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Strong
I run my fingers through my dirty blonde hair, and turn up my iPod. Unfamiliar faces stare at me as I walk up the aisle of the bus. “You don't belong here,” their faces tell me. I count the seats until I get to number 13—my lucky number— one of the last seats. As my heart races much too quickly, I defy my fears and meet the eyes of every curious person still staring back. As expected, they all turn away. I glance out the window, my music blaring in my ears, as desolate country fields roll past.
Before I know it, we're at the school. A large, flat, tan-colored building—much too spread out—unlike my old school, which was four stories tall. I open the front doors, not following the other kids who, of course, already know their way. Thankfully, there's a map right outside the room I assume is the front office. I glance at it quickly, yanking the headphones out of my ears, and find 72A, my homeroom.
I knock on the door to my classroom, and a red-haired, freckle-faced boy gallops out of his seat to answer it. He grins broadly. I give him a small smile, becoming more nervous. He was obviously the type of person who talked nonstop, and was sure to ask me a lot of questions. Carrot top sits back down as I walk inside, leaving me to venture alone to the teacher's desk. I take a deep breath.
"So you're our new student?" she says smiling. ''No,'' I think to myself as I hand her the registration papers, ''I'm Betty, the lunch lady.''
"Yes ma'am," I say quietly nodding. She smiles again.
"Well there's a desk there by Jake and one by Marissa," she says, gesturing to the freckle-faced boy and a girl in the back of the room. I surveyed the girl quickly. She had dark black hair, and was wearing beat up jeans and shoes that I swear were military issued combat boots. I didn’t want to sit by Jake, I could tell he had a mouth on him, but it seemed like there was a reason the seat next to Marissa was empty. Don't get me wrong, I don't like to judge, but the only thing you have to go by is someone's appearance when they’re new.
I plop down in the desk beside Jake, and he starts smiling at me with that goofy grin of his again. I can't help but smile back.
"So what's your name?" He asks as I toss my bright green book bag aside.
"Carmen," I say quickly, looking behind us at the teacher.
"Don't worry. The bell hasn't rung yet. Mrs. J doesn't care if we talk," Jake says, still wearing the same smirk.
"I'm not worried," I snap. Jake looks taken aback. "Mrs. J, huh? So what's her actual name?" I ask a bit more softly. He shrugs.
"No one knows. She won't tell us, she just said call her Mrs. J."
Jake turns around as another freckle-faced kid calls him. I peek at the other boy, and realize he could be Jake's twin. They looked exactly alike, the same emerald green eyes, the same flaming red hair, the same rounded face splattered with freckles. I smile at Jake as he turned to face me. Did he notice me staring?
"That's Chase," he said, gesturing to the boy he'd been talking with, “my brother.” Of course. I nodded, pretending to be intrigued.
"Okay class, answer these questions," Mrs. J says, writing on the whiteboard in the front of the room. The strong aroma of Expo markers filled the air.
"Hey blondie, move your fat head!" A boy with long, bushy hair hisses from behind me. Two guys I assume are his friends chuckle. I sharply turn around.
"First of all, my name ain't blondie, jerk. And second of all…" I swivel to face his two buddies, “Curly, Moe! I think ya'll need to get your voice boxes checked 'cause something weird is going on with your laughs." Jake chuckles from beside me. I turn, ready to pounce on him too, but soften at the look on his face.
"Don't let them get to you," he whispers in my ear, “to survive around here, you've gotta be strong." I pull out a pen and paper. Strong. I wonder what that is.
By: Caylie C.
Plus! Love to sing, dance, act or play an instrument? Shoot over a video of your star-worthy performances! It could be featured right here!
Before I know it, we're at the school. A large, flat, tan-colored building—much too spread out—unlike my old school, which was four stories tall. I open the front doors, not following the other kids who, of course, already know their way. Thankfully, there's a map right outside the room I assume is the front office. I glance at it quickly, yanking the headphones out of my ears, and find 72A, my homeroom.
I knock on the door to my classroom, and a red-haired, freckle-faced boy gallops out of his seat to answer it. He grins broadly. I give him a small smile, becoming more nervous. He was obviously the type of person who talked nonstop, and was sure to ask me a lot of questions. Carrot top sits back down as I walk inside, leaving me to venture alone to the teacher's desk. I take a deep breath.
"So you're our new student?" she says smiling. ''No,'' I think to myself as I hand her the registration papers, ''I'm Betty, the lunch lady.''
"Yes ma'am," I say quietly nodding. She smiles again.
"Well there's a desk there by Jake and one by Marissa," she says, gesturing to the freckle-faced boy and a girl in the back of the room. I surveyed the girl quickly. She had dark black hair, and was wearing beat up jeans and shoes that I swear were military issued combat boots. I didn’t want to sit by Jake, I could tell he had a mouth on him, but it seemed like there was a reason the seat next to Marissa was empty. Don't get me wrong, I don't like to judge, but the only thing you have to go by is someone's appearance when they’re new.
I plop down in the desk beside Jake, and he starts smiling at me with that goofy grin of his again. I can't help but smile back.
"So what's your name?" He asks as I toss my bright green book bag aside.
"Carmen," I say quickly, looking behind us at the teacher.
"Don't worry. The bell hasn't rung yet. Mrs. J doesn't care if we talk," Jake says, still wearing the same smirk.
"I'm not worried," I snap. Jake looks taken aback. "Mrs. J, huh? So what's her actual name?" I ask a bit more softly. He shrugs.
"No one knows. She won't tell us, she just said call her Mrs. J."
Jake turns around as another freckle-faced kid calls him. I peek at the other boy, and realize he could be Jake's twin. They looked exactly alike, the same emerald green eyes, the same flaming red hair, the same rounded face splattered with freckles. I smile at Jake as he turned to face me. Did he notice me staring?
"That's Chase," he said, gesturing to the boy he'd been talking with, “my brother.” Of course. I nodded, pretending to be intrigued.
"Okay class, answer these questions," Mrs. J says, writing on the whiteboard in the front of the room. The strong aroma of Expo markers filled the air.
"Hey blondie, move your fat head!" A boy with long, bushy hair hisses from behind me. Two guys I assume are his friends chuckle. I sharply turn around.
"First of all, my name ain't blondie, jerk. And second of all…" I swivel to face his two buddies, “Curly, Moe! I think ya'll need to get your voice boxes checked 'cause something weird is going on with your laughs." Jake chuckles from beside me. I turn, ready to pounce on him too, but soften at the look on his face.
"Don't let them get to you," he whispers in my ear, “to survive around here, you've gotta be strong." I pull out a pen and paper. Strong. I wonder what that is.
By: Caylie C.
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