alone?
"'Bye," I cried, and hopped out of the car. I turned to wave, but he was pulling away, his attention locked on the driveway in front of him.
First days of school always had a special feeling to them. The desks, the blackboards, the hallways, the bathrooms, windows, and floors were squeaky clean. You could still smell the detergents, wood polish, glass cleaner, and fresh paint. Voices, footsteps, and bells all had a deeper, longer echo. There was an electricity of expectation and
anticipation in the air, as well as some mystery. What was going to be required of us? How well would we get along with our new teachers? How well would we get along with one another? Those who had been here before studied one another to discover the changes a summer of fun or work or both had effected on their bodies, their faces, and, most of all, their personalities.
Girls and boys alike were exploring new styles, wore their hair differently, dressed more maturely. Those who were more insecure about themselves held themselves back toward the rear, in the shadows, out of the direct flow of conversations and attention, while the confident strutted with their heads high, seeking to reclaim their turf quickly and eyeing every possible contender with suspicion.
New kids were interesting and yet threatening. I could almost hear their suspicion when they looked at me. The girl who was expected to win the lead in the school play wondered if I would try out and take her part away. The students who were at the top of their classes, racing toward the awards and honors, wondered if I would be real competition. Girls who were leaders of their little cliques feared I might be more sophisticated and win away their loyal followers. Girls and even boys who fell outside the circle of social life hoped I might be another one of them, a friend, a buoy to cling to in the sea of turmoil adults called the teenage years, adolescence.
I was here. I had landed, and I was living with a family now. No one could fix the label of orphan on my forehead like the mark of Cain and make me feel so different that I saw curiosity and rejection in the eyes of those who were supposed to be friends. At least, that was what I hoped.
The moment I spotted Helga talking and laughing with a group of girls near the girls' room, I felt a dark foreboding take hold of my heart. She saw me and nudged someone, and they all grew quiet and looked my way.
"Hi," she called, waving me toward her. "Hi."
"You didn't take the bus this morning, so I
didn't know whether or not you were still living with
Karl and Thelma," she said.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I shot back.
She looked at her friends and then at me and
shrugged.
"I just wondered," she said, shifting her weight
from one leg to the other and smiling again. "I introduced Crystal to Bernie Felder. We went over to his
house, and she didn't want to leave. How long did you
stay?"
"A while," I said. So that was it, I thought. I
was being punished for not doing exactly what she
had wanted, for defying her and staying with Bernie. "Crystal's a genius, too," she said with an ugly
twist in her lips.
"I'm far from a genius, but I am polite," I said. I
turned to the others. "My name is Crystal Morris." They stared a moment, and then a short
brunette with a face like a little doll, her features small
and perfect, stuck out her hand.
"I'm Alicia."
"I'm Mona," said another girl, with a rounder
face, straight light brown hair, and brown eyes. Her
fingers were short and stubby.
"My name is Rachael Peterson," a girl almost as
tall as Helga said in a very formal voice. She didn't
offer her hand, but she looked at my briefcase. "Is that
real leather?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Very nice," she said.
"Thank you. My grandparents gave it to me."
"Grandparents? How can you have grandparents?"
Helga asked quickly.
"Thelma's parents are my grandparents," I said
dryly. "That's how it works."
"So how did you get to school this morning?" Helga asked, ignoring my sarcasm. "You
"'Bye," I cried, and hopped out of the car. I turned to wave, but he was pulling away, his attention locked on the driveway in front of him.
First days of school always had a special feeling to them. The desks, the blackboards, the hallways, the bathrooms, windows, and floors were squeaky clean. You could still smell the detergents, wood polish, glass cleaner, and fresh paint. Voices, footsteps, and bells all had a deeper, longer echo. There was an electricity of expectation and
anticipation in the air, as well as some mystery. What was going to be required of us? How well would we get along with our new teachers? How well would we get along with one another? Those who had been here before studied one another to discover the changes a summer of fun or work or both had effected on their bodies, their faces, and, most of all, their personalities.
Girls and boys alike were exploring new styles, wore their hair differently, dressed more maturely. Those who were more insecure about themselves held themselves back toward the rear, in the shadows, out of the direct flow of conversations and attention, while the confident strutted with their heads high, seeking to reclaim their turf quickly and eyeing every possible contender with suspicion.
New kids were interesting and yet threatening. I could almost hear their suspicion when they looked at me. The girl who was expected to win the lead in the school play wondered if I would try out and take her part away. The students who were at the top of their classes, racing toward the awards and honors, wondered if I would be real competition. Girls who were leaders of their little cliques feared I might be more sophisticated and win away their loyal followers. Girls and even boys who fell outside the circle of social life hoped I might be another one of them, a friend, a buoy to cling to in the sea of turmoil adults called the teenage years, adolescence.
I was here. I had landed, and I was living with a family now. No one could fix the label of orphan on my forehead like the mark of Cain and make me feel so different that I saw curiosity and rejection in the eyes of those who were supposed to be friends. At least, that was what I hoped.
The moment I spotted Helga talking and laughing with a group of girls near the girls' room, I felt a dark foreboding take hold of my heart. She saw me and nudged someone, and they all grew quiet and looked my way.
"Hi," she called, waving me toward her. "Hi."
"You didn't take the bus this morning, so I
didn't know whether or not you were still living with
Karl and Thelma," she said.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I shot back.
She looked at her friends and then at me and
shrugged.
"I just wondered," she said, shifting her weight
from one leg to the other and smiling again. "I introduced Crystal to Bernie Felder. We went over to his
house, and she didn't want to leave. How long did you
stay?"
"A while," I said. So that was it, I thought. I
was being punished for not doing exactly what she
had wanted, for defying her and staying with Bernie. "Crystal's a genius, too," she said with an ugly
twist in her lips.
"I'm far from a genius, but I am polite," I said. I
turned to the others. "My name is Crystal Morris." They stared a moment, and then a short
brunette with a face like a little doll, her features small
and perfect, stuck out her hand.
"I'm Alicia."
"I'm Mona," said another girl, with a rounder
face, straight light brown hair, and brown eyes. Her
fingers were short and stubby.
"My name is Rachael Peterson," a girl almost as
tall as Helga said in a very formal voice. She didn't
offer her hand, but she looked at my briefcase. "Is that
real leather?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Very nice," she said.
"Thank you. My grandparents gave it to me."
"Grandparents? How can you have grandparents?"
Helga asked quickly.
"Thelma's parents are my grandparents," I said
dryly. "That's how it works."
"So how did you get to school this morning?" Helga asked, ignoring my sarcasm. "You
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