Every day is the same. The only thing that changes is the date. Today is September 1st - the first day of senior year.
I stare blankly at the cracks in my ceiling, beginning to wish I could join them in their unproductivity and simply become a spectator to this sad, dismal world I reluctantly call my life.
Most would say senior year is supposedly the greatest year of your academic career; your final hurrah before the crushing pressures of college threaten to eat up your sanity and suffocate your social life in its stifling grasp. At least, that's the case for most of my peers. As for me, I can't wait to escape this shit show of a school and finally explore the greater adventures that life has to offer, the kind of adventures you lust for in movies, or books, or that are promised on sparkling, blinding billboards in the city. It's this hope that I desperately cling to, like a drowning woman might cling to a life preserver, because, if I don't, I fear I might sink in the hopelessness of eternal monotony.
Pleasant thought, isn't it?
Accepting the basic fact that I cannot join the cracks in my ceiling, I unwillingly climb out of bed and, after a moment's silence of mental preparation, I begin the dreary process of getting ready for school. Brush teeth, shower, brush hair, get dressed, eat breakfast – a universal experience for every student worldwide. Downstairs, I discover that Mom has already left for work.
I sigh.
She's taken a double shift again. She claims I need the money to pay for my books this year to help get me into college. Even though I've told her countless times that I can easily use the second-hand library that the school has so desperately promoted to "less-advantaged" students, she won't have it. She's too proud.
Suddenly, a car aggressively honks outside my window. It's an arrogant honk, one from a pretentious car with a proud driver.
"What the fuck-" I mumble, opening the front door, only to reveal a gleaming red Mini Cooper parked crookedly on the curb and a blonde girl grinning manically at me from the driver's seat.
"Katharine...when...how..." I stammer, as I stand motionless on the front step, astounded at the view of my best friend's tauntingly expensive but undeniably picturesque new car.
"Get in!" she yells back, motioning to the passenger side.
Still stunned, I make my way down the front garden towards the car and shuffle in beside her.
"Isn't she gorgeous? I got her for my birthday!" Katharine squeals, searching for a reciprocated reaction of excitement on my face.
Despite my undeniable jealousy and slight contempt, I give her what she wants.
"She's stunning! How much was she?" I ask, bracing myself for the sting of her answer.
"Oh, I have no idea, Mom paid for it as an apology for not being able to make it back from London in time for my birthday," she replies, the excitement faltering in her voice. I change the subject.
"So, ready for first day of senior year?" I say, hoping to raise the excitement levels again.
Her expression lights up. "Oh, I can't wait!" she exclaims, her voice rising with each syllable. "It feels like forever since I've seen some of the people in our year, I'm so excited to get caught up on the gossip from over the summer!" As she pulls away from the curb, she continues to chatter on, like one of those wind-up toys you played with as a child. I stare lifelessly out the window, my eyes following the trees as we drive by, her incessant rambling eventually becoming background noise.
As much as I love Katharine like a sister, sometimes my social circuit cannot handle the current that her seemingly inexhaustible battery can put out. We've been friends since the beginning of high school, just two losers united by a shared lack of parental stability in their lives. Her mom and dad's marriage began to break down just after she turned fifteen, while my dad left before I was born.
But two years ago, Katharine's mom left her husband and has since landed herself a stellar job in an accounting firm. And while she still lacks parental stability, Katharine says her mom's new salary more than makes up for it. I, however, wasn't so lucky. But, despite our newfound differences in lifestyle, I must give Katharine credit for sticking by me all these years, even though I sometimes find her financial endeavours insufferable to listen to.
We arrive in the parking lot just as the bell rings out its piercing scream.
"Ah shoot, I would've walked with you to class but I have a meeting with the guidance counselor first thing," Katharine says, with a genuine note of deflation and sadness in her voice.
I smile softly. "No worries, I'll see you at lunch," I reply, before stepping out of the car and waving to her through the windshield.
Walking towards the school doors, I inwardly sigh as I see a flood of people enter the building, all of whom I wouldn't have minded if they had mysteriously dropped dead at some point during the summer, never to threaten to grace my presence ever again. But alas, I didn't have such luck. Moments later, however, an audible groan escapes my lips, as three figures make their way up the stairs ahead of me. Blurs of green, red, and yellow, like a conceited set of traffic lights that signal bitchiness: the Heathers.
But there's a fourth figure, that of royal blue. A new Heather? Impossible. Surely not. The Heathers have never even entertained the idea of considering a new member into their group; besides, there's not even another Heather in our year. I snap out of my thoughts and forget about the strange figure because I'm late for class.
"Shit," I mutter. There's only one seat left by the time I arrive outside homeroom. There's a spare seat beside Owen, but that's undoubtedly saved for Katharine. The lonesome available seat is right at the back, beside the junkies, behind a kid who looks like he's passed out right there on the desk, his head resting heavily on his arms.
I slump begrudgingly into my seat and lean back. The room is filled with conversations of summers and holidays and gossip, a sense of blubbering excitement at seeing old friends lingering in the air. I begin to feel a twinge of sadness in my heart at the sight of the chattering mouths. That feeling of loneliness and emptiness that has become a cruel friend once again welcomes me into its arms, as I sit silently at the back of the classroom.
I become so engulfed in trying to battle my rising feelings of dull heartache that I fail to notice that the boy at the desk in front has awoken from his hunched slumber and is turned in his chair, staring, directly at me.