reply, taking her hand in mine and shaking it softly.
“Why don’t we get you over your fears, Madison?” She nods her head toward the entrance to the school. How she knew I was scared of what lies ahead is beyond me.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” I say as I hear a bell ring in the distance.
“They’re playing our tune. Let’s head in.” Libby starts toward the school, not waiting for me to object. I hit the lock button on my car after grabbing my bag out of the passenger seat and jog to catch up with her. She’s quick. “So, where are you from?”
This is what I wanted. Someone to talk to. A friend. It’s going to be a long story, but one that I’m willing to share at this point. “A little bit of everywhere, but most recently California.”
Libby stops dead in her tracks and I almost run into the back of her. She looks me up and down, studying my appearance in detail. I know what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth.
“You don’t look like a California girl.”
“I get that a lot. My mother was from southern Georgia and my father is from here.” I start walking again and Libby falls in step with me. “We move around a lot because my father is a Marine.”
“Did he get transferred here?”
I hear a warning bell ring as we walk through the open doors to the school. “Something like that,” I mutter, knowing that the conversation is far from over, but our time together is up for now. The stairs are in clear sight and I need to get to class. The last thing I need is to walk in late my first day. “It was nice seeing you again, Libby.”
“I’ll find you later and we’ll finish our conversation,” Libby hollers after me, loud enough that a few people stop and stare at me as I start to climb the stairs. I turn to wave and find Libby already immersed in conversation with a few other girls already.
***
Three classes down. I just need to get through lunch and three more and then I’m free for the day. I’m excited for my Creative Writing class at the college tomorrow morning. That’s not true. I’m excited to see Grant again. I’m hoping that I’m able to actually save him a seat, somewhere in the back of the class so we can talk. I want to get to know him better. The fact that I know nothing about him intrigues me.
Where’s he from? What’s his major? Does he have a weakness for French fries like I do?
“Madison,” I hear Libby yell. I turn away from my locker and scan the hall, but don’t see her. I hear her call my name again and that’s when I spot her. She’s standing on her tip toes, waving at me over the crowd that’s gathered in the hall. The same crowd that’s looking from her to me and back again.
I wave and hold up a finger to let her know that I’ll be right there when she starts waving me over to where she is. I stash my books in my locker and grab my cell. I unlock my screen to see that I have no missed calls. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but I’ve always had a call or text on the first day of school, a reminder Grandma’s not here to make the call anymore.
Lunch with Libby is interesting. She rarely ever stops talking. The girl that I met weeks ago at the thrift store is not the same person sitting next to me, talking my ear off. She’s nodding her head toward people, telling me their life stories. I listen intently, wondering if she’s going to expect me to remember any of what she’s telling me. I hope not because I’m horrible with names.
“So, what’s your story?”
The shift in conversation happens so suddenly I’m unprepared. The girls impatiently wait for me to finish chewing, staring at me the entire time. Two of Libby’s friends joined us a few minutes ago. Neither of them have even said hello to me yet. They were having a conversation of their own until Libby changed the subject.
“I don’t really have a story, I don’t think. My father is a Marine so we’ve always moved around a lot. I’ve lived all over
“Why don’t we get you over your fears, Madison?” She nods her head toward the entrance to the school. How she knew I was scared of what lies ahead is beyond me.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” I say as I hear a bell ring in the distance.
“They’re playing our tune. Let’s head in.” Libby starts toward the school, not waiting for me to object. I hit the lock button on my car after grabbing my bag out of the passenger seat and jog to catch up with her. She’s quick. “So, where are you from?”
This is what I wanted. Someone to talk to. A friend. It’s going to be a long story, but one that I’m willing to share at this point. “A little bit of everywhere, but most recently California.”
Libby stops dead in her tracks and I almost run into the back of her. She looks me up and down, studying my appearance in detail. I know what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth.
“You don’t look like a California girl.”
“I get that a lot. My mother was from southern Georgia and my father is from here.” I start walking again and Libby falls in step with me. “We move around a lot because my father is a Marine.”
“Did he get transferred here?”
I hear a warning bell ring as we walk through the open doors to the school. “Something like that,” I mutter, knowing that the conversation is far from over, but our time together is up for now. The stairs are in clear sight and I need to get to class. The last thing I need is to walk in late my first day. “It was nice seeing you again, Libby.”
“I’ll find you later and we’ll finish our conversation,” Libby hollers after me, loud enough that a few people stop and stare at me as I start to climb the stairs. I turn to wave and find Libby already immersed in conversation with a few other girls already.
***
Three classes down. I just need to get through lunch and three more and then I’m free for the day. I’m excited for my Creative Writing class at the college tomorrow morning. That’s not true. I’m excited to see Grant again. I’m hoping that I’m able to actually save him a seat, somewhere in the back of the class so we can talk. I want to get to know him better. The fact that I know nothing about him intrigues me.
Where’s he from? What’s his major? Does he have a weakness for French fries like I do?
“Madison,” I hear Libby yell. I turn away from my locker and scan the hall, but don’t see her. I hear her call my name again and that’s when I spot her. She’s standing on her tip toes, waving at me over the crowd that’s gathered in the hall. The same crowd that’s looking from her to me and back again.
I wave and hold up a finger to let her know that I’ll be right there when she starts waving me over to where she is. I stash my books in my locker and grab my cell. I unlock my screen to see that I have no missed calls. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but I’ve always had a call or text on the first day of school, a reminder Grandma’s not here to make the call anymore.
Lunch with Libby is interesting. She rarely ever stops talking. The girl that I met weeks ago at the thrift store is not the same person sitting next to me, talking my ear off. She’s nodding her head toward people, telling me their life stories. I listen intently, wondering if she’s going to expect me to remember any of what she’s telling me. I hope not because I’m horrible with names.
“So, what’s your story?”
The shift in conversation happens so suddenly I’m unprepared. The girls impatiently wait for me to finish chewing, staring at me the entire time. Two of Libby’s friends joined us a few minutes ago. Neither of them have even said hello to me yet. They were having a conversation of their own until Libby changed the subject.
“I don’t really have a story, I don’t think. My father is a Marine so we’ve always moved around a lot. I’ve lived all over
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