Chapter Text
They say on the first day of prison to find the biggest, baddest inmate and make him your bitch. Moving from D.C. to Tulsa Oklahoma was like being thrown in prison for me. The bullying in the west side of D.C. was bad, but the bullying in the west side of Tulsa was life threatening, especially being the only “colored” girl in a formerly white only school. I still remember the protests over the Brown v Board of education case. I was six then. I hadn’t understood the words written on the signs, but the intent was clear. Little black baby dolls were strung from ropes tied to sticks that the protesters waved. I remember those same dolls tied in front of our house after we moved for the first time.
Our home here was different. It was a wide expanse of land surrounded by trees which held a mansion in the center. We’d inherited it from my great-grandfather and my parents who were real estate developers were all too excited to see it. Their excuse for forcing me to live here was that “life would be calmer away from the city” and “we’re moving here for a quiet life”. That was a complete lie. In the city I could stay out of trouble as long as I kept my trap shut and my head down. In Tulsa trouble found you. On the way to the gas station I saw a kid get jumped. He hadn’t done anything, and the kids didn’t even know him. After that I knew I couldn’t walk alone, but nor did I want to spend my senior year in hiding. The “hood”s were the only ones nobody messed with. I needed to find myself one.
When I lifted my eyes from the ground, a habit I’d grown used to, they were met with the large brick and Mordor school. I had the sudden urge to turn around, walk back home, and never return but I had to be realistic.
Bushes practically surrounded the school, and were probably there to prevent something I didn’t know about. The inside of the school wasn’t terrible. The flooring was green and white tiles, the walls were beige, the lockers were their usual metallic blue. There were posters hanging on the walls, though the words were blurred blobs since I didn’t have my glasses on. The classroom that I was looking for was C-12, a chemistry classroom. I had to walk close to the walls to be able to read the signs on them. I passed C-3, then C-9, until finally I arrived at C-12. The periodic table was pasted outside the door. Paper cut-outs of circles and lines were taped to the surrounding walls, which I assumed were chemical bonds. I had taken honors chemistry last year, so I assumed that I was ready for AP chemistry.
“Please enter the classroom. You’re going to be late,” a deep but squeaky voice strung. Only then had I realized how long I’d been staring at the door.
“Sorry,” I entered the classroom and sat in the only empty seat left in the front row, between a girl with red hair, and a boy with brown hair and too much hair gel.
“Alright class. I’m Mister Nelson, your new chemistry teacher. For your first lesson we’ll be covering the basics,” he began. It was things I’d already covered, so I allowed my eyes to wander. The redhead beside me was a cheerleader. I could tell by her peppy demeanor, and manufactured smile. She was whispering to her friends about someone named Dallas Winston. She called him things like a greaser and a hood. She told her friends how scary he was, and how she’d even spotted a gun tucked in his pants.
There was a drastic difference between the girl on my right and the boy on my left. His hair was shiny, and it made me wonder if he was part of some clique. I had seen other boys with shiny hair like his, though they had been wearing leader jackets. His was a jean jacket.
“Miss Simmons? Why don’t you answer this question for the class?” Mr.Nelson asked. The question on the board was much too complicated for someone to understand on the first day. I quickly realized that this was an attempt to embarrass me, and teach me a lesson for not paying attention to the lesson. This was just great..
“Sodium tripolyphosphate,” I answered after only a moment of thought. Mr. Nelson glared at me. His intentions were for me to get the question wrong, then for him to publicly ridicule me for it, to make an example of me. I knew that I couldn’t depend on my teachers liking me, but being on their bad side was much worse than being ignored by them. Sometimes teachers automatically hated me for nothing more than my ethnicity. He continued with his lesson and I paid attention this time.
“How’d you do that?” the boy beside me asked, the one with the shiny hair and jean jacket.
“I took honors chemistry last year,” I responded, making sure to keep my head at an angle at which the teacher couldn’t see my lips moving. The boy paused, seeming to notice something that he didn’t before.
“I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new?” I nodded, and sized him up, considering him for the “bodyguard” role that I needed. He had a strong build, but was young, and much too cute to scare anyone. Mr. Nelson began observing me with more scrutiny, seeming to notice that I was up to something. I shut up then.
“That’s all for today, class. You’re dismissed.”
The boy beside me and I stood at the same time. The cheerleader stayed back to talk with her friends and I couldn’t help but wonder why Mr. Nelson had only called me out when the redhead was right beside me laughing it up with her friends.
“Where’d you move here from?” The boy asked, walking beside me. He seemed friendly which was rare to find in a school like this.
“The capital. We moved for work,” It wasn’t a complete lie since my parents worked in real estate.
“In the beginning of my senior year was a little unconventional though..”
“I’ll bet. What’s your next class?”
“English, B-32,” The boy stopped walking and so did I.
“We’re in the D wing,” the boy smiled softly. “I’ll lead you there if you want. We’ve still got five minutes left to get to class. I’ll still make it in time. Don’t worry,” he spoke, having practically read my mind. How lucky I am to have run into such a nice boy on the first day.
“That’d be nice,” and we were walking together down the hall. At my last school it usually took me a while to find classes, due to my weak eyesight. I need to get my glasses repaired soon. I suddenly remembered,
“You never told me your name.” He looked a bit uncomfortable at my question.
“Ponyboy Citrus," he seemed to brace for my reaction.
“I’ve never met a guy named Ponyboy before. I’m Elijah Simmons.”
“I’ve never met a gal named Elijah,” Ponyboy replied with a grin. We both chuckled.
“Oh, we’re here,” He pointed to the door with B-32 on it. This time I remembered not to stare at the door too long.
“Thanks Ponyboy.”
“Bye Elijah.”