Summary: Sometimes the craziest things create cosmic order.
From that time on I began to work harder. I started putting more of myself into my work. I began to allow school to be part of my life. In short—I became a model student. I did all my English work, math work, and artwork. At first it was difficult, but after a while it all became easy.
I took Dr. Sterling’s advice when it came to Ms. Rinehart. I tried not to ask too many questions and stray from the book for any of the answers to the questions that she asked me, but I still felt there was discrimination in the classroom. Whenever I asked to go to the bathroom, she always told me to wait. I usually ended up going during lunch. On the other hand, if one of the four girls in the back asked, she would let them go right then.
Sometimes they didn’t even have to ask. They could just grab a pass and walk out the door. I suspected something was going on, but I wasn’t completely sure until the day we got our grade reports. I watched as all four of the girls in the corner celebrated over their A’s. I looked at my report card—a ‘D’? It’s impossible. I have done all of my work, and I earned a D? Something was up. After class I decided to talk to Ms. Rinehart about my grade.
Everyone had left to go to lunch. She was outside trying to lock the classroom door, since she had to leave for lunch duty that day.
“Ms. Rinehart, I have a question about my grade—”
“Miss Collins, I don’t have any time for you shenanigans.” She started on a brisk pace down the hall. Like a hounding news reporter desperate for a story, I followed her with my grade report in my hand.
“I want to know how I got a D,” I demanded as I walked with her. “I’ve turned in all my work, and I’ve received an A on every single test I’ve taken in your class. I don’t see how I could’ve gotten this!”
“As I have already told you Miss Collins, I don’t have time for this. I would wish to discuss it at a later time.”
She walked off, leaving me behind.
“You bet we’ll have something to discuss,” I grumbled under my breath.
At lunch that was all I could talk about.
“I just don’t understand it,” I complained. “What’s so special about those other girls that she has to treat everyone else so inferior?”
“Two reasons,” said Julie in an authoritative voice, holding up two fingers. “First reason is because they are a special exclusive group called ‘The Four.’”
“The Four? I guess it’s because there are four of them, huh?”
“No, it’s because it sounds nice…Of course there’s four of them!”
“Yeesh—sorry.”
Julie rolled her eyes. “The second reason is that—” She looked around and began to whisper, “I believe Cheryl (That’s the brunette girl) is Ms. Rinehart’s daughter. That’s why she gives her and her friends special treatment.”
“Wait up. You think that she’s related to Ms. Rinehart?” I asked, giving her the look I save for deranged people.
“Well, don’t they almost look alike?”
I looked across the lunchroom at Cheryl, and then I looked at Ms. Rinehart on lunch duty. They did look sort of similar, but I still wasn’t sure about that.
“But their last names are different,” I pointed out.
“But not too different,” said Julie. “Hart and Rinehart aren’t too far apart.”
I turned and looked again. I felt my eyebrows furrow. “I don’t know,” I said, still unsure, “but I do know that I do not have a D in her class.”
“Why don’t you take it to Dr. Sterling?” asked Angie quietly, pushing her glasses back on her nose.
“I could,” I said, twisting my hair in my fingers, “but how will I prove it to him?”
“Show him your work,” said Marcie, who was planning to become a lawyer. “Show him all the tests you’ve taken and your class work. That should be enough evidence to prove yourself.”
During the thirty-minute study period, I went to Dr. Sterling’s office. I walked into his office with my English folder in my arms. It had been awhile since the last time I was there, so he was surprised to see me.
“How can I help you Miss Collins?”
“I want to show you my grade in English class,” I said gravely.
I handed him my report. I watched as his eyes ran over it. After a few seconds, he handed me the paper back.
“Miss Collins,” he said, extending his hand, “take a seat.”
I explained to him what I had been experiencing and showed him all the work that I had done. He rubbed his mustache as I talked. When I finished, he groaned in his seat, rubbing his chin for a few seconds. Then slowly, he began to talk.
“I’m so sorry Lila,” he began. “I don’t know why Ms. Rinehart would do this, but I’m sure it’s some sort of mistake. I will bring it to her attention as soon as I can.”
The next day I got another grade report from Ms. Rinehart. This time it had an ‘A’ on it.
“Thanks Ms. Rinehart,” I said sincerely.
She didn’t respond but gave me a stiff glare instead.
One day in drama class, Ms. Remarque noticed that most of us seemed to be a little sluggish, probably because it was our day in the classroom instead of on stage. She decided that it would be a good time to play a drama game. The game of choice was Party Quirks. We played it almost every week.
Party Quirks is a game that involves picking one person to play the host of a party and about five other people to play the guests. Each guest has a quirk or something weird about them. The host doesn’t have a clue what the guests’ quirks are. The object of the game is for the host to guess the quirks of each guest.
A host was picked and sent out of the classroom. Then everyone started planning who they wanted to be.
“I want to be a movie star,” said Marcie.
“I want to be a thief!” Julie exclaimed.
“I want to be a psychiatrist,” I volunteered.
“Wonderful, wonderful!” Ms. Remarque jumped up and down. “It’s great to have so many volunteers! Anyone else?”
No one raised their hand.
I turned towards Angie. “Why don’t you come up with us?”
“N-no, I can’t,” she stuttered back.
“Yes, you can! Ms. Remarque, Angie volunteered!”
“I what?”
“That’s great!” said the drama teacher. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t—”
“She’s a dog,” I blurted out.
“A what?”
“Great,” said Ms. Remarque. “Now everyone, get in your place.”
The hostess was called back inside the classroom. Then the game started. I went around asking questions like a psychiatrist. Angie barked like a dog. Julie stole items, and Marcie put on airs like a movie star. The hostess was a good guesser. In less than ten minutes she had figured out who everyone was.
After we had been found out, we all returned to our seats. I looked over at Angie. She was shaking all over.
“You did good,” I mouthed in her direction. She returned with a shaky smile.
In art class I worked on another painting. The art teacher praised me on my sensitivity once again, and the red headed girl gave me that look again.
Lately I have been doing miraculously well in Algebra. Some problems that I would have never dreamed of finding the answer to a few months ago, I can now actually solve. I’ve been becoming especially skilled in solving linear equations. I can’t say the same thing about Bridgett, the girl who seemed to have all the answers.
One day, the math teacher had us doing math problems on the chalkboard in front of the class. Bridgett was solving a problem in front of us. I did the problem as she wrote the answer on the board, and I came to a different answer. Bridgett had never been wrong before, so the teacher didn’t question if the answer she got was right or not, but I did. Is it possible for Bridgett, the girl genius, to make a mistake?
I checked my answer.
I checked it twice. I checked it over and over again. I didn’t make a mistake. I compared my work to the work she did on the board. There I spotted where she went wrong. It was a simple subtraction error. My heart thumped in my chest at my discovery. The teacher was about to erase the problem off the board. She couldn’t erase it, not just yet.
“Stop! Do not erase that board!”
“Miss Collins!” The math teacher turned towards me with a crook in her eye. The class looked at me. Bridgett had a slight look of terror in her eyes. At that moment, it was like she could sense exactly what I was going to say.
“Sorry,” I apologized, sitting back down, “but there’s a mistake in that problem.”
“This one?” asked the teacher, pointing to another problem on the board.
“No, the one you were just about to erase. The one that Miss Waters did.”
The class began to murmur. “It can’t be,” someone said. “Bridgett is always right.”
The teacher wasn’t even sure of what I had said. “That problem?” she asked again.
“Yes, that problem,” I confirmed.
“Then tell me,” she said in a sarcastic tone, “what’s wrong with it?”
The class became quiet and all eyes were on me. I’m beginning to get used to this type of pressure. I looked at the board and then at Bridgett. I’m sure I saw the color drain from her face. I looked back at the problem. I had nothing to lose. The only risk was being wrong, and there’s nothing wrong with not being right.
“She made her mistake when she subtracted,” I said confidently. “She added the numbers.”
The teacher reanalyzed the problem on the board. “W-well Miss Collins,” said the teacher, not believing her own words. “You’re right. Miss Waters did make a mistake.”
The class broke out into a rash of talking. I turned back around just in time to see Bridgett slide down in her seat, embarrassed.
“Quiet class, quiet,” said the teacher.
Then she asked, not sure what to expect, “Miss Collins, you did get an answer, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You don’t mind telling the class that answer?”
I swallowed. Now I was feeling nervous. This was my chance. “The answer is thirty-six.”
The teacher pounded out the problem on her own calculator. She looked up. Everything was silent. I could hear the constant buzz of the air conditioning. Bridgett and I looked on with thick anticipation.
The math teacher said slowly, “That’s the right answer.”
The class grumbled in disbelief. I saw Bridgett walk up to the teacher and whisper in her ear. Her face was red and tear stained. The teacher wrote out a pass and handed it to her. Bridgett took the pass and walked quickly out the door. I didn’t realize what an emphasis everyone had on being right until that moment. I just saw it as another math problem, but to Bridgett, it was more than that.
The girls in class congratulated me for taking her down, but I didn’t feel as proud of myself as I thought I would.
When math class let out, I saw her in the hall. I ran up to her and tried to say something, but she just passed me by.
I dressed out and headed to the gym. Everyday I’ve watched Linzie, the blond girl, perform like an Olympic athlete. She can out run, out jump, and out play everyone in everything. There’s no use playing games with her because everyone already knows who’s going to win. Sometimes I didn’t even play because I figured what good was it going to do me? However, one day I had enough of sitting in the bleachers and watching her beat everyone in everything, but it wasn’t like I was going to walk out onto the court and just challenge Linzie up to her face and completely take her out. The chances of that happening were zero. What we needed was a game that everyone could play.
The next day I came to school with my MP3 player. During free time in P.E. class, I listened to some techno and began to dance with the earphones on my head. All the other girls were playing volleyball. It was the class vs. Linzie. Marcie, who was in my P.E. class too, was also tired of getting beat. She dropped out of the game and walked over to me. I saw her coming, but I continued dancing. I was in my own world.
“What are you doing over here?” she asked, resting her hands on her hips.
“Dancing,” I said. “Do you want to join me?”
“I don’t hear any music.”
I stopped dancing and pulled my earphones down on my neck. The music could be heard a little bit from my earphones. I set them on the gym floor and turned up the volume. The gym has surprisingly good acoustics. Now everyone could hear the music. Some girls stopped playing to see what was going on.
I turned towards Marcie. “Are you ready to dance?”
“S-sure,” Marcie stuttered, looking around self-consciously, aware that the other girls were looking. “How do I begin?”
“You just move,” I said, moving my feet and working my arms.
“What?”
“Just follow me.”
I started simple, only moving my legs side to side with the beat. Then I began to move my arms. Marcie followed suit. Then I added another step. Marcie caught on quickly.
“Great!” I said, echoing Ms. Remarque. “Great Marcie. Just put a little more attitude into it, and you’ve got it!”
Everyone stood away, looking at us diffidently.
“Don’t just stand there!” I yelled out to them. “Come dance with us!”
They looked at each other and crept towards us slowly.
“Just follow us,” I showed them. Soon everyone was dancing, that is, everyone except Linzie.
“C’mon!” I yelled to her. She shook her head and started walking towards the locker room. I turned to Marcie and shrugged.
Then Coach Banks came in.
“What’s going on here?” she bellowed.
“Uh-Oh,” said Marcie. She stopped dancing. “Looks like we’re busted.”
Everyone else began to stop.
“What are you doing?” asked the coach.
“We’re dancing,” I said innocently.
The music was still playing. A heavy synthesized beat was coming out of the MP3 player on the floor. Coach Banks looked at me through her military sunglasses. “It looked like you all were having fun. How did you do that move with your feet?”
Everyone glanced at each other and began to laugh nervously.
Even though I was never much of a dancer (not counting all the times I dance in front of my bedroom mirror), now I dance almost everyday at P.E. and usually everyone else does too, except Linzie. She usually gets the basketball and makes baskets by herself or just goes to the locker room.
After a busy day of school, I got on the bus for another quiet ride home. It’s so different from the sing-along bus rides that I was used to. Everyday I sit next to the same girl with her nose in a book. One day I had a question, and I was sure that she had the answer.
“Why is it always so quiet on the bus?” I asked.
She looked up from the book and gave me one silent shrug. Then she returned to the book.
Over the weekend, my mother and I went shopping. I saw a pair of sky blue suspenders that I knew would look perfect with my uniform. My mom asked me if I was sure I wanted to buy them, but I was positive, just like I was when I bought the light blue beret hat and white high heel boots. I was ready for Monday.
When I came to school, I walked in like a super model, showing off my white boots. The sky blue beret fitted perfectly on my head, and I left my jacket unbuttoned so my suspenders could show. That morning Julie came up to me once she spotted me in the hall.
“Whoa Lila, you look—sharp.”
“You like it?”
“It isn’t like I would try it myself, but it looks great on you.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, tilting my chin up a little.
“Lila, you know I can’t get away with things like you do.”
“Get away? Girl, I don’t get away with nothing. Wait until I get into Ms. Rinehart’s class. She probably has scissors waiting right now so she can cut my suspenders off.”
I took off my hat as I entered the classroom. I had already caught Ms. Rinehart’s eye. She got up and walked towards me. Her face was a familiar magenta-crimson color. It didn’t go too well with her blue teacher’s uniform.
“I can take off the boots,” I offered. It was too late. Soon I found myself on that familiar route to Dr. Sterling’s office again, but this time the headmaster didn’t even want to see us. He waved us on.
That left Ms. Rinehart having to come up with her own way to punish me. She talked to me in front of the class so everyone could hear.
“Miss Collins,” she said with full authority. “You are going to have the privilege of getting an extra assignment tonight. I want you to write a four-page essay explaining to me, why you are the way you are. Tomorrow you will read it in front of the class for a grade. Any questions Miss Collins?”
“No ma’am.”
“Good. Now you may take your seat.”
I sat down at my desk directly in front of her desk. I was almost as upset with being punished as she was when she first saw me walk into the classroom in my outfit. On the way home, I had bitter thoughts towards her and the assignment, but the more I thought about it, the more interesting the essay became to me.
Why am I the way I am?
I ended up working vigorously on the essay for most of the night. My hands typed down everything excitedly into my laptop. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
Apparently, Ms. Rinehart couldn’t wait either because when I came into the classroom she was there waiting for me.
“Ready to read it to the class?” she greeted me.
I nodded. Today is the day when she would get hers back, and at the same time I hoped to get mine.
“Miss Collins,” she said in the happiest tone I’ve ever heard her speak in since I came to Omni, “we’re waiting.”
I took the papers out of my messy backpack and uncrumpled the four typed pages. I walked up to the front of the classroom with my papers in my hands. Ms. Rinehart stood to the side, waiting for me to begin.
The four girls in the back of the room, Linzie, Bridgett Waters, Cheryl Hart, and the red head girl (I still haven’t found out her name yet), were watching me intently. Bridgett and Linzie looked at me anxiously. Cheryl had an evil smirk on her face. The red head’s look was unusual. It was a mixture of eagerness and worry.
Julie had a look of pure worry on her face, staring blankly, only blinking her eyes once or twice. I cleared my throat. I was getting into my zone. I took one big deep breath, and I began to read.
“Who is Lila Collins and why does she act the way she does? That is a question that is on the minds of many Americans today: exactly 457. (That’s how many students there are at the school she attends) Why is Lila Collins the way she is? Is it because of her friends, parents, or a strange genetic mutation? What makes her tick? That’s the subject matter of this report…”
It took me about ten minutes to read the essay. I saw a wave of relief when I came to my closing sentence.
“Why is Lila Collins the way she is? She just is,” I said simply, concluding the essay.
“Very good, Miss Collins,” said Ms. Rinehart stiffly. “You may go back to your seat.”
I went back to my desk and raised my hand.
“What is it Miss Collins?”
“What did I get on my report?”
Everyone was silent, anxiously waiting for an answer. No one was more anxious than me. Ms. Rinehart swung her eyes around the classroom. Then she brought them back to me.
“An A.”
A feeling of triumph rushed over me. I had won—not only the battle, but also the war. For once in my life, I was absolutely speechless.
Soon it was time for Julie, Marcie, Angie, and I to deliver a skit in front of the drama class. We decided to do a skit about the meeting of three gang leaders who were trying to make a plan to put the city under a state of terror. As it turns out, an undercover CIA agent discovers them. Julie, Angie, and I were the gang leaders. Marcie was the spy. When Marcie revealed who she was, we all got up to run away, but she told us not to try because the whole building was surrounded.
What made the whole thing so funny was that Marcie is so small, and it was unusual to see her trying to take us all in.
The play was just like Ms. Remarque wanted it—dark and mysterious, and she loved it. At the end she gave us a standing ovation and yelled, “Bravo! Bravo!”
Now during my study period, I no longer sit under the grand oak tree alone. Now I sit with my three new friends, Julie, Marcie, and Angie. We usually sit there just reading or talking. We never talk about anything important. Only the things that girls talk about.
One afternoon I spotted Cheryl, Linzie, Bridgett, and the red haired girl, sitting together in the grass. While I was looking at them, what Julie said came back to my mind. She called them “The Four.” Julie was busy reading a book. I gave her a nudge. She looked up.
“What is it Lila?”
“Those girls over there,” I said pointing. “The girls that you call ‘The Four.’ Did you say they are a special group or something like that?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” I gave them another look. “What’s so special about them?”
“Well,” said Julie in the way that she does when she is about to explain something complicated. “They are special in the way that they were chosen. Each of them is the best in their class at something. Cheryl, she’s the overall best at everything, so she is over the group. Linzie is the most athletic, Bridgett is the most intelligent, and Lydia—”
“Is that the red head girl?”
“Yeah. She has the quality of kindness.”
“Really?” I said in an unbelieving tone as I cleaned the dirt from underneath my nails. I peered at my fingers. “Why do all of them wear blue stone rings on their fingers?”
“Oh, that just shows that they all belong to the group.”
“You know what I’ve heard,” said Marcie, looking up from her calculus book. “I’ve heard there is one more ring left, and that there suppose to be five of them, but The Four hasn’t found the right person that could be added to the group.”
“I’ve heard the same thing too,” added Angie. “Girls have tried asking them what sort of person they are looking for, but they won’t tell anyone, saying that it’s confidential.”
“I would give up anything to be in that group.”
“Wow. I didn’t know they were that important,” I said. “What do they do?”
“No one really knows for sure,” said Julie secretively. “Some say they go around town doing good things for people in need. Others say that they work alongside government agencies, like the FBI. They might even run errands for Dr. Sterling. I don’t know, but I do know that they have a high place among the students.”
“They’re even higher than the class president or the valedictorian,” Marcie threw in.
Once again we sat there in silence. I didn’t feel like reading. Everyone else was reading. I need noise, I thought to myself. I need noise. Everything is too quiet. On the bus ride home everything was quiet, again. I’ve had enough of this.
The next day I came to school with a guitar case on my back. Once Ms. Rinehart saw me, she couldn’t keep the questions in.
“I’m afraid to ask, but Miss Collins, what on earth is that thing on your back?”
“It’s a guitar case with a guitar in it,” I said coolly. She gave me a stiff look.
During study period, I finally revealed the acoustic guitar that I had kept in the case all day. It gleamed in the sun and reflected the trees in the courtyard on its highly varnished front.
“Are you actually going to play that?” asked Marcie as I sat it in my lap.
“Well, let’s see.”
I began to strum a few chords. My fingers were a little unsteady with excitement because I had never played outside of my bedroom before. For practice I began to play the first song I’ve ever learned and one of my favorite guitar oldies, Johnny B. Goode.
That woke up everyone in the courtyard. After that I tried some rock songs that I’ve heard on the radio. I played energetically, working the fingerboard and picking the strings. It was a good thing I didn’t have an electric guitar. After that I played a few Spanish pieces. Everyone loved it.
Everyone except Ms. Rinehart.
She came into the courtyard, bringing a storm cloud with her, yelling, “Stop that racket!”
More heatedly than ever before, she pulled me before Dr. Sterling.
“This girl was disturbing this whole campus with her guitar!” huffed Ms. Rinehart.
“Yes, I’ve noticed,” replied Dr. Sterling easily. “In fact it was one of the most beautiful noises I’ve ever heard. Miss Collins has quite a talent.”
“That’s enough! Dr. Sterling, I have had my fill of your mockery!”
“And I have had my fill of your empty complaints. If you keep this up Ms. Rinehart, I may be forced to relieve you of your job.”
Ms. Rinehart clinched her teeth and shook her head. “No. That won’t be necessary. You know why? Because I quit!”
My ears rang at those words almost as if she had socked them with her fist. She opened the door and turned back around to Dr. Sterling and me.
“I swear. I swear on the day this school crumbles into nothing but dust, you won’t get away with this!”
I heard the door slam, and the office rumbled. Dr. Sterling let out a sigh and shifted through the papers on his desk. I felt shifted myself, still feeling the effects of the door slam.
I was confused, or as they say here at Omni High, “Deeply perplexed.” I looked at Dr. Sterling. He glanced through the papers with no noticeable reaction on his face. Didn’t he see what just happened? Didn’t he know? Doesn’t he realize?
“W-what are you going to do?” I began to pour out. “Didn’t you hear? Ms. Rinehart just quit. W-who is going to teach us English? How are you going to find someone else? Where—”
“Lila,” He said, holding up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Go outside and continue playing your guitar.”
“But—”
He gave me the look. I turned around with my instrument in hand and walked out of his office. I’ve felt guilty many times before, but never in this way.
I’ve spent so many months thinking about and dreaming of bringing Ms. Rinehart down, but dreaming is different from when it really happens, and that was one thing I wasn’t expecting to happen.
As I walked back to my friends, I wanted to yell and shout that we were free. Ms. Rinehart was gone, perhaps forever. Even when I did tell them, and we let out our private cheers, that strange and awkward sense of guiltiness tugged at my heart.
The whole area, including the weather, must have known that Ms. Rinehart was gone because the next day was heavenly. The sun was out, and the sky was a perfect crystal blue, like the stones in the rings of The Four.
In English class, it was strange not seeing that stern unmovable face behind thick glasses waiting for me. Waiting to see the next thing I would do wrong. Instead there was an innocent and inexperienced substitute. I sat at my customary front row desk. The one in front of what used to be her desk.
I sat there and watched the students come in. They were all happy and chatty. The news about Ms. Rinehart spread fast. Right when the bell rang, The Four entered the classroom. The only unusual thing was that today there were only three. They said that Cheryl Hart had come down with a severe case of the flu. The three of them walked in and sat in their spots as ceremoniously as usual. Their faces were set, showing no signs of emotion. I don’t know why everyone wants to be like them.
I gazed at the empty desk in front of me. It wasn’t the same without her blocking my view. The purpose I had for sitting up front was suddenly gone. Ms. Rinehart had taken it with her. I guess in a way, my mission had been accomplished. My mission to destroy her. I have succeeded in destroying her life.
Now she doesn’t have a job, but then that voice in my head began telling me that it wasn’t my fault. It was going to happen anyway. It was just a matter of time. My mind flashed back to the day when I first came to this school, and she came rushing into Dr. Sterling’s office with a complaint. Dr. Sterling has been trying to deal with her long before I even came here. I convinced myself that it was going to happen. There was nothing I could have done to stop her actions.
I relaxed, now feeling a weight being lifted off of my shoulders. The sub gave an assignment. I took out my laptop and began my work.
It was February, and it was getting close to time for the school’s annual art festival. Every year an art festival is held for the public to see the artwork of the students.
My art teacher had been impressed by my work since the first day I arrived, so she didn’t hesitate asking me if some of my artwork could be displayed. I couldn’t turn her down. Lydia, the red head girl, watched intently as we shook on it. She had that look in her eyes like she knew something about me that I didn’t. I tried my best to ignore her.
I got on the bus and found my seat. Now I was taking my guitar to school everyday. I laid it on my lap. Time for another quiet bus ride home. I have had enough of dead silent bus rides. I sat there listening to the whispers.
I started singing “The Wheels on the Bus.” The whispers stopped.
The next day was a complete free day. Everyone was busy setting up for the art festival. Dr. Sterling tried to keep everyone in order, while the art teacher gave out the orders. Everyone was hoping that everything could be set up by lunch so it could be opened to the public in time.
Marcie, Julie, Angie, and I were working on a booth for some paintings by the freshmen. The booth was already up. All we had to do was tack up the pictures. I held a stack of paintings in my arms. I handed them to the others to clip up. As I stood there with the pictures, I saw The Four.
They were making their way through the booths under construction. They didn’t stop to look at any of them. They kept walking straight forward; straight forward in my direction.
I turned around and handed a painting to Marcie. They came up behind me.
“Hey.”
I turned back around with my arms full of paintings, coming face to face with Cheryl.
“What?” I responded.
My friends looked up. They knew who it was. Their faces had a definite look of shock. None of The Four ever talked to anyone. If they did, it was for a very important reason.
“What is it?” I repeated.
“We want to see you in the gym after the festival.”
“Why?”
“Don’t question us,” said Cheryl coldly. “Just come.”
I turned to my friends with a look on my face that clearly asked, “Should I go?”
They nodded with smiles and waved me off.
“Alright,” I said, not sure if I meant it.
“Good,” said Cheryl. They all turned around and began to walk off. Cheryl stopped and looked at me over her shoulder. Her bright hazel eyes flashed in contrast with her long dark hair. “It’s important for you to come. This could change your life.” Then she left to catch up with the others.
“Lila, they asked to see you after the festival! This could be big,” said Julie excitedly, clutching one of my arms.
I was still stunned. “I-I don’t know about this,” I stammered. “It just doesn’t seem right. Why would they want to see me?”
“Maybe,” whispered Marcie, “You’re the fifth one.”
Her words echoed in my ears. Could it be that I’m the person that they were looking for? Is that why I’m at this school?
“It’s impossible,” I said. “They probably want to see me because I solved a problem that Bridgett got wrong or because I started making everyone in our P.E. class dance, so now Linzie doesn’t have anyone to play with.”
“Or maybe it is about Ms. Rinehart,” Angie added.
At some time the speculation had to come to an end. At six o’clock everyone began clearing out the booths. I grabbed some of my artwork and began to head towards the school. The art teacher saw me.
“And where are you going Miss Collins?” she asked, stepping out in front of me. “Aren’t you going to try to help put things up like everyone else?”
I swallowed. “Well, you see, I can’t. The Four wanted to meet me in the gym and—”
“The Four?” asked the art teacher, stretching her eyes. “When do they want to see you?”
“Right after the festival.”
“Well you just can’t stand here dilly-dallying around! Go to the gym! Run if you have too!”
“Okay,” I said, unsure of what I just heard. Even the teachers look up to them. Who are these girls?
I walked up to the gym doors. They were unlocked. The doors squeaked as I pushed them open and walked in. It was dark inside. The doors slammed behind me. I moved around, unable to see.
“Hello!” I yelled. “Anybody here?”
Then a single light in the middle of the gym clicked on. In the middle of the floor stood The Four. Their uniforms sparkled under the gym light. They all had their hair pulled back by light blue scrunchies and wore the sparkling ring on their fingers. They stood over the school’s logo that was painted onto the floor, a tsunami. I was paralyzed, still standing at the gym’s entrance.
“Lila Angela Collins, please come to the center of the floor.”
They all stood in a line as I walked towards them slowly. I was afraid, but at the same time, awestruck. What do they want from me?
I walked until we were face to face. All four of them stared at me. I stared back at them. The gym was absolutely silent, except for the clicks that came from the light.
After about five minutes, Cheryl began. She stepped out of the line and stepped up to me.
“Lila Collins, all four of us have noticed something special about you.” She stepped back into the line.
“There are your novel ideas,” said Linzie, stepping out of line and stepping back.
“Your fearlessness to say what’s right,” said Bridgett in her little voice.
“Your endless flow of creativity,” added Lydia. That was the first time I’ve ever heard her speak. All of them stepped up to me and told me what they liked about me. Then Cheryl stepped out with a little sky blue jewelry case in her hands.
“That is why we have decided that you are the only person deserving of what we are about to give you now.”
She slowly opened the jewelry case. Inside was a ring. It had a gold band and a perfectly polished sky blue stone in the center.
“This ring shows that you are now part of our group,” said Cheryl, holding out the case. “But you must do one thing before I give it to you.”
My heart stopped. I knew there was some sort of catch.
“Raise your hand and repeat after me. I, Lila Collins…”
“I, Lila Collins…”
“Promise to uphold the rules of this school…”
“Promise to uphold the rules…”
“And use my creativity and talent…”
“And use my creativity…”
“To help others.”
“To help others.”
Cheryl pulled the ring out of the box and placed it on my ring finger. Still holding my hand, she turned around and announced to the others, “Lila Collins is now a part of our group!”
They all cheered.
“And from this day forward, may we never be called ‘The Four’ again, because now we are The Five!”
They whooped, yelled, and even hugged me. I was in. At that moment, I realized that I wasn’t only here to be different. There’s more.
Now I’m no longer Lila Collins, the weird new girl. I’m Lila Collins, a student at Omni High and one of The Five. I am now a true Omnigirl.
