds between us as she knows who I am and I know who she is. My body fills with liquid heat that couldn't compare to the bonfire of that night we met. Everyone is watching us, and I clear my throat and avert my eyes downward.
"Oh, that's okay, I—" The desk wobbles, and a couple girls start to laugh at my expense. Giving them a side glance, I can already tell they're the popular clique of the school. The type everyone hates but secretly wants to be. Except me.
Pressing two palms on top of the desk she leans in, the smell of Old Spice wafting around me. Goddamn was she this good-looking back when we hooked up?
"Come on, don't make me look like an ass in front of everyone." She winks, and I feel her smoldering stare all the way to my toes. Closing my eyes, I breathe through the sound of her familiar voice. It's definitely her. The girl with P. It's the girl I gave my virginity to one hot spring night, and I didn't even catch her name. This is awkward.
No names, no seeing each other again, and definitely no ocean blue eyes I'd ever have to look at again. That was the way it was supposed to be. Especially after letting myself go like a Catholic school girl who was pissed at her parents.
"Okay fine." I shrug. She's already made a big enough scene. Standing, I grab my bag and head to the desk she was sitting in with shaky knees. She slips into the broken one without problem, it doesn't even wobble on her. Go figure. The girls in the corner stare at me with red faces, obviously not happy Ms. Letterman Jacket was nice to me. I wonder if one of them is her girlfriend? Were they together when we were together?
Tucking hair behind my ear, I try and keep my head down the remainder of the class, but adrenaline fills my veins knowing she's staring at me, taking in every inch of skin I have to offer from just two seats over. Risking a glance, I look at her – she's watching me. She smirks, chewing on the end of a pencil before taking her gaze back to the teacher who is talking about what they've learned this year. I don't know what that is at the moment. I can't think, I can't even breathe.
"Lisa, do you think biology will help you this summer?" the teacher calls upon her and it catches my attention that her name is Lisa. I like it. It's strong and bold. Like her.
"Oh, I'm sure I'll have a lot of experience with biology this summer, Mr. Lightner." The whole class begins to chuckle, and Lisa looks at me as if I am her newest prey.
Gulping down the lump in my throat, I continue to draw on my notepad. She is cute. Her face is sharp. Her eyebrows thick giving her baby blue eyes the touch of haughtiness that has me curling my toes when she looks at me. And those lips, Jesus I've never seen such a full pair of lips on a girl, her cupid bow making me nibble at my own.
Side-eyeing her, my eyes trail down the rest of her, curious if she's tan? Does she have tattoos?
She catches me looking, and I still. Our eyes locked, my mind replaying the moans of that night on repeat in the back of my head.
The bell rings, and everyone stands instantly, breaking mine and Lisa's stare-off. Blinking rapidly, I gather my things for the next class, ready for this day to be over with. I feel like an idiot joining a school at the end of senior year.
"So you're the new girl?" My eyes snap up to a cheeky blonde girl glaring at me. I give a fake smile, and try and step around her but she steps in my way. "I saw the way you were staring at Lisa. Hell, the whole class saw you nearly throw your panties in her direction." She scoffs.
My brows pinch together, and my mouth drops at the tone of this bitch. I'm not usually one for confrontation, I'm more relaxed and forgiving, but she is coming on super strong and pissing me off.
"Wow, you need to chill." I don't know why she's so bent out of shape.
She takes a step up, closing the gap between us. "Stay. Away." She enunciates each word, making her glossy lips pucker.
I raise a brow at her threat. She clearly isn't friendly and isn't going to relax any time soon. I bet if I told her Lisa and I hooked up she'd have a stroke right here. Hmm, it's tempting.
"Come on Rosé, she gets the message," a girl that looks identical to Rosé whispers from behind. Rosé doesn't budge, and I'm done with theatrical drama queens for one day.
I step forward, slamming my shoulder into Rosé causing her to drop her things to the floor.
Glancing over my shoulder at the mess I left behind, the group of blondes gasp horrifically and instantly begin to help Rosé pick her things up.
"You'll regret that," one of them threatens.
I stop, not sure how to handle the situation. I've seen bullies and school fights, sure, but nobody has ever had a problem with me. I'm the girl that is friends with everyone. That can sit anywhere and be accepted. However, these girls clearly are not going to be friendly any time soon, and I won't let someone jerk me around either. One of the blondes continues to stare at me with a heated look, and anger builds in my chest at the way she's treating me. These girls don't even know me and they're already deciding to hate me.
"Yeah, maybe if you all put your brains together you can come up with a really good comeback," I insult. A smile breaks through my lips, a little proud of myself at that one, and head out of class.
Thank God there are only a couple weeks left of school, then again, I like a good challenge.
Not that I'm threatened by Rosé or her squad. But maybe stirring up some trouble in this town will keep me from being so bored.
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