Summary: The girl of cosmic play is not about to be pushed around.
The weekend flew by fast like it usually does. Soon it was Monday, my first day of school at Omni High. I had never been so nervous in my life. That morning my mom must have used a dozen rolls of film on me because she thought I looked so cute in the uniform. I was annoyed. Add to that, her camera isn’t digital, so I couldn’t even see what I looked like. Seven o’clock came. I kissed my mom goodbye and walked out to the bus stop: raggedy backpack, striped socks, and all.
I stood at the spot where the bus was supposed to pick me up by myself in the chilly morning air. My striped socks were warmer than the plain white ones I was given. I was the only one at the bus stop. No one else in my neighborhood was going to that school. A little ways down the street I could see my old bus stop. Some kids were already standing out there. I smiled, remembering that just last week I was standing there with them. Then the nice clean private school bus came rumbling down the street.
The bus driver opened the doors, and I got on. As I walked down the narrow aisle looking for a seat, I felt as if all eyes were on me. I was the only person there wearing blue and white striped socks. I found an empty seat next to some blond girl. I smiled at her. She gave me an uneasy smile back. She opened a book and started reading. The ride to school was very quiet, cold, and impersonal, with little whispers being heard once and awhile. It might have not been the nicest bus ride, but at least I found a seat.
I stood out in all of the blue and white with the ancient yellow backpack on my back. It was covered with ink pen marks, signatures of friends, patches, and safety pins. I worked my way through the halls to Dr. Sterling’s office.
When I entered he was talking on the phone. He wasn’t able to say hello to me, but he did hand me what I needed: my schedule.
First up: homeroom.
Room number 204: Ms. Rinehart.
I looked up and down the halls for the room. Room 202, 203, aah… 204. I opened the door and walked into the classroom.
Inside was full of girls dressed in blue uniforms. They all were talking and chatting quietly. I glanced around the room. It was white, clean, and spotless. On a shelf in one corner was a row of dictionaries and English books. Okay, she must be an English teacher, I thought. I took a glance at my schedule. English: Rinehart. Now the question is, where is she?
My eyes moved to another corner of the room. Sitting there behind a teacher’s desk was a plump woman with thick plastic frame glasses resting on her nose. She wore a blue business suit-like outfit. Her hair was gray and curly, and her face had these cheeks that at one time may have been tempting to pinch. She was busy typing on a laptop computer and was unaware that I was there. I swallowed and slowly began to approach her desk. My steps were slow and unsteady, but with each step I felt a little more confidence.
Soon I found myself standing above her, quietly looking at her type. She still didn’t see me. I decided to let her know that I was there.
“Hello?” I said timidly.
She stopped typing and looked at me. “And who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Lila Collins. My schedule says that you are my homeroom teacher.”
She frowned and returned to her computer. I looked at her questioningly, not sure if I should get mad because of her attitude, or if I should just shrug it off since she did seem busy.
After making a few clicks of the mouse, she closed the laptop, and looked at me.
“So you’re the new student,” she said in a sarcastic tone, resting her arm on the desk. “Walk over there by the board so I can get a better look at you.”
I walked over to the chalkboard in front of the classroom, suspicious of her motives. The class was silent, except for a few giggles here and there. I felt forty pairs of eyes focused on me again. I am used to having people look at me, and I like the attention, but for some reason I didn’t feel good about this.
Ms. Rinehart shifted out of the chair and shuffled towards me with a stick in her hand. This doesn’t look good, I thought. Is this the type of school that still gives spankings? She pointed the stick at me.
“Turn around so I can see you,” she said. I heard faint giggles in the room.
I gave a squeamish smile as I turned around slowly. I’ve never felt my heart pound so hard.
“Very nice, very nice,” she said. “Miss Collins, you are a very pretty young lady.”
I squirmed and shrugged my shoulders.
“But, I don’t think those socks are in agreement with the school dress code. I would appreciate it if you take them off.”
I looked down at my striped socks. The giggling got louder. That’s it, I thought. I’ve had enough. I came to this school to learn, not to be knocked about my socks. I felt my eyebrows furrow and eyes narrow. I cleared my throat and began to speak with complete control.
“Well Ms. Rinehart, I’m sorry you don’t like them, but what may not be fine for you is fine for me, and if you don’t like that, tough.”
At that moment the annoying giggling stopped. Now there was complete silence. Her eyes dilated with alarm and her face became a shade of red. I stood there looking at her, now breathing calmly. Her little mouth got tighter as she pointed to my feet.
“Take the socks off!”
“No, I will not.”
I heard the class murmur.
“Is she crazy?”
“Who is this girl? Who does she think she is?”
“She is definitely going to die.”
A tall brunette girl in the class stood up and looked directly at me. “Just take them off!” she demanded.
I looked back at Ms. Rinehart. Her face was red and covered with little beads of sweat. “Don’t worry about it Miss Hart,” she said shakily between her teeth. “If she still refuses to take her socks off, I will take her personally to Dr. Sterling’s office!”
“Oooh…” the class cooed.
My face relaxed for a moment. I looked at the class in thought. Maybe I shouldn’t go through with this. Besides, it is just a pair of socks. I bent down and started loosening my shoes. I glanced up for a moment, catching Ms. Rinehart’s face. She was looking down at me with a fire in her eye and a smile on her face that said, “I won. I can treat you anyway I want and get away with it.”
Suddenly I felt like this was about more than socks.
I stopped undoing my shoe and rose back up. The smile washed from her face. I began tapping my foot with the shoe half way unbuckled.
“No,” I rebelled. “If you don’t like them so much, why don’t you take them off?”
Her face became redder and her mouth gaped open. In one lightning quick motion, she had my ear in a tight grip with her big hands. I screeched from the pain.
“Miss Collins!” she said between her teeth. “You are coming with me to Dr. Sterling’s office!”
At that she pushed me through the classroom door. She dragged me down the hallway by my ear. It did not feel good. She rammed through the headmaster’s door with me in one hand and made a fist with the other. Dr. Sterling was on the phone. Once he saw us come in, he hung up.
“Ouch, let me go!” I yelled.
“Dr. Sterling, you don’t have a clue what this little—urchin, has done to me!” started Ms. Rinehart.
“I haven’t done nothing!” I yelled back, with my ear still in her possession.
“Anything!” she corrected.
“Quiet! Both of you!”
We both fell silent.
“Ms. Rinehart, please let Miss Collins go.”
I felt the pressure release off my ear. I began to rub it tenderly.
“Now Ms. Rinehart, what is the idea of this?”
“This girl is breaking the school dress code!” she declared, pointing to me. “And she blatantly refused to obey me to my face!”
“Humm…” said Dr. Sterling, rubbing his mustache looking at me. “I don’t see how she is breaking the dress code.”
“Just look at her socks!” yelled Ms. Rinehart, pointing to my feet. “Look at them!”
“Lila, walk over to the other side of the room so I can see your socks.”
“Yes sir.”
Reluctantly, I walked to the other side of the office. I knew that this was it. Once he sees my socks, he’ll probably send me to detention. No, not detention. It’s more like expulsion.
I stood there on the other side. He sat up a little so he could see them. I was waiting for him to get mad, to close the door and give me a lecture. To kick me out of the most exclusive school in the area, but instead I saw a smile come on his face. He reclined back in his chair and closed his eyes happily.
“Well, didn’t you see her socks?” Ms. Rinehart raved. “Aren’t they ludicrous?”
“Ms. Rinehart,” he said calmly, “are you aware that nowhere in the school dress code striped socks are mentioned?”
“Striped socks are not part of the uniform,” she said with blood pressure rising, “and those socks disrupt the learning environment.”
“Ms. Rinehart, I do not see them as a disruption. Instead, I see an incredible display of originality, something that this school is lacking in. She can wear the socks if she wants to.”
“Humph!” said Ms. Rinehart, pushing back her thick glasses, pulling a single gray strand of hair out of place. She grabbed me by the arm and began to pull me towards the office door.
“Wait. I want Miss Collins to stay. I need to have a little chat with her.”
Ms. Rinehart threw down my arm and stomped out the door, slamming it behind her.
“Sorry about that,” he said in a subdued voice. “But she is one of the people that adds to the headache I have at the end of the day.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling a lump in my throat. As I sat down in the chair in front of him, I felt like such a little child. Like I was six, not sixteen. Sometimes I can be such a failure.
“I didn’t know wearing these socks would cause such a commotion,” I said looking at my feet again.
Dr. Sterling gave a gentle laugh. “This school isn’t used to change. They don’t know how to handle people that are different. That’s why you are here.”
Really? So I’m not some sort of freak show that no one wants to sit next to on the bus. I’m supposed to be weird and shunned by everyone. That’s encouraging.
“I want you to be original and different, but there is only one thing I don’t want you to do.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t want you to give any lip to Ms. Rinehart.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I want you to be nice to her. I know she isn’t the easiest person to get along with, but just try. I don’t want her dragging you into my office everyday. Don’t worry about trying to fight her, that’s my job. All I want you to do is to be civil, and that doesn’t only apply to Ms. Rinehart, but every other teacher on this campus. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Now you may return to class.”
A few minutes later I found myself face to face once again with Ms. Rinehart.
“I see you’re back,” she said, jutting out her chin as she walked up to me. “A little sooner than I thought. Well Miss Collins, I’m giving you the chance to sit at any desk of your choice. Consider yourself fortunate.”
I looked over the empty spots in the classroom. There were a few desks in the middle, but I wasn’t interested. There was one nice looking desk in the back corner of the room. It was very tempting, but then another desk caught my eye. It was in the very front row directly in front of Ms. Rinehart’s desk. I walked slowly over to it. My brand new dress shoes echoed with every step I took. The eyes in the classroom followed me cautiously.
I stopped at the desk and set my yellow backpack on the floor next to it. I politely smoothed down my skirt and sat in the front desk, directly across from the teacher’s.
“Are you sure you want to sit there?” asked Ms. Rinehart. “Once you choose, you can’t change.”
“I’m sure,” I said.
I’m going to sit here and torture you everyday, my mind added. I’m going to sit right in front of your desk and drive you insane. I’m going to ask questions incessantly and tell you my whole life’s story. By the end of the year you’re going to be crying, wishing that you were at any school but this one. This is going to be a year you’re never going to forget, Ms. Rinehart.
I walked down the crowded hallway, looking for my first period class. Room 621: Ms. Remarque—drama.
My search came to a stop at a pair of double doors. This must be room 621. I wrapped my hands around the handles and pulled them open. The inside was dark and housed rows and rows of seats. I was in the auditorium. On the other side was a lighted stage. A voice floated across the auditorium from the stage.
The door closed, echoing loudly. Now I could see there was a class sitting on stage. The voice was coming from the small figure who stood in front of them. It was another teacher in a professional blue suit.
She acted as if she didn’t hear me when I came in. Even with all the noise the door made, she kept teaching. I walked up the dark aisles to the lighted stage. Her class relaxed there in their light blue uniforms, completely immersed in what she was saying. Her words carried gently across the auditorium, light and free. Her voice was almost as if she was singing. Watching her from the back, I saw her hands make soft gestures as she spoke. I walked onto the stage quietly.
I stood there for a moment in front of the class, next to her. She finished her last sentence and turned towards me. She was younger than I thought. Her hair was a pretty blond, and she had large green eyes that were full of life.
“Excuse me,” I said quietly. “My name is Lila Collins. I’m the new student.”
I gave her my schedule. Her lively eyes began to examine it. They lit up even brighter as they went over it.
“Miss Collins!” she exclaimed, giving me back my schedule and shaking my hand heartily. “Dr. Sterling has told me so much about you! And I love your socks,” she stood back and began to admire them. I felt my cheeks burn slightly, and a huge smile came on my face.
“Oh, I forgot!” she said quickly, making fast gestures with her hands. “I need to give you something. One second—stay right here.” She ran off of the stage, leaving me standing there in front of the class alone. I shyly looked at them.
“Hey,” I said weaker than I wanted to.
A small girl sitting on the floor spoke up.
“Where’d you get those socks from?”
“She looks like The Cat in the Hat,” said a girl with lime green braces on her teeth. She nudged the girl sitting next to her with her elbow. The girl pushed her glasses back and looked at her hands as if she had seen them for the first time.
“I didn’t think that was a book you could read,” I replied easily.
Then Ms. Remarque came running back in with a laptop in her hands.
“Did you miss me? Sorry I left you standing there like that.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “It gave me a chance to meet some of the awesome girls here.”
“Well, I’m glad you got to meet some people.”
I gave a cool glance back at the small girl and the girl with the braces. They gave me a sour look.
“Here’s your computer. Dr. Sterling wanted me to give it to you. You’re going to need it for all of your classes.” She handed it to me. I took the laptop in my small hands. So wow. If only Terrell and Jamie could see this.
“Thanks.”
She gave a warm smile. “Now you can sit on the floor with the rest of the class.”
I sat down on the stage floor, crossing my legs with the computer in my lap.
“Next,” said the drama teacher, clasping her hands, “we are going to play a drama game. It is called Character Development. Okay, so one of you come up here in front of the class and pretend that you’re anyone—anyone except yourself. Then everyone else will play the people in the audience and ask questions, like ‘what’s your name?’ and ‘how old are you?’—stuff like that. Let me give you an example.”
She turned her face away from us and began to mess up her hair. When she turned back around, her hair stood up on her head, and she bit her teeth over her under lip in a way that resembled a gopher.
“Okay,” she said in a high voice with a lisp, “Athsk me questhons.”
I raised my hand. She pointed to me.
“What do you do?” I asked.
“I am a grathuate from Har-vard,” she said, adding an idiotic giggle. The class laughed.
The small girl raised her hand. “Ms. Remarque, when did you graduate?”
“Who is Ms. Remarque? I am Melistha Wilsthon.” The class laughed some more. Few exchanged glances with each other, fearing that the teacher had lost her mind. After five minutes of questioning Melissa Wilson, Ms. Remarque came back to us.
“Now that you see how the game is played, it’s your turn! Who wants to give it a try?”
The class was silent, and everyone was looking around for the brave person who was going to raise their hand. Volunteering can’t hurt. It can’t kill me to stand in front of everyone and make an idiot of myself. I raised my hand.
“Our new student, Lila!” shouted Ms. Remarque like a game show host. “Come up here and give it a shot!”
I picked myself up from the wooden floor of the stage and walked to the front of the class. Ms. Remarque joined her students. I didn’t have a clue of what I was going to do.
“Are you ready to start, Lila?”
“Yeah,” I said with a lull in my voice. “I’m ready.”
Ms. Remarque raised her hand first. I pointed to her.
“How old are you?” she asked in a professional news reporter voice.
My mind fumbled. Who am I? What person do I want to pretend to be?
“Ummm…” I started nervously. Then it came to me. I tightened my vocal cords and began to speak in the smallest voice I had.
“Six,” I answered childishly and biting on my thumbnail. The class giggled.
“What do you like to eat?” asked the girl with the braces.
“I like to eat macaroni and cheeeeese!”
The classroom was filled with girlish laughter. I had to try my best to keep from laughing. After five minutes it was someone else’s turn. This time more people raised their hands. It felt great laughing at the funny things other girls could come up with. Actually, I think I liked being in the audience more than being in front of the class.
I asked all sorts of questions from “Can you swim?” to “Do you have superpowers?” Sometimes I would hold my hand so it looked like I was using a microphone, like a real reporter. Everyone in class went up in front to act, except the girl in the glasses. Her name is Angie. Her friends, I guess the small girl and the girl with the braces and jet-black hair, tried to get her to go up, but she strongly refused.
“If she doesn’t feel like going, she doesn’t have to,” said Ms. Remarque, giving Angie a reassuring smile.
Soon the bell rang, and it was time to leave. Once I walked out of those auditorium doors, I knew that this was going to be the class that I would live for as long as the year lasted. Whenever I had a bad day there would always be drama class. Whenever I had a good day, drama class would be there to make it better. I could use some excitement before I got to my next class.
I went back to Ms. Rinehart’s class for English. Seeing that place for homeroom was bad enough, but for English too? It was very tempting to get a schedule change, but I decided to stick through it. I was sure there would be worse things in life. But then again…
I sat in the same seat that I sat in during homeroom. It was right across from Ms. Rinehart’s desk. I was bent on driving her up the wall. I watched as everyone came in, the classroom slowly filling with girls in uniforms just like mine. They chatted sweetly and giggled politely. When the bell rang they all became silent. Ms. Rinehart entered the classroom like a judge.
“Hello, class,” she said.
“Hello, Ms. Rinehart,” the class responded automatically. It was so weird, like they had rehearsed it a million times before she came in. I fought to stifle my laughter, but Ms. Rinehart caught it.
“Miss Collins!” she barked.
“Sorry,” I said with a mischievous smile. “I couldn’t help it.”
At that moment, four girls filed into the room. In the group was the girl that yelled at me to take off my socks in homeroom this morning. I was shocked by who else I saw. Also in the group was the redhead girl that I ran into the other day. There was also a girl with extremely curly blond hair and a girl with short brown hair. All of them wore ponytails and expressionless faces. They were very late, but Ms. Rinehart continued as if not seeing them.
Strange, I thought, for a teacher like her to fuss over my socks but not get on them for being so late. As they filed past me to get to their seats, I noticed that they all had something else in common. All of them had a golden ring with a beautiful bluish stone set in the middle. I wondered where I could get one of those.
“Okay class,” said Ms. Rinehart turning to the board to write the assignment.
“Download the file for The Scarlet Letter into the literature program. I want you to read pages one through twenty. Then I want you to answer all the questions at the end of the passage in complete sentences. I want it typed and emailed to me.”
Now I see why Ms. Remarque said that I would need the computer. Ms. Rinehart shuffled from her spot in front of the classroom to her desk. She sat down heavily in front of me, huffing.
“Having a hard day?” I asked innocently.
“Miss Collins, get to work!”
“Okay,” I said with a smile, opening my laptop.
After a while the bell rang, urging everyone to go to lunch. The cafeteria was buzzing. I watched hundreds of girls in blue uniforms get their lunches. I saw the brunette girl from homeroom and her friends sitting at a slightly secluded table on the opposite side of the lunchroom. Their faces looked bland and unconcerned. I was glad not to be sitting over there. Then there was shy Angie from drama class and her friends. I felt sorry for her too. From the expression on her face, it looked like she didn’t even want to be with those other girls.
The amazing thing was that I was spending my time feeling sorry for all of those girls when I was chewing on my bologna sandwich, sitting all by myself. All day I hadn’t managed to make one single friend. Yeah, it had only been one day, but everything was just so—empty. It made me wish that I had never left Bridgman High. I came here in hopes of a new beginning and new friends, but all I had gotten was ridicule and maybe even a little heartache. I wished that I could see Terrell and Jamie again. I wanted to tell Jamie that I was sorry and that she was right. I wished I were with them, eating lunch and having fun, but it was too late. I had made my decision to go here, and there was no way that I was going back.
After lunch, I went to art class. I happened to come during a free day. Today students could paint whatever they wanted. I looked at the blank canvas in front of me holding a brush in my hand. I dipped my brush in black paint and made a stray mark on it. It was a rash line that curved from one end of the canvas to the other. I looked at it. I excluded myself from my surroundings. I ignored the girlish chatter and the instructions of the teacher. I closed everything out of my mind and began to paint. I put the colors on the canvas making shapes and curves that I was not aware of. I wasn’t painting a picture on the canvas, but my emotions; the frustration I felt and the loss of all things familiar. I was completely absorbed into my painting until I heard a voice speak behind me.
“Beautiful, beautiful!” she said loudly.
It was the art teacher. She is a thin, but very spirited woman. “That painting,” she said, throwing her hands in the air searching for something tangible, “shows so much emotion, so much energy! I haven’t seen anything like it. Miss Collins, it shows that you are in touch with your feelings. I like that. No. I love it! Keep up the good work.” She patted me on the shoulder and began to walk around looking at the paintings of other students.
I looked around. Everyone was busy with something. Then I noticed the girl with the red hair. She was sitting on a stool doing a painting of a beach scene. I stared at her from across the room, but I wasn’t expecting her to turn around and stare back.
I wanted to ignore her and get back to my own business, but for some reason I felt like she knew something. It was like she had something to tell me, but her eyes were the only means of doing it. We sat like this for a while looking at each other from opposite sides of the room. Then she got up and began walking in my direction. I quickly refocused on my canvas and picked up the brush as if I was going to continue painting. I felt her come up behind me and look over my shoulder. I tried to not pay her any attention. Then she took her index finger and ran it through some of the black paint on my canvas. I could not ignore that. I turned and looked at her. She studied the paint on her finger with a dull expression and started humming a song. Then she went back to her own painting.
🌊
Math class was boring as I expected. All the faces in the class were unfamiliar. Everyone was annoyed with the math teacher as much as I was. The teacher kept trying to make jokes that were not funny, and she had biting sarcasm. What annoyed me more than the teacher was the brown-haired girl. I learned that her name is Bridgett Waters. What bothered me was how she had an answer to every question that the teacher asked.
“What’s the square root of 169?”
“Thirteen.”
“What is the quadratic formula?”
I looked around. Will anyone please raise their hand? Of course no one else does.
“The quadratic formula is,” said Bridgett smartly, “B plus or minus the square root of B squared minus four AC all over two A.”
“Very good.”
She leaned back in her chair, smirking. I knew math and algebra were not really my best subjects, but I wanted to show Bridgett that she was not the only person in the class. That alone was enough to make me try harder.
After that came P.E. class. Everyone dressed out in the locker room and met in the gym. Coach Banks is in her mid-forties and very well built. Noticeable gray strands streak her short black hair. The whistle that hung from her neck swung as she walked back and forth in front of us, explaining the plans for the day. While she paced back and forth, flexing her powerful legs, on the floor next to her doing pushups was a girl that looked just as powerful. She had long curly blond hair and arms cut with firm muscle. She went up and down, doing the push ups with a constant rhythm.
“Okay!” said Coach Banks with a huge smile. “Let’s go run five laps!”
Soon I found myself with everyone else running down the concrete track. I had a good pace and was ahead of everyone—for a little while. When I just began to feel my self-confidence rising, I felt a breeze rush past me. I looked up. It was that blond girl, and she was covering ground at a record pace. I could not believe my eyes. She was a human bullet. I broke my speed and almost slowed to a walk. Then I heard a voice yell, “Pick it up, Miss Collins!”
“Yes, Coach Banks!” I yelled back, and I began to jog again.
Thirty minutes left of school. It was study period. Now everyone could go anywhere they wished on campus to relax and prepare for their classes tomorrow. Some went to visit their favorite teachers, while others flocked to the library, but almost everyone else spent their time in the gorgeous courtyard that was smack in the middle of campus.
It was like a forest in the middle of the city. There were maple trees and oak trees. The grass was lush and a luminous green. It was just cut and that made the air smell even sweeter and just so…clean. The bright purples and reds of the flowers and the kiwi colored leaves were bright and clear like high definition. Under the shade of the trees were girls studying. Some were in groups quietly whispering to each other as if it was illegal to talk aloud outside too. Others just lied in the grass without exchanging a word. They let their thoughts float through the air to communicate with each other.
I found a tree for myself, sat at its trunk, and laid my head against it. I closed my eyes and began to think about the day. I have a whole lot of homework tonight, especially from Ms. Rinehart. I won’t do it. Ms. Remarque, the drama teacher, is really nice. I think she will be my favorite teacher. Coach Banks is nice too, even though she told me to pick up the pace, but I don’t know about that art teacher…
All my thoughts came to me in a rush, like they were running, aching to get out, but then a wave of calm and rationality came over me. For the moment I felt older than sixteen. I felt like I had lived forever. Maybe Jamie was right. Maybe I’m not meant to be here. I don’t fit in with everyone else. Everyone is so organized and neat and exacting. Me? I’m erratic, unpredictable. I’m like a light rainstorm that could produce a tornado out of nowhere. I had almost convinced myself of my unexceptableness when another thought came to my mind. I remembered what Dr. Sterling said. He said that I was at this school to bring originality.
My eyes popped open at the thought, and I looked around me. Everyone was wearing the same uniforms and reading their books. I took a glance at the group of girls in the grass not too far away from me. It was Bridgett and her friends: the artistic redhead girl, the superhuman blond, and the girl with the brunette hair that’s in my homeroom class. They sat there in the grass whispering to each other and giggling. All of them had their hair in ponytails and blue rings on their fingers.
The bell rang. School was over. They stood up, and I sat there gazing at them. As they began to walk away, the redhead girl turned and looked at me. Again. I really wanted to believe that look was for someone else, but without a doubt I knew it was meant for me. I glanced away and walked in the opposite direction towards the buses.
As I boarded the bus I noticed how quiet everything was and how everyone looked the same. As I found my seat next to a girl with her nose buried in a book and began the ride home, I started to realize what Dr. Sterling meant. He was right. Everything, everyone here is the same. I’m the one that’s different. It’s up to me to change things. But the idea is crazy. How could I change a whole school? I’m only one person. I shook my head, trying to shake the idea from my mind.
When I finally came home, my mom was busy making dinner.
“How was school?” she asked with her fingers in a bowl of raw chicken as I came into the house.
“Okay,” I replied quickly as I ran up the stairs to my room. I threw my yellow duct taped backpack on the floor and flung myself onto my bed. I lied there for no more than five minutes when I remembered that I had English and algebra homework to do. I slowly sat up, pulled the books out of my backpack, and reluctantly began to work.
The next day in drama class we had to start working on skits.
“Okay class!” said Ms. Remarque, trying to make this sound like one of the most exciting things in the world. “Today you will be working on five minute skits! You will be getting into groups of three, and the theme of your skits should be something mysterious. Let’s get started!” She wrote what she wanted us to do on the chalkboard and then did a ballerina twirl.
She must have had way too much coffee this morning.
The class began to separate themselves into groups of three. I saw girls get with their friends and giggle once they found each other. I began to look around for a group, but every time I asked someone if I could join, they already had three people. Some groups began to formulate ideas. I was still by myself. Then I noticed that there were an uneven number of people in class. My eyes worked their way around the room. Everyone was in groups of three. Everyone had people to work with; everyone except me. I was lost again.
If it weren’t for Ms. Remarque noticing, I probably would have ended up doing a monologue.
“Miss Collins, you need a group?” she asked sweetly.
“Yeah.”
“Let me see who I can put you with. I didn’t realize that there’s an odd number of students.” She looked around thoughtfully. “Oh I know. Look over there!” She pointed towards the short girl, the girl with jet-black hair, and Angie, the shy girl with the glasses. They all were working together. “See Marcie, Julie, and Angie? They’re nice girls. Go work with them!” She gave me a pat on the shoulder and walked over to her desk.
I really didn’t want to work with them. They didn’t give me much of a welcome when I first came here, and I didn’t feel like they would give me one today either. And on top of that, they disrespected my socks.
I approached them with less confidence than I usually have. All three of them were sitting on top of their desks discussing what the skit should be about. I broke into their brainstorming session.
“Excuse me,” I said.
They all became quiet and turned towards me.“Ms. Remarque wants me to work with you guys since there are an odd number of people.”
They remained silent and gave me hard stares. I looked at my feet for a second, still waiting for a response. Then they continued talking about what they wanted to do, leaving me out. They were not going to acknowledge me, that is, unless I made them.
I walked over to an empty desk and pulled it over to the group. When I brought the desk over, they all fell quiet and looked at me. I ignored them and pulled the desk as close to them as I could. Then with a single graceful hop, I perched myself on top of it. They looked at me in a way that I could almost read their thoughts. They all said, “We don’t want you here.” But I was able to give a noticeable reply with my face. It blatantly said, “Too bad.”
I sat up there with the rest of them. I scanned their faces with my eyes one more time. Enough of exchanging looks.
“My name is Lila Collins,” I said to all of them with a perfect smile on my face. “What are your names?”
All three of them exchanged glances between each other. They probably were wondering what to think of this. Then they all looked at me again. I kept a hopeful smile on my face. I was hoping that they would talk to me. When I was just about to give up, the girl with the braces began to talk.
“My name is Julie,” she said dryly, “ and these are my friends, Marcie and Angie.”
“Hey,” both of them mumbled.
“Well it’s great meeting all of you!” I said over-enthusiastically. “Now let’s get down to business. I have a great idea for this skit…”
In English class I was raising my hand like a mad woman. So many questions I knew the answers to and so many questions I wanted to ask, but Ms. Rinehart would never call on me. She kept calling on the brunette girl, the super athletic blond, the mysterious redhead, and Bridgett, but finally she couldn’t ignore me any longer.
“Miss Collins,” she said, exasperated, “what do you want?”
I finally had my chance.
“Ms. Rinehart,” I related thoughtfully, “I was just wondering, what’s the importance of poetry? It may sound nice, but what’s the point? Is it even helpful in the real world and what does it have to do with our future?”
After I said that, I slowly began to see Ms. Rinehart’s face change color. It was magenta.
“The impertinence!” she spat out with anger in her voice. “How dare you, Miss Collins, ask such a question!” This time I was the confused one. That was one of the deepest questions I have ever asked in my life. What does she mean? All I did was question the importance of poetry, and now she’s getting all upset? I didn’t break any of her rules. At least, I didn’t think I did.
She put her fleshy hand around my skinny arm.
“You’re coming with me!” she growled.
I was pulled up out of my desk like a flower out of a pot. She dragged me down the hall through a familiar route. I knew where I was headed.
This time Dr. Sterling was relaxing reading a book when that monster of a woman pulled me in. Once we wrestled in through the door he dropped his book and sat up abruptly in his chair.
“Ms. Rinehart, what is this all about?” he demanded.
“It is about Miss Collins,” she said through pursed lips. “She questioned my teaching methods!”
“I did not,” I returned politely. “I was just asking what value does poetry have in our real lives.”
“Still, she was questioning my authority.” Ms. Rinehart increased her grip on my arm.
Dr. Sterling stood up and put his hand on his head like he had a headache.
“Ms. Rinehart, let go of Lila. She is not a dog.” Ms. Rinehart let me go.
“You can’t let everything that a student says send you running to my office every time. Do you know that you are the only teacher in this whole school that I see in my office every single day? Ms. Rinehart, sometimes you have to deal with your own problems. Now get out of my office, both of you. And I don’t want to see either of you for the rest of the week.”
Ms. Rinehart turned around angrily and grumbled something. “Where is leadership going these days?” I heard her say as she walked out into the hall. I turned back to Dr. Sterling. He had a severe look on his face. I opened my mouth to say something, but I changed my mind. I slumped my shoulders and walked solemnly out of his office.
At lunchtime I managed to find someone to sit with, and it’s kind of shocking who it was. I sat with Julie, Marcie, and Angie. I was extremely uncomfortable, because I didn’t know them very well, but I didn’t want to spend another lunch by myself.
When I sat with them I didn’t get the customary nasty stares, but there was still coldness. Everyone at the table was quiet. I tried to start some small talk. “So how are your classes?”
Everyone shrugged and mumbled. I sat there looking at my sandwich. Then I moved my glance across the lunchroom. I saw Ms. Rinehart shouting at a girl for spilling her milk on the floor and not cleaning it up. I laughed.
“What is she doing here?” I asked halfway to them and halfway to myself.
“Who?” asked Julie.
“Ms. Rinehart,” I replied.
“Oh, Ms. Rinehart,” Julie scowled.
“You know about her?”
“Do I know about her,” Julie said in a low tone, “she is probably the most evil lady to walk the earth.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But what is she doing here? Doesn’t she eat lunch with the other teachers?”
“Yeah, usually,” said Marcie, now getting into the conversation, “but about once a month she has lunch duty.”
“Lunch duty? Looks like they gave it to the wrong person.”
She definitely did not have the patience for it. The girls began to giggle.
“Yeah,” said Julie, “I can hear her now.” She changed her voice to that raspy tone Ms. Rinehart uses when she’s mad. “If you don’t give me your turkey sandwich and Doritos now, I’m going to take you to Dr. Sterling’s office!”
We all giggled until our stomachs began to hurt. We laughed until we heard a familiar strict voice behind us.
“What are you girls laughing at?”
We looked up. To our absolute horror it was Ms. Rinehart. She was there looking down at us, unforgiving as ever.
“Uh, nothing,” blurted out Angie, surprising us all. She shyly adjusted her glasses. “We were just discussing a humorous—literary character.”
“Well, can you discuss it more quietly?”
“Yes ma’am,” we said in unison.
We watched as she wandered a few feet away from us. It was all too funny. None of us could hold it in. Once she was out of sight, we all started laughing again.
“If she asks anyone to go to Dr. Sterling’s office, it’ll probably be me!” I laughed out.
“Yeah,” continued Julie. “How many times did she take you to his office, a million times?”
“You know about that?”
“Yeah, I’m in your class.”
I laughed some more. All this time I didn’t notice that she was in my English class. It felt good to know that I have at least one potential friend in that class.
After school I walked past Dr. Sterling’s office. I knew he said that he didn’t want to see me anymore, but my conscience wouldn’t let me walk by without going in. I cautiously opened the door to his office and peeked in.
“Miss Collins,” said Dr. Sterling looking up, “What do you want?”
“I just want to say I’m sorry,” I said, inching slowly into the office. “I’m sorry about everything—you, Ms. Rinehart, everything. If there is anything I can do to make things better—”
“Yes Miss Collins, you can do something to make things better,” he said, cutting me off. “Don’t say a word while you are in Ms. Rinehart’s class. Don’t say anything, ask anything, or even raise your hand. Just let things take their course. If she calls on you, she calls on you, and if she doesn’t, she doesn’t. Miss Collins, Ms. Rinehart has a habit of taking things the wrong way. I don’t want you to do anything to encourage her. Just be a good student. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir.”
His lips gave way to a smile.“Sorry things have to be so hard on you,” he said sympathetically, “but these things take time. Now, you better hurry and get to your bus before it’s too late.”
I nodded with a slight smile on my face. I left his office, now determined to be the best that I could be.