Yearbook
1 - Samantha
For as long as I canremember, I’ve been infatuated with grand gestures. I blame it on my grandma for watching movies with me like Dirty Dancing when Patrick Swayze walked up to Jennifer Grey’s father and said the famous line about Baby and the corner. She’s also responsible for introducing me to romance novels where Dukes rescue damsels in distress, modern men tattoo their woman’s name on themselves as a show of affection, and even Disney’s to blame... Cinderella...enough said.
But despite the romanticized idea of grand gestures, I have to admit they are wonderful moments in someone’s life. Moments that are cherished. Moments to be remembered. I think that’s why I love my Photography class and Yearbook club. I get to help create a moment frozen in time to help others remember their significant times of high school. Just because I might not have much going for myself, doesn’t mean I can’t help others remember the fun times they’re having.
During junior year, I took some really awesome pictures. Track runners crossing the finish line right when their chest touched the elastic band triggering them the winner, wrestlers on the mat with sweat dripping from their hair while pinning their opponent, and even our homecoming queen being crowned were some of these moments caught in time, forever to be remembered. Now that it’s my senior year, I hope to capture more.
Athletes and popular kids aren’t the only students with picture-worthy moments. For instance, I try to find times when a hall monitor walks a new student to class, or someone helps as a teacher’s aid. I’ve taken pictures of students in the cafeteria goofing off and eating French fries or when the football players load up on turkey sandwiches. The swim team always eats a lot carbs when they have a swim meet, so you see them eating plain pasta or bagels. Last year, I got a good picture of our drill team captain on crutches because she broke her foot but still showed up at the game in uniform to support her group, cast and all. I even waited to leave on the last day of school to take a picture of the empty hallway when lockers were left open and papers were on the floor. It made the yearbook with the caption that school was out for summer.
First things first though. In order to take pictures of high school, I need to get there. So, I put on my favorite comfy jeans with a T-shirt I snatched from the closet and flip flops then shake out my blonde hair that falls halfway down my back. It’s naturally wavy with body and doesn’t require much prep work, so I throw it up into a messy knot and call it done. Connecting the dots, I trace my lashes framing my blue eyes with the same black eyeliner I always use and finish up with a touch of mascara. I give the girl in the mirror one final glance, then reach for my weekly medicine holder. Flipping open the lid that reads FRIDAY, I dump the medicine into my hand. I turn on the faucet, dip my head down for a quick slurp of water, and toss my pills back. One gulp later, I’m on my way downstairs for a quick pass through the kitchen before heading to school.
Harbine High School is a short drive away. I live fairly close to the Alabama high school that’s home to the Hurricanes. However, I do live far enough that I have a normal speed limit for a bit before having to slow for the twenty miles per hour speed zone. As I’m driving to school this morning, passing neighbors gathering their newspapers and others leaving for work, I think about senior year. It’s my last year calling myself a Harbine Hurricane. Graduating Class of 2014 has a nice ring to it, but there’s a small fraction of me that will miss high school. Sure, I can do without the essays and tests, but I will miss my Yearbook club dearly. To say that I enjoy it is an understatement. Yearbook allows me to play with photography, which I have a deep passion for. While other students are filling out college applications or playing sports, I’m snapping pictures and capturing precious or outrageous moments in people’s lives. I’ve even thought about opening a studio after high school, but right now I’m not sure if that’s a realistic dream.
My day begins okay as far as school days go. My best friend Cynthia, otherwise known as Cyn, is complaining about the usual homework load, and trying to get a reaction out of me on the latest gossip. Her efforts don’t hold their usual charm because I have a sneaking suspicion of what’s about to take place. That feeling again, ugh! I try to ignore it, telling Cyn I’ll see her after biology and head to class.
I soon realize that denial isn’t working in my favor and class will not end quickly enough to suit my needs. I watch the minute hand tick by as if it’s in a grid-lock traffic jam. I also have trouble concentrating on the movie I’m supposed to be watching. But eventually, I have to leave. And quickly. I’m in such a hurry I don’t even grab my books. Luckily for me, I sit fairly close to the door, so my bursting from class isn’t too much of a distraction.
A few minutes later, I hear the obnoxious bell ring from my place behind the bathroom stall door, reminding me that class is now over. I get up from my knees, flush, and hurry to the sink to rinse my mouth before the bathroom floods with other girls. When I glance in the mirror, I’m so pale it’s noticeable. My already delicate complexion has drained leaving a milky pale hue in its place. Quickly, I wipe the eyeliner smudge from under my eyes, and in one swift motion pop a breath mint into my mouth. I rush out, remembering my abandoned books in Mr. Dexter’s biology classroom.
“Whoa! Samantha, slow down,” he says as he holds out a cautioned hand.
There he is. Phillip Ward. My best friend’s brother, who not only shares biology class with me, but math class as well. We’re all seniors, but Phillip is a year older because he repeated the first grade when we were little. I still remember him as the older brother wearing braces who always chased away the bullies. Still, he stands there, with a concerned look on his face, holding some familiar books. My books. Concerned is a new look for him considering he always looks perfect. He’s muscular in build, and since I’m eye-level with his chin, I have to look up to see his dark brown eyes staring down at me.
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks,” I lie. I’m not okay, but I’m better than I was a few short minutes ago. People pass us by, all shuffling to their next class. The halls make you feel like a pinball in an arcade game sometimes, but I”m thankful for the temporary distractions.
“Did the film make you sick?” Phillip hands over my things as we walk down the hall. I can smell his cologne and it’s fabulous.
We haven’t talked this much in a long time. “Yeah, I guess so. Dumb, huh?” Now, it was NOT the film. My rebellious body rejecting the help of my medications is the culprit, having its own battle of Gettysburg right in my stomach. But if he wants to think it was class that is just fine. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
“It’s not dumb, Samantha. It happens,” he answers thoughtfully. “Hey, will you remind my sister I need my literature book back before study hall?”
“Sure, I’ll tell her,” I answer keeping up the act that I’m better. However, acting is his sister’s specialty, not mine.
Phillip hesitates. He seems frozen for a split second then blinks and flashes half a smile, his mouth slightly tugging at the corner. Through the years, Phillip has consistently appeared to be a very confident person as he has always been driven, determined and had an exact plan. He’s usually pretty sure of himself. Something must be off. “Thanks,” he manages to say, then leaves.
Phillip proceeds to the lunch line and I make a beeline for the table I share with Cyn. It’s our lunch hour. Well, that worked. He believed me, I think to myself. My nausea isn’t as bad now, but I’m still not interested in eating yet.
“Get sick again?” Cyn eyes the stack of saltines in front of me as she sits. The smell of her school pizza is a little rough to take. In fact, revolting. The cafeteria doesn’t offer anything else I’m remotely interested in today, but that’s fine. Crackers will do until I can eat after school when I feel better.
“Yeah, I did, but it was during biology, so I’m sure everyone thinks it was today’s film.”.
“They might. Maybe.” Cyn eyes me carefully.
“Well, your brother bought it.” I pop another cracker into my mouth, chewing it slowly. I try to maintain a regular breathing pattern and concentrate on keeping my basic lunch down.
“Speaking of my brother, he keeps looking over to check on you.” Cyn raises a pierced eyebrow in suspicion.
Seriously? I feel the color returning to my cheeks. I have to fight not to look too interested. “Really? Oh, he asked me to remind you that he needs his literature book.” I say it nonchalantly, but I’m secretly thrilled he’s looking my direction. I’ve known him a long time, but for some reason, I like his attention more these days.
I can see Cyn trying to read my face. “Phillip believes anything. He thinks I’m giving him his book back too.”
I shoot her a disapproving look as my cracker pile dwindles. “Cyn, play nice.”
“What fun is that?” She laughs her throaty, evil laugh that usually surfaces when it involves being mean to her brother. I can feel my eyebrows crinkle when I look down, trying to breathe again. “I’m only joking, Sam.”
“I know,” I say, closing my eyes. My eyebrows crease tighter together in concentration. Need a bathroom. Need a bathroom. Need a bathroom... right now.
“Sorry, I know that look. Go!” she says, but I’m already on my way. I’m sure she’ll get my books. It’s becoming a practiced ritual.
Again, as usual, the bell rings and I’m on my knees in the bathroom. I flush the cracker remains and hear Cyn come in already turning the faucet on for me.
“You know, if you had a boyfriend, people would talk about all this throwing up.” She pops a bubble she made with her gum and offers me my own piece.
“Oh. Well, I don’t have a boyfriend and classmates talk anyway. It’s the nature of the beast.” I give the reflection in the mirror a quick once over, evaluating the image for flaws.
“Dear, you look fine. Just blame it on cafeteria food,” Cyn blathers handing me the stick of gum she has now unwrapped. It’s not just a suggestion anymore.
“Got it. See you later.” I grab my books and take off. I hate to be late. Cyn, however, takes her sweet time. She’s never in a hurry, except when I’m sick.