came. As I turn around to watch him go—though I’m not entirely sure why—I find that there’s a girl standing right behind me.
The first thing I think is how intimidating she is. It’s in her stance—one perfectly manicured hand on her hip and the other hanging gracefully at her side, with one hip tipped to the side, head held high—and in the way she looks. This girl somehow manages to make a pair of cutoffs and a plain tank top look like something from a fashion magazine; I look more like I’m lounging around the house.
My second thought is how pretty she is—the kind of pretty that girls are jealous of, while wanting her for a friend. She’s got deep brown skin, and big brown eyes, and her face is soft and round so she looks like a doll. I get the vibe that, whoever she is, she’s popular.
“How do you know Bryce?” Even her voice rings with the haughty tone of the elite crowd.
“Um … I, uh, I met him at the—at the party at the beach …,” I stutter, and gulp hard.
I can’t tell if she’s mad that I was talking to Bryce, or if she’s just curious.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” This time, her voice is softer, more amicable.
I nod, and swallow the rising lump of anxiety in my throat.
Then the unexpected happens: her face breaks into a wide smile and she says, “I’m Tiffany.”
“Madison.”
“Where’re you from?”
“Maine. I moved here over the summer.”
“Cool.”
“It’s really not,” I say. “I don’t know why everyone thinks that.”
She laughs and flicks her hair over her shoulder before hitching up her handbag. I think it’s a designer bag. I try to see the metal clasp on the front—I’m pretty sure it’s Gucci.
Tiffany notices me looking at it, and she smiles again, twisting around so that I can see it better. “You like? I got it in Milan in July. It’s the real thing, before you ask. Late birthday present from my aunt.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I tell her honestly. I wouldn’t be surprised if everything from herearrings to her jeans is expensive and designer. She nods her head at me. “Cool piercing. It’s cute. Especially with your hair. It’s, like, so punk-rock. Totally chic.”
“Oh.” I grin widely, flattered by her compliment—and also relieved that the nose piercing and getting my hair cut was totally worth it. “Thanks.”
All of a sudden we hear a throat being cleared, and we both look around to see a teacher standing with his arms crossed and gray eyebrows raised at us.
“Are you planning on coming into homeroom anytime today, ladies?”
“This is Madison,” Tiffany says, in a bubbly, bright voice, grabbing my arm like we’re old friends. “She’s new.”
“Ah, I see. Well, Madison,” the teacher addresses me, “let’s not make a bad impression on your first day by dawdling outside classes.”
“Sorry,” I say quietly, ducking my head a little. I never got in trouble back at Pineford—but then again, I never really did anything at all back in Pineford. But I don’t want to make a habit of annoying any teachers this year, even if I am the new Madison.
The classroom is full of enthusiastic chatter, which hushes slightly as I walk into the classroom with Tiffany right behind me. It’s not the hideous, pregnant pause I expected. No staring, or whispered remarks, or sneers. There’s just a lull in the conversation: people looking at me and wondering who I am. The thing I hate most is them looking at me; it makes my heart thud against my ribs sickeningly. But then the chatter picks back up and I’m not so much of a focal point anymore.
“Tiff! Over here!” a girl calls brightly, and I look over to see her pulling out a desk chair in the middle of the classroom. There’s an empty desk in front of it too.
“Come on …” Tiffany walks past me, beckoning. She falls gracefully into the seat pulled out for her, next to a blond girl. I follow, but slowly, hesitantly. My legs are shaky, and they feel unsteady.
The first thing I think is how intimidating she is. It’s in her stance—one perfectly manicured hand on her hip and the other hanging gracefully at her side, with one hip tipped to the side, head held high—and in the way she looks. This girl somehow manages to make a pair of cutoffs and a plain tank top look like something from a fashion magazine; I look more like I’m lounging around the house.
My second thought is how pretty she is—the kind of pretty that girls are jealous of, while wanting her for a friend. She’s got deep brown skin, and big brown eyes, and her face is soft and round so she looks like a doll. I get the vibe that, whoever she is, she’s popular.
“How do you know Bryce?” Even her voice rings with the haughty tone of the elite crowd.
“Um … I, uh, I met him at the—at the party at the beach …,” I stutter, and gulp hard.
I can’t tell if she’s mad that I was talking to Bryce, or if she’s just curious.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” This time, her voice is softer, more amicable.
I nod, and swallow the rising lump of anxiety in my throat.
Then the unexpected happens: her face breaks into a wide smile and she says, “I’m Tiffany.”
“Madison.”
“Where’re you from?”
“Maine. I moved here over the summer.”
“Cool.”
“It’s really not,” I say. “I don’t know why everyone thinks that.”
She laughs and flicks her hair over her shoulder before hitching up her handbag. I think it’s a designer bag. I try to see the metal clasp on the front—I’m pretty sure it’s Gucci.
Tiffany notices me looking at it, and she smiles again, twisting around so that I can see it better. “You like? I got it in Milan in July. It’s the real thing, before you ask. Late birthday present from my aunt.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I tell her honestly. I wouldn’t be surprised if everything from herearrings to her jeans is expensive and designer. She nods her head at me. “Cool piercing. It’s cute. Especially with your hair. It’s, like, so punk-rock. Totally chic.”
“Oh.” I grin widely, flattered by her compliment—and also relieved that the nose piercing and getting my hair cut was totally worth it. “Thanks.”
All of a sudden we hear a throat being cleared, and we both look around to see a teacher standing with his arms crossed and gray eyebrows raised at us.
“Are you planning on coming into homeroom anytime today, ladies?”
“This is Madison,” Tiffany says, in a bubbly, bright voice, grabbing my arm like we’re old friends. “She’s new.”
“Ah, I see. Well, Madison,” the teacher addresses me, “let’s not make a bad impression on your first day by dawdling outside classes.”
“Sorry,” I say quietly, ducking my head a little. I never got in trouble back at Pineford—but then again, I never really did anything at all back in Pineford. But I don’t want to make a habit of annoying any teachers this year, even if I am the new Madison.
The classroom is full of enthusiastic chatter, which hushes slightly as I walk into the classroom with Tiffany right behind me. It’s not the hideous, pregnant pause I expected. No staring, or whispered remarks, or sneers. There’s just a lull in the conversation: people looking at me and wondering who I am. The thing I hate most is them looking at me; it makes my heart thud against my ribs sickeningly. But then the chatter picks back up and I’m not so much of a focal point anymore.
“Tiff! Over here!” a girl calls brightly, and I look over to see her pulling out a desk chair in the middle of the classroom. There’s an empty desk in front of it too.
“Come on …” Tiffany walks past me, beckoning. She falls gracefully into the seat pulled out for her, next to a blond girl. I follow, but slowly, hesitantly. My legs are shaky, and they feel unsteady.
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