Chapter 2
“Allie! Let’s go!” Amy screeched from the bottom of the stairs.
“Shit!” I blurted out, as I jumped out of bed and pulled on my jean skirt and t-shirt, ran the braided belt through the loops, and slid into my Birkenstocks.
Then I ran for the door, grabbed my backpack and field hockey bag, and stopped by the bathroom to brush my teeth before racing down the stairs.
“Seriously?” Amy said in disgust. “How do you sleep through that alarm every morning? I swear you could sleep through an earthquake. If I’m going to drive you to school every day, you’re going to have to get up earlier.
I’m tired of you always making me late. I can’t wait for your car to be done in the shop so you can drive yourself and be as late as you want.
Here,” she said as she shoved a blueberry bagel with cream cheese into my hand and then walked out the door. “Eat it in the car. Let’s go!”
I put the bagel in my mouth and held it there as I climbed in the car, clicked the seatbelt, and raked my fingers through my hair. Good enough.
“You’re so lucky, you have the most amazing hair,” Amy said, as we made our way up the steep hill to the main road and turned right at the stop sign onto Mooreland Road.
“Well, I’m jealous of your tan skin. I wish I were able to tan like you,” I said, as I looked down at my fair legs and longed for them to be golden brown like Amy’s.
“Whatever, your skin is so beautiful, just wait, one day you’ll appreciate it.” Amy was always good at keeping my self-esteem in check.
We pulled into the school parking lot of Country Town Prep and found a spot near the soccer fields, even though there were still plenty near the front of the lot. I knew Amy parked there because she liked to watch the soccer team practice after school.
“You’re so predictable,” I said, as I gathered my things and got out of the car.
“And you’re so boring, all you care about is field hockey. When are you going to start noticing boys?”
Amy made top grades and had already been accepted to the University of Virginia on a full academic scholarship for the fall.
My mom was proud of her. Meanwhile, I made B’s and C’s, but was the youngest student to ever make the Varsity Field Hockey team.
By the time I was in the 9th grade, I was the captain of the team, yet my mom had never attended a game.
She remained unimpressed, even though I was likely going to go to college on a full-ride athletic scholarship. Academics weren’t really my thing.
We walked quickly down the long sidewalk to the Upper School building, and I pulled open the heavy glass doors to the locker hall.
It was filled with a gauntlet of teal green slamming metal doors as everyone grabbed their books for the day.
I found locker 317, which was a tornado of my books and messy papers.
Most kids had decorated the insides of their lockers with pictures of boy bands, mirrors, or fuzzy stickers, but mine was bare.
That’s how little I cared about school. I shut my locker, spun the lock, and zipped up my backpack.
As I walked down the hallway, I counted the blue and green alternating squares on the floor to avoid eye contact with others.
I made it my mission to make it through my days at school without being noticed or drawing attention to myself.
That’s why I always sat in the back of the class to avoid being called on, because it made my chest feel like it was going to cave in.
I arrived at my first period, French class.
It was my favorite. Madame Holly always mixed me up with my sister and called me Amy, but I didn’t mind because I knew who she meant.
She had been doing it since the 7th grade, and at this point, I had let it go on so long that it had become a joke to see if I could graduate before she noticed.
I walked through the door and glanced around the room to see that my usual seat in the back was taken.
Damn. I quickly scanned the room to see that the only seat left was next to a tan boy with dark waves of hair that I had never noticed before.
My heart was already beating a little faster at the possibility of class participation, but with no other choice, I made my way to the seat and sat down to get my homework and books out.
Suddenly, I heard a tap on my desk and looked up.
“Hey.”
“What?” I blurted out. “Sorry, hey?” I replied as a question because I had no idea who he was.
“Do you know where we are?” he whispered with a smile.
“Yeah, French class,” I whispered back, and then he reached over and grabbed the bottom corner of my book. Surprised by his nerve, I yanked my book away and glared back at him. “Excuse you!”
“I’m just wondering where we are in the book, no need to be rude,” he said with wide eyes. He looked surprised by my annoyed reaction.
“It’s written on the board,” I said, motioning forward with my pencil.
I was relieved when Madame Holly called attention to the front of the room and began the lesson.
We didn’t speak to each other again, except when I dropped my pencil on the floor and he reached down to grab it for me.
“Thanks,” I whispered, but I swallowed hard when our fingers touched as I grabbed my pencil, and he smiled as he pulled his fingers out from under mine.
I quickly looked back at my book, trying to ignore the feeling that his eyes were upon me.
When the bell rang, I had never been so happy to get out of a classroom.
As soon as Madame Holly dismissed us, I grabbed my books and bolted for the door, not noticing that I had left my favorite hoodie still draped over the back of my chair.
It was immediately out of my mind as I headed for my next class, wondering why I couldn’t stop thinking about the guy with the mop of hair, and that I somehow never got his name.
As I dazed my way down the hall, I bumped into someone, and that’s when I realized I had passed the door for my next class.
The rest of the day went the same way, thinking about the strange encounter in French class.
When the bell rang to end the day at 2:40pm, I jumped out of my seat, ran to my locker, exchanged the books that I would need for homework that night, and headed for the student parking lot to meet Amy.
I had forgotten my field hockey gear for practice in her car.
By the time I arrived, she was sitting on the hood of her Jeep, breaking the split ends off her mousy brown shoulder-length hair.
It was a lot thinner than mine. One of the many things we didn’t have in common.
“Where have you been? I want to get out of here,” she said, as she hopped off the hood, pulled her skirt down, climbed inside, and rolled down the window.
“I came as soon as the bell rang. Did you skip your last class to get up here so fast? I forgot my bag in your car. Pop the trunk. Can you come back to pick me up at 5:30?”
“I guess.” She said, with a roll of her eyes, but I knew she was happy to have a reason to drive her new car. “Meet you in front of the gym later. Peace out.” Then she started the car, turned on some Tracy Chapman, and crammed a piece of Bubble Tape gum in her mouth before she drove away.
With my bag over my shoulder, I headed back down to the gym, past the soccer fields, and slowed my pace to see what my sister was always going on about.
A quick scan of the field looked like a bunch of guys wearing jerseys with tiny shorts.
They all had short hair except one with dark waves, and he looked over at me as I walked by.
Embarrassed for making eye contact, I pretended not to notice, picked up my pace, and continued on to the gym.
That’s when I realized that he was the same guy from the driveway in our neighborhood and from French class.