Chapter Text
Monday, August 27th.
Today is the first day of school, and the beginning of my sophomore year. It’s a little after six-thirty in the morning, I don’t want to be awake right now, and my head hurts. Why do we always go back so early? The other districts in our county don’t start until after Labor Day, why can’t we do the same? It never made any sense to me.
I stand at the corner of my street, leaning against the stop sign and checking through my backpack for what’s probably the fifth time today to make sure I have everything I need. Two binders, a few folders, six new notebooks, a small bag full of pencils, pens, and highlighters, and a bag with clothes for Gym. Okay, everything’s where it should be.
The school bus pulls up to the curb after what feels like an eternity of waiting. The door opens and I step inside, giving the driver a small nod as a greeting. Because I’m the first pickup and there’s nobody else at my stop, all the seats are empty. I quickly take a seat near the middle section as the bus starts moving again.
Students of various grades enter the bus in groups of four or five. Most of them are silent, obviously still half-asleep, but there are a few who come on softly talking and laughing with each other. As they walk down the aisle, people who were my lab partners or on my team in Gym last year say hi to me. I give them a small smile or a tired wave in response, too tired to say anything.
As the driver pulls away from the final stop, I take a look around the bus. As far as I can see, I’m the only one sitting alone. None of my friends are on the same route. Even if they were, I doubt any of them would talk to me. I haven’t talked to them in a few weeks, and given how everything went down between us, I won’t be surprised if they’ve been avoiding each other like the plague.
We pull into the bus lot, passing the large sign sitting in front of the high school. ‘Maple Ridge High - Welcome back everyone!’ is spelled out in large, black letters. Someone in one of the seats behind me is wearing way too much perfume. The strong floral smell stings my nose and makes my headache worse. I try to open my window, but the little latches are stuck and I can’t get it to move.
The freshmen have to go to the auditorium for some ‘welcome to the school’ assembly, but the upperclassmen get to go straight to their homerooms. Just like all those cheesy high school movies, the students of Maple Ridge fall into various cliques: Jocks, Preps, Gamers, Weebs, Artists, Theater kids, Band kids, Emos, Stoners, Nerds, Skaters, Country kids and the ones who drift between cliques. I walk past the groups, feeling out of place. My last weeks of summer break were spent browsing around online or binging TV shows. I didn’t go to the mall, the pool or the lake, I didn’t call or text anyone aside from family. I’m going into my second year of high school with no one by my side.
I am nothing but an outcast.
I spot two of my friends, Jocelyn Evans and Zack O’Brien, on the walk to my homeroom, but I don’t have the energy to try and talk to them. We had our own little clan, but after what happened this summer, it’s been broken apart and the pieces have been snatched up by the other cliques. Jocelyn is, unsurprisingly, hanging out with the Jocks, discussing their favorite sports and comparing scars they got from their summer activities. Zack walks with a group that seems to be made up of both Artists and Theater kids. He’s always been the most extroverted member of our group, and he’s got plenty of personality to be in two cliques at the same time. Lucky guy. Mikey moved down to Delaware not too long after summer break began. Not a giant loss, he was mostly Jocelyn’s friend. The rest of us were never super close with him.
There’s a group of people laughing loudly behind me, and I can’t help but wonder if it's directed towards me. I hesitantly glance over my shoulder. It’s Riley, surrounded by a bunch of people wearing clothes that look way too expensive to have come from any of the malls around here.
Riley Costello, the girl I’ve considered my best friend since we were in first grade, is now a part of the Preps. We did practically everything together, and she was the one I trusted the most. If there is one person I’m dying to tell the truth about what happened, it’s Riley. A strange burning sensation grows in my throat as I stare at her.
We make eye contact for a split second and her smile quickly disappears. She seems like she’s going to say something, but instead glares and walks away, her new friends following closely after her. Well, Riley definitely hates me. Damn. I suppose that could’ve gone better, but I’m not going to think about it. It’s over now. I need to find my class.
After a few minutes of wandering around, I manage to find my homeroom. Almost all of the desks are taken. I quickly grab an empty seat near the middle of the room. The girl in the desk next to me turns her head and smiles, but doesn’t say anything. She’s got long blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and braces.
“Hi, I’m Amanda.” She introduces herself. “I’m new here. Are you also?” Ah, she’s a new girl. No wonder I don’t recognize her. I don’t have time to answer her question as the teacher stands up from his desk, obviously about to start talking. He begins by introducing himself to the class (His name is Mr. Lewis), then goes around the room, handing out pieces of paper that contain our schedules and locker information. We’re then sent out into the hallway to find our lockers.
MY SCHEDULE
Pd. 1 - Physical Education 10
Pd. 2 - Biology
Pd. 3 - Introduction to Business/Digital Photography/Drivers Ed
Pd. 4 - English 10
Pd. 5/6 - World History
Pd. 7/8 - Algebra 2
Pd. 9 - Lunch
Pd. 10 - Art
The gym is on the other side of the school. I get lost and end up being late to first period. Great way to start the year.
~
I’m about halfway through the school day, and both my classes and the teachers are interesting. In a good way or a bad way? It’s only the first day, still too early to say for sure.
Biology already seems like it’s going to be boring. Science has never really been my thing. At least our teacher Mr. Walters, who I had last year for Earth Science, seems like he enjoys teaching this stuff. He was nice last year, hopefully that carries over to this year.
For the first two marking periods, I have Introduction to Business as my third period class. I’m not too sure what that is or how I even got put into this class. It’s not an elective I remember signing up for when we made our schedules at the end of last year, but it doesn’t seem like it’ll be a difficult class. We sit at computers, the teacher posts the lesson plan, we do the work. Boring, but simple. Most of the class, mainly the guys, seem more interested in playing games or watching YouTube than actually working. Can’t say I blame them.
The first thing that stood out to me about my English teacher, Mrs. Lucas, was her hair. Wavy, bushy hair that falls down over her shoulders. Her hair is black until her neck, then is dip-dyed an orange-ish shade that probably started out as red. It’s definitely a look.
Aside from the interesting hair, she seems nice enough. We’re told what books we’re going to be reading this year, then we get journals. She wants us to write in them every day and says they’ll be collected and graded at the end of each week, but she promises not to read too deeply into them. I keep my first entry simple and write about how my day is going so far.
I’ve always been a bit of a History nerd. I’d even go as far as to say it’s my favorite subject in school, so I’m excited for World History. It sounds much more interesting than freshman year’s American History, which we had learned about several times already. When it comes to American History, it’s always the same thing every year: they tell us we’re going to get up to present day, but we always end up getting stuck near the end of learning about World War II. We did manage to get up to the Cold War back in seventh grade, that was pretty neat.
My World History teacher is my homeroom teacher, Mr. Lewis, also known as Coach Lewis to the Jocks. I can’t remember what team he coaches. Girls’ soccer, I think? He seems friendly enough, but he gives off more of a Gym teacher vibe than a History one. Hopefully he can teach as good as he coaches.
~
After Algebra 2, the class I’m the least excited for, comes ninth-period Lunch. God, I’m starving. Why do I always get stuck with the last lunch period?
The school food last year wasn’t great and I don’t have high hopes that it’ll be any better this year. But packing a sandwich or something completely slipped my mind while I was getting ready, so buying lunch is my only option for today. At least it’ll give me a chance to scan the cafeteria for a spot to sit.
The lunch for today consists of a chicken patty, tater tots, and a small container of salad. Well, at least it looks and smells edible. I’m not sure if there’s a way I can order something different, so I just follow the line until I reach the cash register. I buy a bottle of lemonade from the vending machine and look around the room, trying to think of where I can sit.
I don’t want to sit by myself, sitting alone in a crowded room like this would make me feel awkward. I spot Riley and her new group of preppy friends, but they’re too invested in their conversation to pay me any attention. I see a few other people I kind of know, but they also don’t notice me. There’s that new girl, Amanda, sitting alone by the windows. I could sit across from her, start a conversation. Yeah, it seems like that’s my best option right now.
~
Art is my final class of the day. The classroom is located at the far end of the building, thankfully not too far from the cafeteria. I feel sorry for all the students who have to walk all the way across the school to reach it.
The room has large windows, which allows the sun to shine brightly through them and warm up the room. Little plants line the window sills, soaking up the light. Sketches of plants, animals and other colorful designs are hanging on the walls, and the shelves in the back are crowded with dried clay pots. Something about it feels very… nostalgic. It reminds me of the art room from elementary school. A small radio is perched on the teacher’s desk, playing a Mumford & Sons song from the local alternative rock station.
Speaking of the teacher, he’s leaning against his desk, drawing something in a small sketchbook and tapping his foot along to the music. Mr. Gallagher. He’s a relatively new teacher to the district, he only started last year. I didn’t have him last year, but a few of my friends did. From what I’ve heard, he’s really nice, and also a little quirky. Though from my experience, art teachers usually are.
“Welcome in, kiddos. I don’t have a seating chart made yet, so sit wherever you want for now.” He says, smiling and nodding at us as we file into the class and sit down at the tables. A few girls whisper and giggle softly to each other while glancing at Mr. Gallagher. Only the first day and they’re already crushing on him.
I’ve never been one to crush on teachers, I always thought it was kind of weird. Still, Mr. Gallagher definitely isn’t ugly. He looks much younger than most of the teachers, mid-twenties if I had to take a guess. Tall, skinny, disheveled brown hair, round glasses, and his black t-shirt and jeans are both stained with little spots and streaks of paint.
The tables are arranged in a U-shape with two seats per table. I take a seat at a table by the front of the room, closer to Gallagher’s desk. Zack is also in this class. He’s sitting a few tables away, closer to the door. Our eyes meet, he gives me a little half-smile and a nod, then goes back to whatever conversation he’s having with the girl sitting next to him. I wish I could sit with him. He’s way better at art than I am.
Once the bell rings and everyone’s at a table, Mr. Gallagher closes his sketchbook and places it on his desk. He turns down the radio, straightens up and smiles, looking around the room at us. “Alright, welcome to Art, kids. This class right here, it’s where your creativity is going to have its time to shine. All of you will be taking a look into parts of your mind that you’ve hidden away, never dared to look into before.”
Into our minds? I glance around the room. Everyone’s looking just as confused as I feel. That quirkiness is already shining through and we haven’t even been in this room for five minutes. He seems to be aware of it, as he chuckles softly.
“I know, I can see it in your eyes. ‘What the hell is this guy talking about?’ But just hear me out. Art, at its core, is all about self-expression. You put your thoughts, feelings, and emotions into that work. You kids are going to graduate after hours of reading all these boring textbooks, taking notes and writing essays. Why not spend some of that time making something for yourself? Painting, drawing, sculpting, whatever medium you choose. Anything that’ll allow you to let out whatever you’ve got bottled up inside. Is analyzing the meaning of certain phrases and figuring out complex math equations really more important than self-expression? I don’t think so.”
Quite a speech. Still, he seems passionate about this, he might just be onto something. I zone out, coming back when he places a huge wooden sphere with a big jagged hole in its top half on my table. “Sophie, right?” He asks, and I nod.
“What do you think this is?”
I stare at the sphere for a few seconds. It’s a globe with a hole in it, no other way to look at it. “Uh… a globe.” I answer.
A few people chuckle at my answer, including Mr. Gallagher. “Straight to the point, not thinking too deeply. I like it. But I want a more creative answer than that, anyone else?”
“Was it a project that some kid ruined and you held onto it for… some reason?” A guy sitting across the room pipes up.
“Good god, you kids have no imagination. It’s sad.” Mr. Gallagher sighs and picks up the globe. “This here’s an old project that I started a few years ago, but as you can see, it got destroyed. Moving and all that, you know how it is. I contemplated just throwing it out, but then some inspiration struck. Perhaps this broken globe could be used for something after all!”
What is he getting at?
“So, all of you are getting a piece of paper from this.” He begins walking around the room, stopping at our tables so he can hand us small white scraps from the globe. “On it, there will be one word. The name of an object, animal, or something else along those lines. Your assignment for the rest of the school year will be coming up with ways to transform whatever you got into a form of art. Sketch it, paint it, sculpt it, carve it, do whatever the hell you want. But by the end of the year, I want you to figure out how to make it express emotion, give it some meaning.”
Some people look intrigued by the idea, others roll their eyes and groan. I brush a few strands of hair out of my face. It sounds like a lot of fun, but is he allowed to let us do this? My table is the last one he stops at. He hands me my paper.
‘Butterfly.’
Butterfly? How the hell am I supposed to make a butterfly express emotions? I’m tempted to ask him if I can switch out for something different, something that might be easier to work with, but he walks off before I can speak up.
“All set?” He returns to the front of the class, picking his sketchbook up again. A black-haired girl near the door raises her hand, and Gallagher motions for her to speak.
“So, like, what if we don’t know how to draw or whatever? Like, we just got thrown in here ‘cause the other electives were full.”
“I’m not expecting any of you to be professional artists. You only know how to draw stick figures? So be it. All I ask is that you put effort into this and give it your best shot. If you need help, that’s what I’m here for.”
He walks around his desk and sits down, propping his feet up on the corner. “Notebooks and all that are in the cabinets, help yourselves. This is a place for you kids to relax, but don't think you can use that as an excuse to just sit around. I'm not strict, but I do expect work to get done. Clear?”
We all nod. He turns up the radio, which is now playing Coldplay, and opens his sketchbook. “Great. You’re in a fun time, kiddos. Enjoy yourselves.”