Generation Misfits

by Akemi Dawn Bowman

  Was that so much to ask?

  Millie looked up at the last table—the one closest to the doors. A student with short brown hair and plenty of freckles sat alone. Millie recognized them from Math class. Their name was Ashley Seo, which was easy for Millie to remember because of Asuna Seo—a J-Pop singer who was half Japanese and half Korean and sang the theme song on one of Millie’s favorite anime shows.

  Maybe it was a sign?

  Millie reached for an empty chair. “Is it okay if I sit—” she started.

  But Ashley didn’t let her finish. “No.”

  Millie froze, startled. She wanted to mention their shared class, and to point out how Ashley’s name reminded her of one of her favorite singers. But she couldn’t get the words out. Something garbled and hurried came out instead. “I—in—the Math.”

  Oh no, Millie wanted to cry. Now I’m even speaking wrong.

  Ashley didn’t look up. “I’m not interested in making friends.” When Millie’s hand wilted, Ashley continued, “And even if I was, you’d be wasting your time. At Brightside, people stick to their own major. No one stays friends with someone outside of their little groups.” Ashley motioned toward the other tables to show Millie what they meant.

  Clusters of students were pebbled around the room. Some groups had sketchbooks; others had instruments. The curly-haired girl and her friends still hadn’t returned, but the dance bags they had left behind were still slumped on their chairs.

  Millie’s heart sank. How was she ever going to make friends when there were so many guidelines she didn’t know about?

  She looked back at Ashley, who stood up abruptly and swung their bag over their shoulder.

  “You can have the table. It’s too crowded in here for me anyway,” they said, and walked out of the cafeteria doors with all the calmness Millie didn’t have.

  Maybe Ashley hadn’t meant to be rude. Maybe they had even meant to be helpful.

  But all Millie could think about was what a disaster the day had been and how totally and completely unprepared she was for school.

  When she returned to the bus at the end of the day, she forced her gaze out the window. She didn’t want to risk anyone seeing the tears well up in her eyes or the way her lip had started to quiver.

  More important, she had to figure out a way to stop crying before she stepped off the bus and saw her parents.

  She’d made enough mistakes for one day.

  Letting her parents see how right they were about school just couldn’t be one of them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The days rolled along like tumbleweeds in slow motion. Millie couldn’t believe it was still the first week of school. It felt like she’d been there for a hundred years.

  And the worst part?

  Despite her best efforts, things didn’t improve. They got worse.

  On Tuesday, she found out the girl she’d spilled food all over was Luna Acevedo—a sixth-grade dance major, and one of the most popular girls at Brightside Academy.

  In other words, Millie wasn’t surprised people weren’t lining up to be friends with her. Most of the students had known each other since kindergarten—there were bound to be unwritten rules about social etiquette. And assaulting Luna Acevedo with coleslaw and a chicken burger was probably breaking at least five of them.

  But Millie wasn’t ready to admit defeat. There was still band, after all, and Ashley had said most friend groups revolved around people’s majors. Maybe she just needed more time to meet people. Preferably people who hadn’t heard about the cafeteria incident.

  But on Thursday, Millie found out that the band director was moving her into Wind Ensemble II. It was the top band at the junior high level, made up of mostly eighth graders. And something told Millie the odds of making friends when almost everyone was two years older were not great. Even if band majors were supposed to stick together.

  And then it was Friday. Most of the students had hurried to the band room after lunch, so by the time Millie arrived, there was a crowd spilling out into the hallway. Everyone was trying to get a better view of the piece of paper taped to the door.

  Chair Placements.

  Millie swallowed the lump in her throat. Even though she hated how suffocating playing the flute had become, there was still a small part of her that remembered when it used to be fun. When she enjoyed playing classical music.

  That small part of her was excited to see the results. She’d practiced really hard for her audition, and she only messed up once when she forgot to breathe in the right place. A side effect of being constantly nervous.

  But the other part of her—the bigger part of her—was terrified to look at the results. What if she was last chair?

  To everyone else, it was just a chair placement. And she’d already been moved to top band; most people would expect a sixth grader to get last chair. But to Millie, it was the difference between her parents being proud of her and letting their disappointment crush her like a tsunami.

  She hated letting them down. She hated how it made her feel small and guilty and unable to breathe. And most of all, she hated feeling so responsible for her parents’ happiness to begin with.

  When the crowd dwindled, Millie made her way to the door, her eyes finding the section that read Flutes.

  And there was her name, second from the top: Millie Nakakura—second chair.

  Her stomach somersaulted and backflipped and cartwheeled all at once.

  She wanted to smile with relief, but when she turned around, any ounce of excitement evaporated.

  Kelly and Dia, two eighth graders, were scowling from the flute section. Millie knew from overhearing other students that they were best friends and the top flutists in Wind Ensemble II since last year.

  Millie looked back up at the result sheet. Kelly was first chair; Dia was third.

  They weren’t expecting to be separated at all, let alone by a sixth grader.

  Mr. Thomas, the band director, appeared at the podium and waved at the students still in the doorway. “Everyone, please sit down, and try not to worry about the results. There will be plenty of time for chair challenges once we’ve gotten into the swing of things.”

  Millie found her chair, feeling the heat of Kelly’s and Dia’s stares when she opened her case and put her flute together. It became more and more obvious how upset they were the longer the class went on. Every glance they exchanged had to pass right over Millie. She felt like an awkwardly placed window, forcing them apart.

  She considered offering Dia her chair, but she worried that would only make things worse. Plus, her parents would be furious.

  And she’d rather deal with Kelly and Dia than her parents’ disappointment.

  When the bell finally rang, she hurried to her next class, taking comfort in the fact that the sixth-grade classrooms were on a completely different side of the school from the eighth-grade ones.

  She could feel defeat bubbling up from the pit of her stomach, but she tried to force it back down. Hope was the only thing protecting her heart.

  And just when Millie didn’t think her week could get any more horrible, it did.

  It was unmistakable, written in bright red marker: 20%.

  She stared at the piece of paper in her hands and tried to make sense of it. Of how this could’ve happened.

  She’d failed her first test.

  Ms. Woods, her Geography teacher, paused beside Millie’s desk. “You didn’t include a proper heading, and you put your name in the wrong corner. That’s worth twenty points on its own. Did you not read the board?” Her brow was lifted slightly, like she hadn’t fully decided whether to be concerned or disappointed.

  Millie scanned the whiteboard with confusion. She had no idea there were rules on how to write your name. Her words tangled up on the edge of her tongue. “I, um, didn’t know about the board.”

  “And what about the additional reading?” Ms. Woods pressed. “Did you forget to go over the pages, or are you just having a hard time wit
h the material?”

  Millie felt her shoulders wobble and shake, like she’d become one of those comical dancing skeletons. Like there was barely anything holding her together. She couldn’t find the words to explain how she hadn’t even known there was additional reading.

  All she could do was shake her head.

  Ms. Woods sighed, giving Millie a look that said, I know you can do better, before moving down the row of desks.

  Except Millie had done her best, and she was still getting everything wrong.

  When the final bell rang, Millie made her way onto the bus and pushed herself into a window seat. She could still feel the Geography test nearby, bursting out of her notebook, crushed against the fabric of her backpack. It was a monster that grew and grew, and by the time she spotted her parents’ car outside the window, she felt like the monster would swallow her whole.

  Millie stepped onto the sidewalk with heavy shoulders and looked up to see her mom waving from next to the car.

  Jane wrapped her arms around Millie for a quick hug before sliding back into the driver’s seat. “So?” she asked once they were both inside. “What’s the news?”

  Millie grimaced. Her parents had been talking about chair placements all week. She knew they’d be excited, but this was even worse. Her mom was jubilant.

  “I got second chair,” Millie mumbled. She clicked her seat belt into place and stared hard at her flute. It suddenly seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. Between the pressure of band and the monster in her backpack, Millie felt like there was barely room for her in the car.

  “That’s wonderful!” Jane exclaimed, oblivious to Millie’s furrowed brow. “Your dad will be so proud. Second chair in top band. What a way to start the school year, huh?”

  As the car pulled away from the parking lot, Millie thought about telling her mom what had happened with her Geography test. She knew it was the right thing to do, but she also had no idea what to say. It wasn’t like she hadn’t studied; she’d just been studying the wrong material.

  Besides, her mom was so happy about band …

  Millie bit down on her lip and stared out the window.

  Her dad was waiting by the front door when they got home. He held his hands open like he wanted the news.

  “Second chair!” Jane exclaimed from behind Millie.

  “That’s fantastic,” Scott said with a smile. His ink-black hair was combed neatly to one side. “I knew you could do it.”

  “Thanks,” Millie said, and her test must’ve developed a pulse because she could feel it beating through her like a jackhammer. She wanted to shove her backpack in a corner and never open it again, but there was Math homework and reading assignments and notes to go over …

  It was more overwhelming than Millie wanted to admit.

  “I’ll make you a snack,” Jane said, hanging her purse on a nearby hook and disappearing into the kitchen.

  “You know, if you practice a little harder, I bet you’ll be first chair in no time,” Scott said, and Millie’s heart sank. Her dad continued, “You’ve got the technique, you just have to work on your tone. Remember what Anna told you about practicing your vibrato, even when you don’t have your flute?”

  Millie squeezed the handle of her flute case. How could she ever admit she was having a hard time at school when even second chair in top band wasn’t good enough?

  “I have to use the bathroom,” she said abruptly, struggling to keep her lip from wobbling.

  “Okay.” Scott nodded. “Don’t forget, you’ve got a flute lesson in an hour and a half.” The corners of his eyes wrinkled when he smiled. “You can tell Anna about your chair. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled for you.”

  He turned and headed for the kitchen.

  Millie held it together for all the steps it took to get to her bedroom. The moment her door closed, she let her backpack fall to the floor, her face crumpling like a fistful of tissue paper.

  She might not have wanted to tell them about her test, but her parents hadn’t even asked about school. She’d waited all week for them to be interested in whether she’d made any friends or if she liked her teachers. Anything to make Millie feel like there was an opening in the conversation to bring up her feelings.

  Because she wanted to talk to her parents. She wanted their advice. She wanted them to tell her how to make everything better.

  But all her mom and dad seemed to care about was band.

  Sometimes it felt like there wasn’t room for them to care about anything else.

  Millie wiped her tears with the back of her hand and hurried to her dresser, where her limited edition Generation Love headphones were sitting in the same place she always kept them. They were dependable. Constant.

  She took out her phone, scrolled through her playlists, and found the mix of her favorite Generation Love songs. The sound poured through the headphones, making Millie think of sugary-pink cupcakes and bubble gum. She sank into her bed and closed her eyes.

  Generation Love was the closest thing to a friend she had. It didn’t matter that the five-person band lived in Japan and were too busy singing in stadiums and making music videos to have any idea who Millie was.

  Because when she listened to their perfect harmonies and happy choruses, she felt a little less lonely than she had before.

  And in her heart, that was what Millie wanted more than anything in the world.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  On Saturday evening, Millie clicked the latest post on Generation Love’s biggest fan page, and an explosion of silver and pink pixels took over most of the screen. In the center was a live countdown.

  In another twenty-three minutes, their new music video would be unveiled.

  Millie was giddy with excitement. She’d been waiting weeks for this—months, if you counted the time before she knew the video was going to be official. And even though she loved checking the fan forums for rumors and leaked images of Generation Love on set, enough was enough. She wanted the real thing.

  Swaying in her chair to the sound of their latest single in the background, Millie scrolled down the page until she reached the comments section, where fans from all over the world were busy sharing their pure, unfiltered love for the ultimate pop group. Most of the comments were written in Japanese, but there were still plenty in English that Millie could read without using auto-translate.

  GennerLove13: OMGGGG IT’S ALMOST HERE

  KiyokoHeartsGL: *refreshes the page a billion times even though it’s not noon in Japan yet*

  JpopIsL1f3: ASDKJFKDFHE I CAN’T BREATHE

  ChiyoFanForeverrr: literally having a GL video unveiling party right now, there are fourteen of us camped around the computer eating chicken wings and we CANNOT WAIT

  Millie felt a tinge of jealousy pulse through her. She couldn’t help it. There were people out there throwing actual parties with actual friends—something Millie had never had in her life.

  But at least she had the internet, where she could live vicariously through strangers on Generation Love forums.

  “There you are,” Jane said, peeking through the office doorway. “It’s getting pretty late, Millie. I think you should head up to bed.”

  Millie’s brows lifted in alarm. “But the new Generation Love music video is coming out soon!”

  Jane frowned and stepped into the room. “Can’t you watch it in the morning?”

  “It won’t be the same. All the biggest fans watch it as soon as it releases so they can talk about it. It’s like”—Millie paused, desperate—“a community thing, I guess.”

  “Hmm.” Her mom stepped around the desk to look at the computer and placed a gentle hand on Millie’s shoulder.

  Millie tensed, hoping her mom wouldn’t read too many of the comments. She was worried she wouldn’t get it.

  And her parents had a habit of putting a stop to things they didn’t understand.

  “I’m not comfortable with you being in chat rooms, Millie,” Jane said sternly. She was wearing a plaid sweater tha
t looked more like a shawl, and every time she moved the threads brushed against Millie’s arm.

  “It’s not a chat room.” Millie pulled away, her voice clipped and fragile. “It’s a fan page.”

  Jane stepped back and crossed her arms. “If you’re talking to strangers online, it’s the same thing to me.”

  “I don’t even post anything! I just like to read what other people are saying.” When Jane’s forehead crumpled, Millie added quickly, “The forums are a big part of what makes the videos so special. Everyone likes to write about what they think. It’s kind of like going to a concert and being around people who all love the same music as you do.” Not that Millie had ever been to a concert that wasn’t a wind symphony or a flute choir. Besides, Generation Love rarely performed in the States, and when they did it was only ever in major cities, and tickets cost a fortune.

  Jane sighed.

  Millie bit the edge of her lip.

  “Fine.” Jane leaned forward and kissed Millie’s temple. “You can stay up for the video and a few extra minutes to read the comments. But after that it’s bedtime.” She paused near the door. “Didn’t any of your teachers give out homework for the weekend?”

  Millie twisted her fingers together nervously. “No. I mean, not that I know of.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you’re very sure.” Jane frowned, eyes processing Millie like a computer. Though for all the times Millie’s parents tried to read her, they rarely seemed to get it right. “Are you having a hard time adjusting at school?”

  Millie stiffened. She hadn’t expected that.

  It was the perfect opportunity to tell the truth. If she confessed everything she was feeling, maybe her parents could even help her understand the rules about homework and teachers and socializing.

  But before Millie could open her mouth, Jane said the words that made Millie’s heart shrink. “Because if this is too much for you, we can go back to homeschooling.”

  Alarm bells went off in Millie’s head, making her ears ring. It had only been a week, and her parents were already talking about pulling her out of school. There was no way Millie could admit she was struggling. Her time at Brightside Academy would be over before it ever really started.