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The Gypsy's Niece
CHAPTER 6

My first period is Choir 0. Not a promising name, but when I asked Raphael about it, he just said it's called period 0 because it's an hour before everyone else gets to school.
Yay. Even LESS sleep.
But what does it matter, really? It' s not like I get much anyway. It' s amazing how deeply Bibio* sleeps, I can balst music and never get any complaints. She's never noticed when I sneak out. Probably because she's so tired, but I try not to think of that, or I get a twinge of guilt that spreads to an ache. She really does work hard for us, and I'm thankful she took me when he didn't want do.
I refuse to think about that now.
Ms. Carey isn't here yet, but no one finds this unusual. Raphael's talking to his friend, Will. He's told me will has "a rough life" and is a really talented guitarist, but didn't explain more about his "rough life", said if will got to trust me enough he'll tell me himself, that he's protective abou it. I toldl him I'd respect that, and I am, but I cna't help my insatiable cuirousity.
It' sobvious he's somewhere else, laughing and nodding appropriate intervals at Raphael's desperate attempts to cheer him up, but his eyes remain downcast. I pick at the gray carpet-ness of the risers, until Will says, "So. I assume this is the girl I've heard so much about."
I give my trademark heartbreaking smile and hold out my hand for him. "The best friend finally acknowledges th egirlfrined. Well met." We shake hands, and he shoots Raphael a questioning look.
"It's just how she is, man. Don't sweat it."
Will's hands are smooth and callused, and practically vibrating with energy.
"You have a musiscian's hands."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Wow. Hardly anyone recognizes that. You must be observant or something."
"Yes, she is," Raphael says easily, sliding his hands around my waist. "A tad too ovservant at times."
"I see," Wills says, smiling.
A petite woman wearing a flowing white blouse, wide-legged swishy pants, and cat's eye glasses sweeeps into the theater. Her bright(dyed?) red hair in a bun, comically long nose, probing, brown eyes, and general aura screams the cliche for "drama teacher".
"Don't get too excited. It's just donuts, forms to fill, and music to pass out, folks," she says in a deep yet somehow airy voice, dropping three boxes of Krispy Kreme's on a small, round table.
"But firs...our new little younger girl...what is it, again...ah,yes, Nadya Bashalde," Ms. Carey says, incorrectly pronouncing my name Nah-dee-yah.
"It's Nahd.Yah."
She zeroes in on me.
"Excuse me?"
"My name. There's no 'ee' anywhere."
"Alrighty, then."
She glides to the piano, sits on the uncomfortable-looking hard bench, and runs a finger from the lowest key to the highest.
"Audition time."
"What?"
"Ah. Di. Shon. Time," she says slowly, obviously relishing throwing my previous correction back in my face.
"But I passed the test..."
"That's nice. But I don't really care. I want to hear you sing."
I just blink.
"Which means tough bunnies, kiddo. So, pick a song. I can 90% guarantee you I can play it."
Mentally scrolling through Raphael's handy list, I recall Sarah Brightman and sya, "Think of Me, Phantom of the Opera."
She gives a little start at this, obviously expectin gme to ask to solo with such nasueatin dreams as cookie-cutter pop is made of, or, God forbid, lemon drops way above the chimmney tops somewhere over that damn rainbow. She starts playing the intro, stops, then beckons me to the front of the piano. I get up and stand, waiting, and she plays again.
My voice flows, pours from me, and I feel like I'm in some higher place, hearing myself sing but not acutally singing. I can't be, that can't be me. That voice is too pure, too untainted, too heavenly. I have too many imperfections to sound like that. I've put my foot in my mouth too many times to ever even come CLOSE to sounding like that...
"Think of me
Think of me fondly
When we've said good-bye
Remember be
Once in a while
Please promise me
You'll try"
Raphael's mouth is gaping. I mean, I was good at singing "Don't Stop Believin'", but not like this.
Will's moving his fingers up and down, mesmerized and looking at me like I'm a goddess. Not like he's attracted to me or anything like that, I do know enought by now to know when a guy has a thing for me. His gaze is more of a reverence, a sign of respect.
"When you find
That once again you long
To take your heart back
And be free"
As my voice rises with the notes, I notice several girls are looking at me with envy,and I know it's immature, but I get a smug little pleasure out of it. I sneak in a breath,
"...We never said
Our love was evergreen
Or as unchanging as the sea
But if you can still remember
Stop and think of me"
A smirk gradualy stretches on Ms. Carey's thin, pale cheek, her facelighting up, her hands on the keyboard in a frenzy.
So, so glad I know all the words...
"Think of all the things
We've shared and seen"
I shoot a significant look to Raphael, hoping he gets it. He's too fazed, but Will intercepts it, and nudges his friend's knee.
"Don't think about the way
Things might've been..."
I bend my head, getting into the plaintiveness of the song, acting as well as singing, trying to capture the way I've seen it in movies.
"Think of me
Think of me waiting
Silent and resigned"
I lower my eyes,
"Imagine me"
Shake my head, like I just cannot comprehend it
"Trying too hard to
Put you from my mind..."
Stepping back, I try to relate, thinking of the father I never knew, the faded, fuzzy memories barely intact from when I was little.
"Recall those days
Look back on all those times"
How many days can go by without any sign that someone cares?
"Think of the
Things we'll never do..."
The things we'll never do...
Despite myself, I register a tear, and will it away.
"There will never
Be a day when
I won't think of you"
I let the words sink in, and I crescendo on the "you".
Ms. Carey plays on, and I take in many breaths to save them, like for swimming, until she finishes the interlude where I know Raoul reflects on good ol' childhood sweetheart times.
"We never said
Our love was evergreen
Or as unchanging as the sea"
No, we didn't. But some reassurance would've been nice...
"But please promise me
That sometimes
You will think..."
Uh-oh.
"Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-AH
Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-afh
Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah
Ah-AH-ah
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
OF
Meee"
Whew.
Ms. Carey stands up and claps. Everyone else follows suit. Raphael and Will are enthusiastic, "Oh, yeah, Nadya!". Most of the girls do so reluctantly, but one stands out. Not just because she's drop-dead gorgeous, either(side-swept buttery bangs, baby blues, pouty lips, killer bod, immaculate clothes- you know. The girl you love to hate?). No, more because I get the sense of a fierce recognition for me, that she knows something of what I was connecting to with the song. That she- call me crazy- understands?
I know, she's never even met me before. There's just something about her...
She claps, not neccessarily with fevor, but firmly and loudly, like she knows what she's doing. A girl with thin eyebrows and a bored expression(Ha. Jealous.) standing next to her is clapping with two fingers. Blondie elbows her. Thin Eyebrows shoots her a look, but rolls her eyes and complies, giving me an obvious insider's look on who's boss.
I do something that is probably overdone and typical, but I don't care: I sweep into a curtsy with my long, soft rust-colored(actual) gypsy skirt, which gets a few laughs as the applause dies down.
Go me.
Ms.Carey says, very matter-of-factly, "You are trying out for the musical. No questions."
Then it's all a blur, about thirty teenagers stuffing their faces with sugar. I love the feel of the soft bread and hard glaze on my tongue, the jelly oozing just so.
The choir's in a disarray. Will, Raphael, and I sit cross-legged on the floor. Beside us, a few feet away but actually several pristine miles to the horizon are Blondie and a retinue of attractive girls in clothes that all generally look the same, blowing bright pink bubble gum, giggling and nodding at what appears to be nothing.
"Those," says will, jerking his head toward them, "are the chicks only doing this for credits."
"I gathered as much," I reply, licking my fingers.
"So," he says, good-naturedly putting his arm around Raphael's shoulder, "my buddy here told me I should try to guess your favorite musical. I have never failed at this particular talent of mine before."
"Okay."
"Sound of Music."
"Nope. It's ONE of my favorites, though."
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me! That is every girl's favorite musical.
"Nope."
"Uh-uh. You can't deny it. Your heart soared when the hills were alive. You though the nuns pissed at Maria, singing and praying about it, was freaking hilarious. You sing 'MyFavorite Things' to yourself when you're down in the dumps. You learned your notes from 'Do-re-mi'. You danced around the room pretending you were 16 going on 17. When the Captain's voice broke on 'Edelweiss', you bawled your eyes out."
I can't help it, I laugh.
"NO! But it sounds like you've watched it a bit more than I have."
"Got you there," says Raphael, admiring.
Blondie's eyes flicker toward us, but to Will espescially, I notice. The corners of her mouth twitch up, but she bites he lip, as if trying to reign in a smile. I get a fleeting thought: Would she rather be sitting here with us then with her vacuous "friends"?
"Hello. Heloooo. Earth to Harper," says Thin Eyebrows in a high, tinkly voice(which goes accordingly with her springy, maple curls, button nose, freckles, and so-obviously fake purple-irised heavily mascared eyes- what is with this epedemic of color contact lenses? It's insane! INSANE, I tell you!), waving a hand in front of Harper's face.
"What? I'm fine," says Harper distractedly.
I eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation, which they apparetnly think I can't hear, since it's all about yours truly.
"She's a really good singer," Thin eyebrows says, not very convincingly, I might add. Three plaid-clad girls nod, also not very convincingly, but Harper, not trying to sound convincing(which makes it clear to me she's being honest) says, "Yeah, she really is."
Short Plaid-Clad chimes in, "She's pretty, too. In, like, an exotic way." I can easily detect an edge under her smooth, sugary voice.
Both guys now seem tentative(I'm keeping tabs on both conversations), as if afraid I'll leave them to rub shoulders with the Fab Five. They don't have to worry, though- girls like them are exactly why I dropped out of freshman year to do "homeschooling"(i.e. me reviewing textbooks and reading the reccomended booklists for teens from the library and having Bibio check my work whenever she got home). Girls like Lydia, girls like Jessica, whose lives revolve around bake sales, tennis, volleyball, pep ralleys, parties, boys, and college apps.
Those kind of girls have always hated me for not backing down from them, not gving in, not letting their oh-so-subtle insults slide, confronting them. But mainly for not agreeing with them, not agreeing with them on how I should be.
They made my life hell, espescially when they all went to the counselor telling her how I'd called them "malicious bitches"(which felt good, let me tell you) after they all sprayed Lysol on Constanta's hair, snickering simultaneously, shrieking "Oooopsies!", then running off
Until I stopped them in the doorway, that is, after watching the whole thing go down.
"We didn't MEAN to," on of the girls innocently protested, chewing her orange-polished pinky nail. "She's just so quiet, we didn't notice her. She was leaning down. We were only trying to clean the benches in the locker room."
What darling little angels! Why, you shouldn't have! Let me flip you two darling little angelic middle fingers! Up your nose!
Well, after that little "We didn't MEAN to" comments, I informed them that it was full-fledged B.S.
The counselor had a huge intake of breath "Huuuuh!" like she couldn't believe it. Olivia of the orange pinky nails squealed, "You see! You see how MEAN she is?! I told you, Mrs. Brown!"
"Bite me."
Can you guess who said that?
If you can't you need serious help.
Long story short, they got out scotch-free and I got four week's worth of detention. The principal only gave Constanta a demerit for "exaggerating and tattling" because she was "normally such a polite, good girl one of our brightest in academics".
He obviously didn't know how many angry us-against-them rants we had exchanged about the fucked-up administration.
I couldn't stand it anymore.
It broke my heart to leave Constanta behind, but she wouldn't leave because of Gunther, and I just couldn't stay.
So I know from experience that Short Plaid Clad already loathes me(will even more, probably, when she actually talks to me), because I have an exceptional "thing".
Every girl has a "thing", something that makes them stand out aginst the others, a factor in the competition. Hers is to be sweet and cute and gossipy and to want to "connect" with people. Sorry, but that's already taken, She knows this, but sticks with it becasue it's familiar, and, no doubt, she's never even considered that there's any other way.
I am a different story altogether.
"Duh, she's pretty," says Pearl Necklace Plaid Clad. "She has two guys all over her already."
"It seems like her and Will are just friends," says Harper with a shrug.
Pearl Necklace Palid Clad rolls her eyes. "Oh, Harper. don't be naiive."
Harper's eyes flash. "I'M the naiive one? I'm not the one who just discovered her boyfriend's been cheating on her all summer, Melanie," Harper coolly and calmly announces.
Melanie's chin starts quivering. Short Plaid Clad engulfs her in a hug. The remaining Plaid Clad Clan have their mouths hanging open. Thin Eyebrows, shocked, exclaims, "Oh my GOD. I can't believe you SAID that, Harper. I mean, you're my best friend, but that was way not cool." She looks to the rest of teh group for back up, and they nod assuredly.
"I mean, Melanie just got dumped, and you've, like, never had anything bad happen to you."
Harper's hands are shaking.
"You're right, Jen., I've NEVER had ANYTHING bad happen to me in my entire life. I am just fine and dandy. In fact, I'm so fine and dandy I'm about to explode ALL OVER YOU, so I'm going to go to the ladies'."
She abruptly gets up and makes a beeline for the door, hand still shaking.
"What was that about?" asks Jens, perplexed. Then she sighs.
"I should probably, like, go after her to make sure she's okay. Maybe she's just stressed 'cause it's the first day of school and all."
Jen deserts the Plaid Clad, who immeadiately commence whispering back and forth.
"I'm so glad you're not like them," says Raphael, shaking his head in disgust.
"Likewise," says Will, his gaze on the door Harper previously fled from.
"Yeah. Me too," I murmur, disliking her friends, but feeling inexplicably sad for Harper...
I don't know why, but I'm pretty sure she's had a lot of sadness. I can recognize it in anyone, I think, because I've seen it in myself so many times.

I head for 1st period(Art) and glimpse the back of Harper's head. Will walks up behind her, I see him about to tap her shoulder, but he hesitates, then puts both hands in his pockets. I wonder what could've defeated him so quickly.
He walks quickly past her, flustered, looking the other way, and bumps into her.
Smooth.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes to the floor.
"No, it was me," she replies, smiling apologetically. Their eyes lock for a second. Boy, what a second it is! Zuh-ING! Chemistry much?
Harper breaks the intensity by leaving for her locker. I look down at my schedule for my locker number, and discover that mine is right next to her.
A clean-cut looking guy, somewhat average looking, but with nice blue eyes, waits for her by her locker.
"Hey, Heath," she says, surprise, cheerfulness, and disappointment clouding her tone. "Thanks for waiting for me."
"No problem."
Heath and Harper. Oh, well, that's cute.
I guess...
Heath stares at something ahead. I ope my locker, put my stuff in there, close it, and follow his gaze.
Will is still standing in the middle of the hall, trapped in a sea of people. It is a seriously pathetic sight, and I can't help but feel bad for Will. The poor guy doesn't know what's hit him.
"Who's that guy you were talking to?" asks Heath, doing a terrible job of not coming off as accusatory.
Or maybe that was his intention.
"That's just Will. He's in choir."
"Just Will" begins walking slowly and surely toward our clump of lockers.
Heath picks up on this but Harper doesn't. She's distracted with some papers.
Possessively, Heath grabs the papers out of her hands and grabs her.
Confused, she asks, "What are you-" but can't finish because he starts mashing his lips against her, while Will stops dead in his tracks, his face a blank mask, turns around, and leaves. Just what Heath wanted him to do, no doubt.
I would never want someone to kiss me like that, so forcefully. I should stop watching, but it's really hard. He moves his hands up her waist, and she starts hitting him on the back of his head. Finally, she breaks free and screams, "Don't you EVER do that again!!!"
"Geez, Harper, calm down."
I realize I look like a schmutz just standing here, so I go to a water-fountain and pretend to be immersed in it. This water-fountain is my sanctuary! If I don't stop drinking form this water-fountain I will die!
"I will not calm down! I told you! I told you a million times not to do that in public, it's so rude, ESPESICALLY not in school. God. You should care about your girlfriend enought to not risk getting her busted. Don't you ever listen?"
"You know what? You have been acting like a moody bitch ever since you got back from that camp in Providence."
"It was a charm-school."
Ouch. I'd be moody too. Charm-school?!
"And I haven't been. There's nothing wrong with me yelling at you when you do something you promised you wouldn't."
"Well, then, what is it? Hormones?"
Oh, God. I hate it when people do that. Can't you ever be legitimately upset? Why do guys blame every annoyance of yours on PMS?
I lift my head from the water-fountain and see that she hates it, too, because her face is coloring.
The first bell rings, and I bolt out of there.

Description
The Gypsy's Niece
CHAPTER 6

My first period is Choir 0. Not a promising name, but when I asked Raphael about it, he just said it's called period 0 because it's an hour before everyone else gets to school.
Yay. Even LESS sleep.
But what does it matter, really? It' s not like I get much anyway. It' s amazing how deeply Bibio* sleeps, I can balst music and never get any complaints. She's never noticed when I sneak out. Probably because she's so tired, but I try not to think of that, or I get a twinge of guilt that spreads to an ache. She really does work hard for us, and I'm thankful she took me when he didn't want do.
I refuse to think about that now.
Ms. Carey isn't here yet, but no one finds this unusual. Raphael's talking to his friend, Will. He's told me will has "a rough life" and is a really talented guitarist, but didn't explain more about his "rough life", said if will got to trust me enough he'll tell me himself, that he's protective abou it. I toldl him I'd respect that, and I am, but I cna't help my insatiable cuirousity.
It' sobvious he's somewhere else, laughing and nodding appropriate intervals at Raphael's desperate attempts to cheer him up, but his eyes remain downcast. I pick at the gray carpet-ness of the risers, until Will says, "So. I assume this is the girl I've heard so much about."
I give my trademark heartbreaking smile and hold out my hand for him. "The best friend finally acknowledges th egirlfrined. Well met." We shake hands, and he shoots Raphael a questioning look.
"It's just how she is, man. Don't sweat it."
Will's hands are smooth and callused, and practically vibrating with energy.
"You have a musiscian's hands."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Wow. Hardly anyone recognizes that. You must be observant or something."
"Yes, she is," Raphael says easily, sliding his hands around my waist. "A tad too ovservant at times."
"I see," Wills says, smiling.
A petite woman wearing a flowing white blouse, wide-legged swishy pants, and cat's eye glasses sweeeps into the theater. Her bright(dyed?) red hair in a bun, comically long nose, probing, brown eyes, and general aura screams the cliche for "drama teacher".
"Don't get too excited. It's just donuts, forms to fill, and music to pass out, folks," she says in a deep yet somehow airy voice, dropping three boxes of Krispy Kreme's on a small, round table.
"But firs...our new little younger girl...what is it, again...ah,yes, Nadya Bashalde," Ms. Carey says, incorrectly pronouncing my name Nah-dee-yah.
"It's Nahd.Yah."
She zeroes in on me.
"Excuse me?"
"My name. There's no 'ee' anywhere."
"Alrighty, then."
She glides to the piano, sits on the uncomfortable-looking hard bench, and runs a finger from the lowest key to the highest.
"Audition time."
"What?"
"Ah. Di. Shon. Time," she says slowly, obviously relishing throwing my previous correction back in my face.
"But I passed the test..."
"That's nice. But I don't really care. I want to hear you sing."
I just blink.
"Which means tough bunnies, kiddo. So, pick a song. I can 90% guarantee you I can play it."
Mentally scrolling through Raphael's handy list, I recall Sarah Brightman and sya, "Think of Me, Phantom of the Opera."
She gives a little start at this, obviously expectin gme to ask to solo with such nasueatin dreams as cookie-cutter pop is made of, or, God forbid, lemon drops way above the chimmney tops somewhere over that damn rainbow. She starts playing the intro, stops, then beckons me to the front of the piano. I get up and stand, waiting, and she plays again.
My voice flows, pours from me, and I feel like I'm in some higher place, hearing myself sing but not acutally singing. I can't be, that can't be me. That voice is too pure, too untainted, too heavenly. I have too many imperfections to sound like that. I've put my foot in my mouth too many times to ever even come CLOSE to sounding like that...
"Think of me
Think of me fondly
When we've said good-bye
Remember be
Once in a while
Please promise me
You'll try"
Raphael's mouth is gaping. I mean, I was good at singing "Don't Stop Believin'", but not like this.
Will's moving his fingers up and down, mesmerized and looking at me like I'm a goddess. Not like he's attracted to me or anything like that, I do know enought by now to know when a guy has a thing for me. His gaze is more of a reverence, a sign of respect.
"When you find
That once again you long
To take your heart back
And be free"
As my voice rises with the notes, I notice several girls are looking at me with envy,and I know it's immature, but I get a smug little pleasure out of it. I sneak in a breath,
"...We never said
Our love was evergreen
Or as unchanging as the sea
But if you can still remember
Stop and think of me"
A smirk gradualy stretches on Ms. Carey's thin, pale cheek, her facelighting up, her hands on the keyboard in a frenzy.
So, so glad I know all the words...
"Think of all the things
We've shared and seen"
I shoot a significant look to Raphael, hoping he gets it. He's too fazed, but Will intercepts it, and nudges his friend's knee.
"Don't think about the way
Things might've been..."
I bend my head, getting into the plaintiveness of the song, acting as well as singing, trying to capture the way I've seen it in movies.
"Think of me
Think of me waiting
Silent and resigned"
I lower my eyes,
"Imagine me"
Shake my head, like I just cannot comprehend it
"Trying too hard to
Put you from my mind..."
Stepping back, I try to relate, thinking of the father I never knew, the faded, fuzzy memories barely intact from when I was little.
"Recall those days
Look back on all those times"
How many days can go by without any sign that someone cares?
"Think of the
Things we'll never do..."
The things we'll never do...
Despite myself, I register a tear, and will it away.
"There will never
Be a day when
I won't think of you"
I let the words sink in, and I crescendo on the "you".
Ms. Carey plays on, and I take in many breaths to save them, like for swimming, until she finishes the interlude where I know Raoul reflects on good ol' childhood sweetheart times.
"We never said
Our love was evergreen
Or as unchanging as the sea"
No, we didn't. But some reassurance would've been nice...
"But please promise me
That sometimes
You will think..."
Uh-oh.
"Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-AH
Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-afh
Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah
Ah-AH-ah
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
OF
Meee"
Whew.
Ms. Carey stands up and claps. Everyone else follows suit. Raphael and Will are enthusiastic, "Oh, yeah, Nadya!". Most of the girls do so reluctantly, but one stands out. Not just because she's drop-dead gorgeous, either(side-swept buttery bangs, baby blues, pouty lips, killer bod, immaculate clothes- you know. The girl you love to hate?). No, more because I get the sense of a fierce recognition for me, that she knows something of what I was connecting to with the song. That she- call me crazy- understands?
I know, she's never even met me before. There's just something about her...
She claps, not neccessarily with fevor, but firmly and loudly, like she knows what she's doing. A girl with thin eyebrows and a bored expression(Ha. Jealous.) standing next to her is clapping with two fingers. Blondie elbows her. Thin Eyebrows shoots her a look, but rolls her eyes and complies, giving me an obvious insider's look on who's boss.
I do something that is probably overdone and typical, but I don't care: I sweep into a curtsy with my long, soft rust-colored(actual) gypsy skirt, which gets a few laughs as the applause dies down.
Go me.
Ms.Carey says, very matter-of-factly, "You are trying out for the musical. No questions."
Then it's all a blur, about thirty teenagers stuffing their faces with sugar. I love the feel of the soft bread and hard glaze on my tongue, the jelly oozing just so.
The choir's in a disarray. Will, Raphael, and I sit cross-legged on the floor. Beside us, a few feet away but actually several pristine miles to the horizon are Blondie and a retinue of attractive girls in clothes that all generally look the same, blowing bright pink bubble gum, giggling and nodding at what appears to be nothing.
"Those," says will, jerking his head toward them, "are the chicks only doing this for credits."
"I gathered as much," I reply, licking my fingers.
"So," he says, good-naturedly putting his arm around Raphael's shoulder, "my buddy here told me I should try to guess your favorite musical. I have never failed at this particular talent of mine before."
"Okay."
"Sound of Music."
"Nope. It's ONE of my favorites, though."
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me! That is every girl's favorite musical.
"Nope."
"Uh-uh. You can't deny it. Your heart soared when the hills were alive. You though the nuns pissed at Maria, singing and praying about it, was freaking hilarious. You sing 'MyFavorite Things' to yourself when you're down in the dumps. You learned your notes from 'Do-re-mi'. You danced around the room pretending you were 16 going on 17. When the Captain's voice broke on 'Edelweiss', you bawled your eyes out."
I can't help it, I laugh.
"NO! But it sounds like you've watched it a bit more than I have."
"Got you there," says Raphael, admiring.
Blondie's eyes flicker toward us, but to Will espescially, I notice. The corners of her mouth twitch up, but she bites he lip, as if trying to reign in a smile. I get a fleeting thought: Would she rather be sitting here with us then with her vacuous "friends"?
"Hello. Heloooo. Earth to Harper," says Thin Eyebrows in a high, tinkly voice(which goes accordingly with her springy, maple curls, button nose, freckles, and so-obviously fake purple-irised heavily mascared eyes- what is with this epedemic of color contact lenses? It's insane! INSANE, I tell you!), waving a hand in front of Harper's face.
"What? I'm fine," says Harper distractedly.
I eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation, which they apparetnly think I can't hear, since it's all about yours truly.
"She's a really good singer," Thin eyebrows says, not very convincingly, I might add. Three plaid-clad girls nod, also not very convincingly, but Harper, not trying to sound convincing(which makes it clear to me she's being honest) says, "Yeah, she really is."
Short Plaid-Clad chimes in, "She's pretty, too. In, like, an exotic way." I can easily detect an edge under her smooth, sugary voice.
Both guys now seem tentative(I'm keeping tabs on both conversations), as if afraid I'll leave them to rub shoulders with the Fab Five. They don't have to worry, though- girls like them are exactly why I dropped out of freshman year to do "homeschooling"(i.e. me reviewing textbooks and reading the reccomended booklists for teens from the library and having Bibio check my work whenever she got home). Girls like Lydia, girls like Jessica, whose lives revolve around bake sales, tennis, volleyball, pep ralleys, parties, boys, and college apps.
Those kind of girls have always hated me for not backing down from them, not gving in, not letting their oh-so-subtle insults slide, confronting them. But mainly for not agreeing with them, not agreeing with them on how I should be.
They made my life hell, espescially when they all went to the counselor telling her how I'd called them "malicious bitches"(which felt good, let me tell you) after they all sprayed Lysol on Constanta's hair, snickering simultaneously, shrieking "Oooopsies!", then running off
Until I stopped them in the doorway, that is, after watching the whole thing go down.
"We didn't MEAN to," on of the girls innocently protested, chewing her orange-polished pinky nail. "She's just so quiet, we didn't notice her. She was leaning down. We were only trying to clean the benches in the locker room."
What darling little angels! Why, you shouldn't have! Let me flip you two darling little angelic middle fingers! Up your nose!
Well, after that little "We didn't MEAN to" comments, I informed them that it was full-fledged B.S.
The counselor had a huge intake of breath "Huuuuh!" like she couldn't believe it. Olivia of the orange pinky nails squealed, "You see! You see how MEAN she is?! I told you, Mrs. Brown!"
"Bite me."
Can you guess who said that?
If you can't you need serious help.
Long story short, they got out scotch-free and I got four week's worth of detention. The principal only gave Constanta a demerit for "exaggerating and tattling" because she was "normally such a polite, good girl one of our brightest in academics".
He obviously didn't know how many angry us-against-them rants we had exchanged about the fucked-up administration.
I couldn't stand it anymore.
It broke my heart to leave Constanta behind, but she wouldn't leave because of Gunther, and I just couldn't stay.
So I know from experience that Short Plaid Clad already loathes me(will even more, probably, when she actually talks to me), because I have an exceptional "thing".
Every girl has a "thing", something that makes them stand out aginst the others, a factor in the competition. Hers is to be sweet and cute and gossipy and to want to "connect" with people. Sorry, but that's already taken, She knows this, but sticks with it becasue it's familiar, and, no doubt, she's never even considered that there's any other way.
I am a different story altogether.
"Duh, she's pretty," says Pearl Necklace Plaid Clad. "She has two guys all over her already."
"It seems like her and Will are just friends," says Harper with a shrug.
Pearl Necklace Palid Clad rolls her eyes. "Oh, Harper. don't be naiive."
Harper's eyes flash. "I'M the naiive one? I'm not the one who just discovered her boyfriend's been cheating on her all summer, Melanie," Harper coolly and calmly announces.
Melanie's chin starts quivering. Short Plaid Clad engulfs her in a hug. The remaining Plaid Clad Clan have their mouths hanging open. Thin Eyebrows, shocked, exclaims, "Oh my GOD. I can't believe you SAID that, Harper. I mean, you're my best friend, but that was way not cool." She looks to the rest of teh group for back up, and they nod assuredly.
"I mean, Melanie just got dumped, and you've, like, never had anything bad happen to you."
Harper's hands are shaking.
"You're right, Jen., I've NEVER had ANYTHING bad happen to me in my entire life. I am just fine and dandy. In fact, I'm so fine and dandy I'm about to explode ALL OVER YOU, so I'm going to go to the ladies'."
She abruptly gets up and makes a beeline for the door, hand still shaking.
"What was that about?" asks Jens, perplexed. Then she sighs.
"I should probably, like, go after her to make sure she's okay. Maybe she's just stressed 'cause it's the first day of school and all."
Jen deserts the Plaid Clad, who immeadiately commence whispering back and forth.
"I'm so glad you're not like them," says Raphael, shaking his head in disgust.
"Likewise," says Will, his gaze on the door Harper previously fled from.
"Yeah. Me too," I murmur, disliking her friends, but feeling inexplicably sad for Harper...
I don't know why, but I'm pretty sure she's had a lot of sadness. I can recognize it in anyone, I think, because I've seen it in myself so many times.

I head for 1st period(Art) and glimpse the back of Harper's head. Will walks up behind her, I see him about to tap her shoulder, but he hesitates, then puts both hands in his pockets. I wonder what could've defeated him so quickly.
He walks quickly past her, flustered, looking the other way, and bumps into her.
Smooth.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes to the floor.
"No, it was me," she replies, smiling apologetically. Their eyes lock for a second. Boy, what a second it is! Zuh-ING! Chemistry much?
Harper breaks the intensity by leaving for her locker. I look down at my schedule for my locker number, and discover that mine is right next to her.
A clean-cut looking guy, somewhat average looking, but with nice blue eyes, waits for her by her locker.
"Hey, Heath," she says, surprise, cheerfulness, and disappointment clouding her tone. "Thanks for waiting for me."
"No problem."
Heath and Harper. Oh, well, that's cute.
I guess...
Heath stares at something ahead. I ope my locker, put my stuff in there, close it, and follow his gaze.
Will is still standing in the middle of the hall, trapped in a sea of people. It is a seriously pathetic sight, and I can't help but feel bad for Will. The poor guy doesn't know what's hit him.
"Who's that guy you were talking to?" asks Heath, doing a terrible job of not coming off as accusatory.
Or maybe that was his intention.
"That's just Will. He's in choir."
"Just Will" begins walking slowly and surely toward our clump of lockers.
Heath picks up on this but Harper doesn't. She's distracted with some papers.
Possessively, Heath grabs the papers out of her hands and grabs her.
Confused, she asks, "What are you-" but can't finish because he starts mashing his lips against her, while Will stops dead in his tracks, his face a blank mask, turns around, and leaves. Just what Heath wanted him to do, no doubt.
I would never want someone to kiss me like that, so forcefully. I should stop watching, but it's really hard. He moves his hands up her waist, and she starts hitting him on the back of his head. Finally, she breaks free and screams, "Don't you EVER do that again!!!"
"Geez, Harper, calm down."
I realize I look like a schmutz just standing here, so I go to a water-fountain and pretend to be immersed in it. This water-fountain is my sanctuary! If I don't stop drinking form this water-fountain I will die!
"I will not calm down! I told you! I told you a million times not to do that in public, it's so rude, ESPESICALLY not in school. God. You should care about your girlfriend enought to not risk getting her busted. Don't you ever listen?"
"You know what? You have been acting like a moody bitch ever since you got back from that camp in Providence."
"It was a charm-school."
Ouch. I'd be moody too. Charm-school?!
"And I haven't been. There's nothing wrong with me yelling at you when you do something you promised you wouldn't."
"Well, then, what is it? Hormones?"
Oh, God. I hate it when people do that. Can't you ever be legitimately upset? Why do guys blame every annoyance of yours on PMS?
I lift my head from the water-fountain and see that she hates it, too, because her face is coloring.
The first bell rings, and I bolt out of there.