Scream Your Heart Out; or, The Diaries of the Future Mrs. Christina Carpenter
"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?"
Christina gazed into her mother's concerned brown eyes from her place in the passenger's seat, and shook her head.
"I told you. If anyone sees me walking into school holding my mommy's hand I'll be labeled a loser before the first bell." She unbuckled her seat belt and reached into the backseat to retrieve her cheetah print backpack.
"You don't have to hold my hand. You're early anyway, there's hardly any kids here."
"Just being seen with you by one person would do the trick," Christina insisted, offering a playful grin as she slung her arm through one of the straps. She leaned forward to kiss her mother's cheek. "I'll be fine. Love you."
"Bye, mi amor. Love you too."
Christina exited the small but sturdy silver Toyota Corolla and approached the imposing double doors of Woodsboro High. She stopped at the front steps and gave her mother a final wave of reassurance before stepping inside, knowing she wouldn't pull away from the curb until she ensured her only child was safe inside. No doubt she would be idling in that same spot when the last bell rang that afternoon, waiting for her.
In the main office, Christina was surprised to be handed her schedule, locker assignment, and student handbook personally by the principal himself, a Mr. Arthur Himbry, who advised her rather paternally to "make Woodsboro High her home." She was then promptly sent off with a smiley ponytailed blonde who had been helping an annoyed-looking office clerk shred papers.
"Judy is an excellent student, and it looks like you share a couple of classes," said Mr. Himbry. "She'd be happy to show you around."
By now the hall was slowly filling with teenagers, and the two girls had to talk over the slamming of lockers and disgruntled morning yawns as they walked.
"Is he always like that?" asked Christina. "The principal, I mean. For a second there I thought he was going to personally escort me to my first class."
"Mr. Himbry loves his students," Judy replied sincerely, her voice a bubbly sort of chirp. "So, what's your schedule?"
"Uh…" Christina shuffled through the forty-paged handbook where she had already stuffed the paper. "English, homeroom, American history, geometry, Earth science, second lunch, Spanish, drama, and then study hall."
Judy leaned over to inspect Christina's schedule, as if to confirm she was telling the truth.
"Nice, we have Spanish, drama, and study hall together! Hmm"—she further analyzed—"oh, you've got Mrs. Tate for English; she's the best. Very sweet lady. I have her too but for third period. Her class is right over here." The two rounded a corner to a door propped open in the middle of the hall.
Christina adjusted her backpack on her shoulder and beamed gratefully at Judy.
"Thanks, Judy. What class do you have first?"
"Government."
"I guess I'll see you later, then?"
"You bet! I'll find you at lunch." The blonde matched her a with an equally bright-eyed smile, like her simple affirmation of hoping to see her again had just made her day. "And you're welcome, see you then!"
Christina watched Judy's ponytail swish back and forth as she walked away. It appeared that within minutes of being at her new school, she had already made a friend, and an eager one at that. Maybe being the new girl wouldn't be so bad.
The teacher Mrs. Tate looked pleased as Christina approached her desk in a way that immediately put her at ease. The first warning bell rang in the halls.
"Are you my new student? Miss—ah"—the smartly dressed older woman flipped her grey bob behind her ear as she examined a list of names on her desk—"Christina?"
"Yes, that's me."
"Very good. I've got everything ready for you here. This week we're wrapping up our study of The Catcher in the Rye. Your classmates will be taking a review quiz, but obviously you don't have to. I know it's harder for students transferring in the middle of the semester, so I'll give you an alternative assignment until we start the new unit so you can be all caught up. All right?"
"Well…I read Catcher in the Rye last year at my other school, Mrs. Tate," said Christina. "I could try to take the quiz."
Mrs. Tate raised her thinly-plucked brow.
"If you'd like," the teacher acquiesced. "Your transcripts showed that you were doing well in your last English class. But I won't hold it against you if you score poorly."
She was handed a syllabus and assigned a seat near the back of the class, next to another blonde girl with a round face and rosy skin. She shot Christina a small, welcoming smile as she sat down. The second bell rang a moment later, and Mrs. Tate was already at the chalkboard, copying warm-up questions from her notepad. She did not draw attention to Christina's newness, nor make her get up to introduce herself as she had feared. So far, so good.
The first obstacle of the day did not truly present itself until it was time for homeroom. Judy's helpfulness was immediately missed as Christina asserted herself through the halls and up the stairs, trying not to stare too long at her schedule lest she advertise her ignorance of the school's layout. When she was informed by Mr. Campbell, the middle-aged, salt-and-pepper haired teacher, that homeroom had no assigned seating, Christina took the first empty chair she could find at the end of the second row. The seat to her immediate left remained empty as the rest of the students filed in.
Attendance was taken, the Pledge of Allegiance was recited, and school announcements began to be made via intercom. Halfway through the declaration that the lunch menu would include the option of chicken tenders or fish sticks, a tall, baby-faced boy in a blue and yellow letterman jacket entered and took the open seat next to Christina. Mr. Campbell regarded him disapprovingly over the rim of his round glasses.
"The bell rang several minutes ago, Mr. Carpenter," he said. "I've already marked you as absent."
"I was helping Mr. Jackson take a box of books to his classroom," the boy said smoothly. "It was like sixty copies of Pride and Prejudice. They were delivered to the staff room. Way too heavy to carry on his own. You can ask him yourself, Mr. Campbell."
Christina studied his profile as he talked, noticing the faintest dusting of freckles against his tan skin, and the child-like roundness of his nose and jaw. He had not even a suggestion of facial hair, though his voice was deep and a lean, muscled frame swelled beneath his jacket. Something about his face was the slightest bit evocative of Leonardo Dicaprio, Christina thought, and she guessed that he must be popular based on that observation alone.
"I saw him, Mr. Campbell," she blurted out, unaware her mouth was even moving. "I saw him helping Mr. Jackson on my way here."
Mr. Campbell was apparently not as vexed toward the issue of whether or not Mr. Carpenter's tardiness was justified as he had originally appeared, for he pushed his glasses up on his nose and reopened his folder containing the attendance sheet.
"I'll take your word for it this time, Mr. Carpenter."
Christina stared forward at the blank chalkboard, her cheeks burning.
"Thanks," the boy whispered as the announcements droned on.
She dared to look at him. His hazel eyes were as kind as the rest of his features were pleasing.
"You're welcome," she whispered back. "I hope you were telling the truth, though. I don't even know what Mr. Jackson looks like."
"I was. And he's old."
"Good, I don't need to be getting myself into trouble on my first day."
"I thought I didn't recognize you," he replied, regarding her curiously. "Where'd you move from?"
"Los Angeles."
He frowned incredulously.
"Who the hell moves from L.A. to Woodsboro?"
"I do, I guess," said Christina, shrugging. "But it's because of my dad. He got a new job at the law office in downtown Woodsboro."
"No shit?" He leaned a little closer to her in his neighboring seat, and suddenly the conversation with this boy she had just met felt very intimate. "What street are you on? Oh"—realization shone bright in his eyes—"you're not in that house on Whispering Lane, are you?" If he wasn't so cute in his vaguely Leo Dicaprio-esque way, Christina might've been weirded out. Her expression evidently conveyed this, for he quickly added: "Sorry, small town. I'm a few blocks over."
"No, it's okay. I can get over a little culture shock."
"How are you liking Woodsboro so far?"
"Well…" Christina looked around the room, partly to confirm that Mr. Campbell was none-the-wiser to their extended conversation. Their teacher had turned his attention from the attendance sheet to what appeared to be a well-worn romance paperback. The boy in front of her was doodling in his notebook. "I like it so far. But we only moved in this past weekend. I haven't seen much."
"Maybe I could show you around sometime. If you want." Her neighbor offered his hand. "I'm John, by the way."
"Christina." She shook it briefly, praying to God it wasn't clammy, when another thought entered her head. "Wait, so you're John Carpenter? Like—?"
"Like the horror director, yeah," he replied, in a way that made Christina think he had heard the connection referenced several times before and was on the cusp of finding it annoying. Still, he was all smiles. "Are you a fan?"
"I tried to watch The Thing when I was younger. Chickened out." Christina shook her head, laughing. "But everyone likes Halloween."
"Yeah, that's a classic. He's got another movie named after you, I think!" said John. "The one about the killer car, right?"
The boy in front of Christina turned around. He was dark-haired, with a narrow face and pointed features.
"Actually, dear Johnny boy," he said, looking rather proud of himself, "that would be Christine. 1983. Based on the Stephen King book of the same name. Close though!"
John barely paid him a glance, rolling his eyes.
"Yes, thank you, Randy. Glad to see the role of Resident Movie Geek is always so dutifully filled."
"Mr. Carpenter, Mr. Meeks," said Mr. Campbell, finally taking notice, "I'm sure your new classmate would rather hear the rest of the announcements than whatever you two are discussing. Pay attention."
A smattering of laughter from the class followed. John grinned apologetically in her direction before facing forward, as did Christina and Randy. Her cheeks were set aflame again, but the smile that accompanied it was hard to smother—and for the second time that morning, the optimistic thought occurred her: Perhaps being the new girl at Woodsboro High wouldn't be so bad, after all.