The classroom buzzed with the usual cacophony, punctuated by the occasional airborne book. Whizz—a book flies past!
"Oh, my goodness!" I exclaimed, narrowly avoiding a collision that could have sent me straight to the infirmary. The book would have surely left a mark on my face."Sorry, Scarlett." Blake's apology came from over his shoulder, his hands resting nonchalantly on his friends' shoulders. Their laughter knotted together in shared amusement.Ignoring their antics, I headed to my seat. A glance from Annie met mine before she turned away to whisper to Alex behind her. I paid them no mind.As I passed by, Alex's precarious stack of books toppled over the aisle of desks."Hey! What's your problem?" My surprise was evident as I faced Alex, only to catch Annie biting her pen, offering a smug smile.Bending down, I reached for the scattered books. But before I could gather them up, someone else's hands intervened, snatching away the book I had just secured."It's lucky for you, Alex, that Scarlett wasn't injured. Had she been, you'd share the blame," I heard Stephanie say as she slammed the book onto his desk, nearly clipping his finger in the process.Annie turned away, feigning ignorance, while Alex appeared rattled, staring at Stephanie perhaps in concern for his finger, or maybe out of fear."What are you waiting for? Pick up the books," Stephanie barked, her words initially directed at me until I realized Alex was already halfway to retrieving the fallen items.Without another word, I left them to their mess.It wasn't my fault. Suppressing a surge of irritation, I stepped over the books, resisting the urge to kick them aside.Settling into my seat next to Stephanie provided a slight reprieve from my sour mood. She had a knack for lifting spirits, at least mine. Unlike those who seemed intent on spreading their misery, Stephanie brought a sense of joy."Forget that idiot. If he could articulate better, he wouldn't be dubbed 'Garbage Talk Expert'," she advised, brushing off the incident."Exactly." I agreed, hanging my backpack on the side hook of my desk and unzipping it."Did you catch the latest gossip?" Stephanie leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.Suddenly, her nose wrinkled as if catching a scent. "Oh, my God!" Her eyes widened in alarm, and her lips hurriedly approached my ear. "Are you on drugs?""No, not at all!" I protested. "I just ran into some junkies in the bathroom this morning."Stephanie exhaled in relief. "Good, don't ever let yourself go down that path! Every time I smell weed, I think of Bridget Worm. God rest her soul."Bridget Worm's story was one of those poignant high school tales. A brilliant student known for her math competition victories, until drugs led her to a tragic end in rehab. Overnight, all trophies bearing her name vanished from the display case."What was that gossip you were starting on?""Theodore and Penelope break up again?"I casually mentioned what I knew, digging through my backpack for my literature notebook."Please, that's old news." Stephanie rolled her eyes in a familiar 'you're the last to know' expression."Someone saw a man in a suit entering the principal's office.""Uh-huh." I murmured, distractedly searching my bag."Hey, get into the gossip spirit!""Miss Ewen's in the hospital, so that man might become our substitute teacher. Could be the youngest Wendell High has ever seen.""Miss Ewen's in the hospital?""Oh, come on. She was in a car accident, didn't you hear? The other driver was drunk. It made the news.""Poor Miss Ewen.""I don't really read the newspaper.""Well, what do you use your phone for then? Texting? Calls?""Scarlett." Stephanie fixed me with a serious look. "A phone is the fastest way to keep up with gossip these days. There's nothing you can't find online.""Alright, but I really don't follow that stuff.""Do you want to live like an old person? Retire early? Sit in a rocking chair soaking up the sun?""It's not that serious."I finally found the loop of my notebook and pulled it out."Let's drop it," I suggested.Stephanie leaned back in her chair, musing, "It's a pity everyone only saw his back. I'm really curious about his looks. Bearded? Tattooed? Or a melancholic hipster with glasses?""He's a drunkard!" George, from behind, lifted his head, his voice dramatic."George, you really should consider to join in a support group.""No. Support group is a scam! They circle you up for secret religious rituals.""See, you're beyond help," Stephanie sighed, turning back to me. "I just hope he doesn't assign too much homework. Last semester's reading report nearly drove me insane! I watched the TV adaptation of 'Great Expectations' four times, not counting other versions! I could see 'Estella' when I looked in the mirror. And all for a B-.""You can't learn from a TV show, Stephanie.""I know. But that book has 755 pages! It's a form of 'slow' murder.""So, Miss Ewen won't be teaching this term?""Don't know, hopefully. But who knows what kind of trouble a young teacher might bring?"The footsteps behind us abruptly ceased."Maybe you should tell me."Stephanie and I shivered at the unfamiliar male voice from behind—"What's your name?""Ah... Stephanie Watson..."Stephanie remained still, locked in a gaze with the new teacher.Then, he turned his attention to me.For a moment, his expression hardened, his brows furrowed.Perhaps in less than a second, his eyes swept over the classroom, observing his future workplace and the high school chaos...The new teacher strode to the podium, tossing the files in his hand onto the desk with a thud. Although it barely made an impact, most girls in the classroom sent curious glances his way."What kind of teacher enters through the back door? His footsteps are nearly cat-like."Stephanie whispered to me as the new teacher busied himself with writing his name on the board."At least no one will leave as much bizarre homework as she did.""My rules are few. Just adhere to classroom discipline and complete assignments on time. Late submissions get zero points, and plagiarism leads straight to the principal's office. And one more thing—"He turned his gaze to me."Come to class with a clear mind."I puzzled over whether his words were directed at me or if he was actually looking past me at George?Alex leaped from his seat, grabbing his backpack and dashing out of the classroom."Good, someone has made a choice. Anyone else?"Two more boys slung their backpacks over their shoulders and left the classroom. Not surprising, as they were always playing Candy Crush in the back row during class.The classroom fell silent for a moment. No one stood up, no one spoke, even George sobered up from his "drunkenness." Compared to Miss Ewen's class, it was a different world.After a while, the teacher straightened up.His back leaning against the desk on the podium."My name is Taylor Wildson. But I prefer you call me Taylor.""If I can't survive this week, I'll head to the administration office myself! It won't count towards the final grade anyway, so Dad has no grounds to complain. Ah, but what else do I know besides literature?"Stephanie and I glanced towards the open door of the literature class. A group of girls surrounded Taylor."It's easy to be popular nowadays, just have a pretty face."People are always drawn to beautiful things.I thought of Kyle—the boy I had secretly adored for two whole years. During a summer filled with breezy evenings, cricket songs, and pool parties, he sat quietly on an outdoor seat, engrossed in 'Faust.'His handsome looksThat was the first time I felt love. I felt a power inside me, longing to emerge, to draw me closer to him.That was the first time I felt love. I felt a force inside me, longing to break free, pushing me forward, closer to him.The nervousness and caution as I approached him—If it weren't for his handsome appearance, he wouldn't have caught my eye. If someone else were sitting in the library reading, it wouldn't have attracted my attention. Later, as my dreams shattered—when I was curled up in bed, sobbing through the night, I began to question what exactly I liked about him? His appearance? Or his soul?"Scarlett!"Stephanie's grip on my arm pulled me back from my daydream."Were you spacing out? Those crazy girls nearly bumped into you."Then, another voice reached me."Scarlett, come to my office."I snapped to attention, seeing Taylor standing at the door of the literature class."Stephanie, see you in the cafeteria.""Okay, our usual spot."Stephanie eyed Taylor warily for a moment, her hand gripping my arm tightly.Taylor watched Stephanie calmly, his eyes signaling her to leave."Alright, but don't be too late."Stephanie released me, smiling and bidding me goodbye, treating Taylor as if he were invisible.I walked into the room at Taylor's beckoning, him holding the door open for me to enter first. "Please, take a seat, Miss Moore," he said, still with a stern expression. He left the door and closed it with a crisp sound that echoed in the empty classroom. "Did I do something wrong?" I hadn't taken a seat yet, instead asking him uncertainly. Taylor didn't answer my question directly, his expression seeming to tease a bit of mystery. "Compared to others, you're not too bad." "What?" I was hoping for praise. Every time Miss Ewen had a private chat with me, it was to commend how well I wrote my reflections. "I can improve, Mr. Wildson." Literature was the one class where I felt confident. I didn't want to be let down by Taylor. "Patience, Miss Moore." He observed my eager, somewhat agitated demeanor and gestured for me to calm down. Leaning against the desk by the lectern, Taylor pulled a thin book from a neatly stacked pile of files. "Read this book in your free time, then write a
Frankly, I've never understood why they changed the name of "The Feast" to the "Nutrition Center." Over seventy percent of the food here is high-fat, high-calorie "American fast food." Given we're in one of the most remote towns in America, finding diverse and multicultural chefs is even harder than getting truant students to attend class. Vegetarians even staged a public protest at school, leading to two chaotic weeks of everyone bringing their own lunches! Can't blame them, though—other options are either atrociously bad or might as well be diet pills. Gazing at the crowded hamburger stand, I'm glad I kicked my junk food habit. For those not concerned about their weight, a cheeseburger with chicken strips is a heavenly delight. The aftermath, however, is a struggle with belts and shirts strained by fat. I made my way to the yogurt stand, scooping up a few spoonfuls into an empty bowl, then garnishing it with blueberries, raspberries, and mangoes. As expected, the checkout was swam
“But back to the matter at hand—” Stephanie leaned in, sniffing the air around me. "Even food can't mask the weed smell on you." She backed away, grimacing as if to say, "That reeks." "Is it really that noticeable?" "I'm just really sensitive to smells." "Oh! I get it!" Stephanie clapped her hands together in excitement. "Maybe he smelled the weed on your clothes and thought you were spiraling!" "And then—thought he could be the hero to save you, aiming for the 'Teacher of the Year' award." "Alright." I raised an eyebrow. "Your bias against Taylor is a bit much." "I can't help it. Do you know how annoying it is to have someone always focus on your flaws?" "Oh, right, I almost forgot about this!" Suddenly, Stephanie's "gossip radar" must have detected something "spectacular." "There's a boy who's been watching you." "What? What are you talking about?" I laughed, not taking her seriously. "Hey! I'm serious. He's been staring at you since you were in line!" "So, you're sayi
"You sure know how to pick your moments. Ready for your first show, Scarlett?" Brooklyn teased, her voice echoing down the hallway clogged by Milo Grayson's fan girls. I lingered, hoping to catch a glimpse of the chaos, but it was all in vain. "Since when are you so interested in Milo?" she prodded, a mix of curiosity and amusement in her tone. "It's not that kind of interest," I quickly clarified, feeling the need to defend my curiosity. "It's probably just admiration for famous people." Brooklyn sighed, rolling her eyes in a gesture of mock despair. "I know Milo is a hottie and he plays cool guitars. I don't want you acting like one of those crazy girls. There's a loss of decency. You're part of the cheerleading squad now, understand?" "Of course, I am, Brooklyn," I assured her, even as my mind drifted to the cool girls of high school. They wore their confidence as effortlessly as their seductive outfits, capturing the attention of everyone around them. Yet, deep down, I harbore
“What did you just say to me?“ “I don't care. It's not like it's gonna be on me.” I replied aggressively, “You know, chemical fiber clothes don't even deserve to stay in the laundry.” “Pick up my clothes, bitch.” “Why? Because you're on a disability program grant?” Stella stares at me with wide eyes, itching to stretch her false eyelashes and stick them in my eyes. “You're going to regret saying that.” The three girls watching the show gather around, a mafia do-gooder, maybe a female version of the Russian mob. “Hey.” Someone laid a hand on my shoulder. "I think this is yours." I turned to see who it was. She took off the jacket slung over her back, hooking it with a finger, and extended it toward Stella's arm. "Brooklyn sent me to find her. The locker room can be quite the labyrinth for the newcomers." Stella gave a side-eye to the girl next to her, who cleverly grabbed the jacket from the newcomer's hand. "You better hurry to check in; Brooklyn is counting heads." "Girls,"
At Seayers High, the front gate serves as a flashy parking lot for the wealthy show-offs, contrasting starkly with the bike shed, which resembles a scrap heap at a recycling center. This means there's only one area for vehicle parking — the school's front, a place I'm currently determined to avoid. Seayers High's back entrance leads to the football field, not in use today since parties always seem to be scheduled around their practice times, a special privilege allowing everyone to clear out time for the popular crowd. I decide on the football field. Although it means circling around most of the school, there's a secluded path there, hidden from the affluent kids at the front. Reaching the back door, I look out at the empty field, pleased. The thought of Skyler anxiously waiting in his car at the front gate amuses me. Stepping down the stairs with a victorious smile, I hear: "I knew you'd come this way, Scarlett." I freeze for a second, then turn towards the corner behind the sta
You’re probably wondering.Do I look like the girls in Hollywood movies? Is my high school life a whirlwind of excitement and drama? Am I the most popular girl in school? Or maybe, just maybe, I’m the cheer captain with a perfectly arched brow and an air of superiority?Ha. I wish.If I had to describe myself—and trust me, I’ve had practice—it goes like this: for every breathtaking beauty, there’s always a girl with wild red curls, an awkward grin, and a face full of misplaced optimism. That’s me. The textbook definition of a wallflower. Your average, unremarkable high school nobody.When people come over to visit, their eyes always land on the group photo by my bed. To my right in the picture is my cousin, Elisa. She’s the kind of person you’d expect to walk off a fashion runway and into your life. Every summer, she’d stay with us, dazzling everyone with her effortless charm. Now, she’s off at college in California, living her best life. Back in the day, she was the "It Girl" of Seaye
What comes to mind first when you think of high school life? The gorgeous cheerleaders, the arrogant jocks, the class-skipping idols, the Shakespeare aficionados, the vegans? Or is it the incessant buzzing of the alarm clock, the uncomfortable desks and chairs, the dreadful cafeteria lunches, the looming finals and exams, the lost mechanical pencils, the unrequited crushes and heartbreaks, the constantly energetic group projects?"Hey, watch where you're going!" a girl, whose outfit screamed Regina George from Mean Girls, snapped at me, her voice dripping with disdain. "This is limited edition.""You can't expect everyone to have eyes, right?" her minions added, their voices laced with mockery.Bitch. The word echoed in my mind, though my lips remained sealed. If you were to ask me about high school, I'd offer you two pieces of advice:Rule Number One: Never attempt to reason with sorority members. Rule Number Two: If you're not among the popular crowd, brace yourself—high school wi
At Seayers High, the front gate serves as a flashy parking lot for the wealthy show-offs, contrasting starkly with the bike shed, which resembles a scrap heap at a recycling center. This means there's only one area for vehicle parking — the school's front, a place I'm currently determined to avoid. Seayers High's back entrance leads to the football field, not in use today since parties always seem to be scheduled around their practice times, a special privilege allowing everyone to clear out time for the popular crowd. I decide on the football field. Although it means circling around most of the school, there's a secluded path there, hidden from the affluent kids at the front. Reaching the back door, I look out at the empty field, pleased. The thought of Skyler anxiously waiting in his car at the front gate amuses me. Stepping down the stairs with a victorious smile, I hear: "I knew you'd come this way, Scarlett." I freeze for a second, then turn towards the corner behind the sta
“What did you just say to me?“ “I don't care. It's not like it's gonna be on me.” I replied aggressively, “You know, chemical fiber clothes don't even deserve to stay in the laundry.” “Pick up my clothes, bitch.” “Why? Because you're on a disability program grant?” Stella stares at me with wide eyes, itching to stretch her false eyelashes and stick them in my eyes. “You're going to regret saying that.” The three girls watching the show gather around, a mafia do-gooder, maybe a female version of the Russian mob. “Hey.” Someone laid a hand on my shoulder. "I think this is yours." I turned to see who it was. She took off the jacket slung over her back, hooking it with a finger, and extended it toward Stella's arm. "Brooklyn sent me to find her. The locker room can be quite the labyrinth for the newcomers." Stella gave a side-eye to the girl next to her, who cleverly grabbed the jacket from the newcomer's hand. "You better hurry to check in; Brooklyn is counting heads." "Girls,"
"You sure know how to pick your moments. Ready for your first show, Scarlett?" Brooklyn teased, her voice echoing down the hallway clogged by Milo Grayson's fan girls. I lingered, hoping to catch a glimpse of the chaos, but it was all in vain. "Since when are you so interested in Milo?" she prodded, a mix of curiosity and amusement in her tone. "It's not that kind of interest," I quickly clarified, feeling the need to defend my curiosity. "It's probably just admiration for famous people." Brooklyn sighed, rolling her eyes in a gesture of mock despair. "I know Milo is a hottie and he plays cool guitars. I don't want you acting like one of those crazy girls. There's a loss of decency. You're part of the cheerleading squad now, understand?" "Of course, I am, Brooklyn," I assured her, even as my mind drifted to the cool girls of high school. They wore their confidence as effortlessly as their seductive outfits, capturing the attention of everyone around them. Yet, deep down, I harbore
“But back to the matter at hand—” Stephanie leaned in, sniffing the air around me. "Even food can't mask the weed smell on you." She backed away, grimacing as if to say, "That reeks." "Is it really that noticeable?" "I'm just really sensitive to smells." "Oh! I get it!" Stephanie clapped her hands together in excitement. "Maybe he smelled the weed on your clothes and thought you were spiraling!" "And then—thought he could be the hero to save you, aiming for the 'Teacher of the Year' award." "Alright." I raised an eyebrow. "Your bias against Taylor is a bit much." "I can't help it. Do you know how annoying it is to have someone always focus on your flaws?" "Oh, right, I almost forgot about this!" Suddenly, Stephanie's "gossip radar" must have detected something "spectacular." "There's a boy who's been watching you." "What? What are you talking about?" I laughed, not taking her seriously. "Hey! I'm serious. He's been staring at you since you were in line!" "So, you're sayi
Frankly, I've never understood why they changed the name of "The Feast" to the "Nutrition Center." Over seventy percent of the food here is high-fat, high-calorie "American fast food." Given we're in one of the most remote towns in America, finding diverse and multicultural chefs is even harder than getting truant students to attend class. Vegetarians even staged a public protest at school, leading to two chaotic weeks of everyone bringing their own lunches! Can't blame them, though—other options are either atrociously bad or might as well be diet pills. Gazing at the crowded hamburger stand, I'm glad I kicked my junk food habit. For those not concerned about their weight, a cheeseburger with chicken strips is a heavenly delight. The aftermath, however, is a struggle with belts and shirts strained by fat. I made my way to the yogurt stand, scooping up a few spoonfuls into an empty bowl, then garnishing it with blueberries, raspberries, and mangoes. As expected, the checkout was swam
I walked into the room at Taylor's beckoning, him holding the door open for me to enter first. "Please, take a seat, Miss Moore," he said, still with a stern expression. He left the door and closed it with a crisp sound that echoed in the empty classroom. "Did I do something wrong?" I hadn't taken a seat yet, instead asking him uncertainly. Taylor didn't answer my question directly, his expression seeming to tease a bit of mystery. "Compared to others, you're not too bad." "What?" I was hoping for praise. Every time Miss Ewen had a private chat with me, it was to commend how well I wrote my reflections. "I can improve, Mr. Wildson." Literature was the one class where I felt confident. I didn't want to be let down by Taylor. "Patience, Miss Moore." He observed my eager, somewhat agitated demeanor and gestured for me to calm down. Leaning against the desk by the lectern, Taylor pulled a thin book from a neatly stacked pile of files. "Read this book in your free time, then write a
The classroom buzzed with the usual cacophony, punctuated by the occasional airborne book. Whizz—a book flies past! "Oh, my goodness!" I exclaimed, narrowly avoiding a collision that could have sent me straight to the infirmary. The book would have surely left a mark on my face. "Sorry, Scarlett." Blake's apology came from over his shoulder, his hands resting nonchalantly on his friends' shoulders. Their laughter knotted together in shared amusement. Ignoring their antics, I headed to my seat. A glance from Annie met mine before she turned away to whisper to Alex behind her. I paid them no mind. As I passed by, Alex's precarious stack of books toppled over the aisle of desks. "Hey! What's your problem?" My surprise was evident as I faced Alex, only to catch Annie biting her pen, offering a smug smile. Bending down, I reached for the scattered books. But before I could gather them up, someone else's hands intervened, snatching away the book I had just secured. "It's lucky for yo
I was halfway down the hallway when I heard it, the unmistakable voice of Skyler declaring, "Brooklyn baby, I finally found you." There he was, lifting Brooklyn's chin with a sense of entitlement. "For the party tonight, I want you to dress sexy." It took him a moment to notice me. "Scarlett? I didn't realize you were there." His hand dropped, and he proceeded to straighten his bangs, a vain attempt at nonchalance. Rolling my eyes, I mumbled an excuse about my literature class and tried to leave. "Wait a minute," he called out, effectively halting my escape. With a swift movement, Skyler's hand slapped down on his locker, his arm blocking my path. "What do you want?" I asked, my irritation mounting as I tugged on the shoulder strap of my book bag, eager to bypass this self-centered obstacle. Letting his arm fall, Skyler instead stepped in front of me, reducing the distance between us. I halted, meeting his gaze with a defiance I hoped masked my discomfort. "I know you don't li
In the shadowed corner beside the dingy sink wall, a couple of figures crouched, shrouded in a haze of white powder. Their frantic movements became more pronounced as Brooklyn and I approached, their hands shoving clear Ziploc bags filled with the same white substance into their backpacks with desperate haste. "Move!" Brooklyn's command sliced through the thick air, echoing off the tiled walls. "Crazy bitches," one of the addicts muttered under their breath as they scrambled to their feet, blocking our path. The stench of marijuana was overpowering, sending my head into a dizzying spin. As one of them, her face adorned with silver studs and a glowing silver tongue stud in the center, stuck her tongue out mockingly at us, she bumped against my shoulder, leaving a trail of the intoxicating powder on my clothes. Involuntarily, I coughed as some of the powder made its way into my nostrils. Frantically, I shook off the remnants clinging to my fabric, a bitter taste of humiliation filli