Chapter 3
Have I mentioned that I’m at this school for Journalism? That point should be made crystal clear before I say, I hate Calculus, and the feeling is mutual. Mrs. Rollins does spit when she talks, and sitting in the back doesn’t guarantee safety. The slim woman moves through the aisles as she lectures. Her brown hair pulled into a tight bun; she could pass as a ballerina the way she glides around the room. She is elegant and beautiful.
The only thing that separates her from a ballerina is the speed she talks. There’s no grace in her voice or for her students as she writes on an electronic pad and notes appear on the smartboard in the front of the room. The first ten minutes gave me false hope that this class wouldn’t be difficult. Simple introductions and the ceremonial passing out of the syllabus. However, as soon as the last student received their syllabus, it was straight into material.
The block scheduling keeps me here for a full two hours. That is two hours of taking non-stop notes, while trying to track Mrs. Rollins” movements in order to duck around any spit that comes flying out as she talks. It could be a sport. Maybe I can get out of taking golf and count this as my P.E credit. Probably not.
The sound of a bell has never been so sweet. One benefit of my entire focus being on the lesson is that I was able to evade any thoughts of my mentor. The small reprieve ends quickly as Benedict lingers by the door of the classroom. I attempt to slip out in a group of taller students, hoping that my small stature goes unnoticed, but have no such luck. Before I can get fully into the hall, the weight of my backpack is lifted from the shoulder I had it slung over. “Avoid the splash zone Dorothy?” His familiar playful tone makes it seem like we are lifelong friends, or another type of relationship I don’t have time for.
”The whole classroom may as well be the stadium at SeaWorld setup on rotation the way she moves around.” I hate admitting he was right, so I won’t tell him it wasn’t as bad in the back of the room. “I can break for lunch now, right?” I follow alongside him as we walk through the halls.
“Tapping out so soon? What happened to all the feistiness from earlier; I could loan you my notes from last year.” Would accepting help this early be a sign of weakness? He is supposed to be mentoring me.
“Actually, that would be great.” I take a chance.
His face emits a surprised look, but he quickly recovers. “Yeah? You can come over to my place, and I can give them to you.” The implication makes it clear the gesture was not genuine.
“On second thought, no thanks.” I roll my eyes and walk ahead. The cafeteria entrance is in line of sight. I walk a little faster. Darn his long legs, he matches my pace.
“Told you new girl, had to shoot my shot.” His smile comes from the corner of his mouth now. It would be charming if I didn’t have that pesky red flag blocking my vision. He stops just at the cafeteria door entrance. “You’ve made it safely. Your lunch number is in your welcome packet. Lunch is covered in tuition, so no need to load an account. I’ll pick you up here before time to go to your next class. Lunch hour is the most relaxed time here. You can eat in the cafeteria, courtyard, or library. Students find themselves all over. Feel free to go anywhere; just be back here 15 minutes until class change. Your next class is a trek.” He slips my backpack off and passes it to me.
“You”re leaving me?” I don’t mean to sound panicked. I’m glad to be rid of him, honestly, but he is the only person that I know. If you don’t count Lisa. However, seeing how she and I have not been formally introduced and she’s already upset about me being here, I can guess a lunch invitation won’t be extended. I miss Sarah Mae.
“Awe. Are you going to miss me Dorothy?” he leans in, and that smirk makes my heart skip. It skips, okay. His eyes narrowed as he looks over my shoulder and half whispers, “No, just scared of the flying monkeys.”
“I am not afra—” Before I can get the rest of the words out, I am literally pushed aside. After I recover, I get a nice view of brown flowy curls. The curls are attached to a curvy girl, with a skirt just long enough to cover her butt, and definitely not long enough to be in dress code. I can’t see her face but Benedict looks dismal.
“Benny Boo” She coos. “Why didn’t you text me to meet you for lunch?” She reaches up and twirls one of his perfect curls around her finger. I catch a glimpse of red nail polish. Ick. He visibly flinches from her. Not my flying monkey, not my circus. Figures Mr. Romcom has a hoard of girls. I bet she is an expired flavor of the week. Again, not my business but a good time to make an exit.
I slip away and enter the lunchroom. It looks like the Great Hall in Harry Potter. Just like it. Paintings cover the walls. They aren’t of old white men, like you would expect in a place like this. Instead, Renaissance-style art, in beautiful gold frames. I could study them for hours and not get to each one. Wooden tables span the length of the room. Despite my abhorrence for crowds, this could easily become my favorite place to study. As I walk through the lunch line, I’m even more impressed with the food. Apparently, the culinary program helps prepare the meals. Wow. Once my tray is filled with roast beef, roasted carrots, and a potato mash (yes, the pretension even extends to the lunch menu), I find a seat away from the crowds near the end of a long table.
I shuffle through my bag and pull out my Kindle. Kindle rested on the table and fork in one hand, I become immersed as I eat. Oh my. This food is amazing. The writer in me wants to think of a better word, but I’m too encapsulated to care. There, encapsulated. That’s a good word. It isn’t until a hand jerks my tray away from me that I break the trance I’ve fallen under. Looking up I see Lisa and the twin girls from the office earlier standing over me. They appear to be attempting a version of the Charlie’s Angels pose and failing. I would snicker if they didn’t look so angry. Well, here we go.
Here”s the thing about mean girls: the bigger the bark, the bigger the insecurities. I once had a girl tell me she wasn’t mean; she was just honest. I wonder if she knew she was lying to herself. We all have insecurities, and they manifest in different ways. Right now, Lisa”s insecurities are on display as she tries to intimidate the new girl and make her run away scared on her first day. What she doesn’t know is that the things I’m insecure about make me double down and try harder. Maybe she’ll surprise me and be a quick study.
I carefully close the case on my Kindle and look up at the trio, “I didn’t realize elite schools came with waitstaff. I appreciate the dedication to your job, but I wasn’t finished.” I pull the tray back in front of me. I realize that choosing violence probably isn’t the best tactic. Nevertheless, as previously mentioned, I can’t show weakness either. Besides, the shade of red on Lisa’s face is rivaling a chili pepper, and the image of her head as that chili pepper gives me a much-needed laugh. The twins standing on either side of her have mixed expressions, the one on the left of shock while the one on the right looks impressed.
“She has a backbone” the girl on the right says. “I like it.” I get the sense that the girl on the right could be someone I”d like too, if only she hadn’t aligned herself with what’s shaping up to be the incarnation of entitlement.
“Not now Kate!” Lisa snaps. She needs to learn to treat her friends better. “Here’s the deal, new girl. I’m willing to forgive your lapse in judgment for a moment. You haven’t had time to learn the ropes. Clearly, not with your mentor being Ben.” Interesting. She calls him Ben. “Fortunately for you, I volunteer to fill you in on the things he missed this morning.”
“Isn’t that sweet?” I deadpan. I hope my face portrays how unimpressed I am. I didn’t expect Briarwood to live up to the stereotype of a typical private school so quickly. Snotty kids and all.
Lisa stills her face and continues, “Classes may be first come first serve, but it is well known that some students are served first.”
“How classist of you” my comment doesn’t break her stride.
“Families like mine helped build this school. Because of that, we get the first pick of classes for us and anyone we want in those classes. Now, Bella here can’t take journalism with Kate because the new girl took the last spot.” She pauses for effect. “See where I’m going with this?”
I stand and grab my bag off the floor, slipping my Kindle inside. I don’t match her height, but I am sick of her towering over me. The intimidation tactics are old. “I see where you”re going, so I’ll stop you right there. I’m a journalism major; I was recruited by the school to do that. It’s likely they expect me to take a class in, I don’t know, journalism? Even if that wasn’t the case, I’m not giving up my spot so you can have who I assume,” I pause and nod to the twins, “are your only friends with you. Have a nice day. See you in class.” I attempt to walk off. I should have figured that she wouldn’t back down easily, as she quickly blocks my path. Apparently, she doesn’t just look like a rabbit but is as fast as one. I wonder what sport she chose.
“Change majors.” Is this girl serious? She is starting to draw attention. There goes all hope to fly under the radar.
“No. Now excuse me.” I step around her and take off as quickly as I can to the door. It isn’t time to meet Benedict yet, but maybe I can hunt down the library for a reprieve. No such luck. I hear little rabbit”s footsteps behind me, accompanied by only what I can assume is the scurry of her minions. By the time I reach the door, I only have a second to take in my surroundings and choose a direction—either back toward the math wing or straight out to the courtyard. The image of dodging more of Mrs. Rollins’ spit makes the decision for me. Courtyard it is.
Pushing through the heavy wooden door, the outside air greets me and so does the sight of Mr. Romcom himself in what looks like his own heated debate with Curly Q from earlier. Devil I know or entitled rabbit? I beeline for the couple, hoping he won’t mind the interruption.