First Project

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  Ms. Kelly was different, though. She was more chill like she believed in me. Her loose sweater hung comfortably from her shoulders and her surfer-girl hair looked like she'd only just run her fingers through it this morning. I'd swear she probably had yoga pants on, but I couldn't see for sure. Her pretty face was non-judgmental, and I felt comfortable in her presence, even with her uncanny ability to stare straight into my naked soul. It was clear, I needed more armor.

  She studied me with one eye squinted. "You forgot to wear gloves, right?"

  I clasped my hands together and hid them between my knees. "Oh, um, yeah. Nerves, I guess."

  "There's no way you can walk into class like that," she chuffed.

  My face burned as I fought her surprising criticism.

  "Here," she said, handing me a pump bottle of organic oil hand-lotion. "This stuff works magic! I use it on my hands all the time, and it's amazing." Her face lit up to the point of no refusal.

  I squirted a generous amount of the white lotion onto my palms and rubbed it all over. She handed me a bunch of tissues, and I wiped all the purple-tinted mess off my hands.

  "Oh my god. That's so much better," I gasped. "Thank you."

  Most of the purple staining had lifted, leaving only a slight hue on my skin. The nails weren't great, but I could live with that. I relaxed ten-fold now, knowing I wouldn't be seen as a freak the moment I walked into class. Well, not a total freak.

  I glanced up at her with gratitude splashed across my face. I mean, seriously, she's the first person who ever actually helped me on the first day of school. Like, actually helped me.

  Then she said, "You're a sensitive person, aren't you?"

  I pulled back.

  Suddenly I wasn't so comfortable in her presence. She picked up on too much like she could read me.

  I wasn't used to people prying into my privacy and asking me if I was an emotionally frail person. That was crossing the line. What the hell? Did I look like I was about to cry or something?

  I struggled to find my words, and before I could reply with something that would shut her down and decide I was a write-off, she spoke again.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." She chuckled. "I mean, you are a sensitive." She hesitated on her next words, watching me fidget, then smirked. "And judging by the look on your face, you don't even know it."

  What the hell was the difference? "You're a sensitive person," or "You are a sensitive." What the actual fuck? All I knew was she was getting too personal asking about my emotional stability, because, to be honest, it was dodgy.

  I reached for the ends of my hair and twirled them. "Is it the purple? You think I'm unstable because of my hair color?" I glared at her, waiting for the same judgmental treatment I'd received from the secretary.

  "No, not at all. Your hair color is amazing." She smiled with a warm glow in her eyes, winning me back almost instantly. "It's just a feeling I get from you like you perceive things differently from others. Like, you're more in tune with the world around you, more aware." She hesitated, studying me again. "Does the make sense at all?"

  I stared back at her.

  This was not the typical new-student-entry-meeting protocol. Now was the time she should be asking me about a bus pass, homeroom assignment, and giving me a copy of my schedule. But no. Not this time. This time my guidance counselor was asking me about how I perceived the world. She must be tripping.

  But as I looked into her honest eyes, I saw more than the typical routine meeting. Her words then took a deeper meaning in my mind as I thought about them.

  Yes.

  Yes, I was more aware of subtle sensations around me. Yes, I could pick up on the deeper meaning of people's words or actions easily. It always scared me actually, because I typically believed everyone had that ability. It made me feel exposed, thinking that people understood me and my thoughts, the way I understood theirs.

  Then I nodded with a shrug.

  "Maybe," I said.

  "Yes." She smiled. "I thought so. It's something I pick up on about people. It helps me to understand you better, which is a good thing, considering I'll be your school counselor for the rest of the year. It's best I know you as well as possible, so I can help you reach your goals."

  "Oh." My breath blew out of me. "I get it. Okay." The tension in my shoulders released as I realized she was just trying to get to know me better, so she could be effective in her job. I huffed at myself for thinking she was diving into my mind, trying to pull my soul out through my eyes.

  "So, what are your goals?" she asked. "What do you want to do when you graduate?"

  I shrugged, clearing my mind of my earlier panic from her intrusive questions. "I don't know. I just want to finish high school and get my diploma."

  "I see a lot more potential in you," she said.

  Oh, here we go. She's getting personal again.

  I thought for a minute about her comment and then realized it actually wasn't that bad. It was nice, even.

  I remained silent, having no clue how to respond to a potential compliment, knowing that it was more likely she said that to everyone.

  She went on. "Have you taken your SATs?"

  My stomach clamped on itself. I knew I should have taken them last year, but I never stepped foot back in the guidance office to find out how. I couldn't afford it anyway.

  "No, I didn't get a chance," I said

  "Oh, well, that's a priority. You'll need to register right away, before the deadline for the October test." She wrote a website on a sticky note and gave it to me. "There's an additional thirty-dollar fee if you register late."

  My eyes fell.

  "What?" she asked. "Is payment a challenge for you?"

  Wow. It was like she was psychic.

  "Actually, yes."

  "And that's why you didn't take them last year, as well?" she asked.

  I nodded.

  "Have your parents considered completing an application for free and reduced lunch? If they do that, then you will be able to get fee waivers for everything else." She waited for my reply.

  "Well, it's just my mom, and she never gets around to doing the paperwork for my schools." I avoided eye contact as I waited for the pity party.

  "Okay, let me take care of it," she said, reaching into a stack of papers and pulling out a form. "This is an SAT fee waiver. Use this code at the bottom when filling out the online registration. You should be all set." She passed the document to me. "Let me know of anything else you need assistance with. I have my ways of helping out." She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows.

  I couldn't hide my elated feelings, and a smile lit up my face. Taking the SAT was huge. It would bring me one step closer to my college dream.

  "Oh, and as far as college goes," she added. "I have application fee waivers, too, and will help you navigate financial aid so we can find something perfect for you. Trust me."

  My eyes lit up.

  Holy shit.

  Someone was helping me. I had no idea it was even possible to apply for college in my situation. My heart nearly burst out of my chest.

  "Thank you so much, Ms. Kelly. This really means a lot to me," I gushed, nearly crying.

  "Of course. That's what I'm here for," she said. Then after a brief pause, she added, "There's one thing I want you to do."

  Oh, here it comes—the catch. There was always a catch.

  She continued, "I want you to join my advisory group."

  Say what now?

  "What's that?" I crossed my arms.

  "Every student at Lakefield is in an advisory group. It meets once a week during X-block. Students can ask questions or raise concerns and basically build connections with other students they typically wouldn't associate with. It's a community-building initiative. I think you would fit in well with my group."

  Interesting.

  Particularly since I didn't fit in well... anywhere.

  "I guess," I mumbled.

  "No, I insist," she said, leaving no room for neg
otiation. "See you third block, X block."

  Chapter 3

  Keeping my eyes stuck to my schedule, I navigated the hallways like a champ.

  The room numbers were fairly basic, all first-floor classrooms beginning with a one and second-floor starting with a two. Check. Wings A, B, C, and D—all major subjects, each with their own wing. Check. Turning into my first period class before the bell and bumping right into beautiful boy. Not check.

  In my haste, I turned into my AP English class and bumped right into him as he was setting his backpack down.

  "Sorry. Crap." I mumbled, shimmying past him.

  "Oh, new girl," he pointed his finger at me in recognition and smiled. "Welcome to literary hell," he warned.

  His smile left me temporarily blind and mute. Not knowing what to say, I kept my focus on my escape to the first available seat.

  Settling in, I replayed his words in my mind. New Girl. Obnoxious. Literary hell. Okay, so this class must have a reputation of being a killer. Heads-up appreciated.

  At least I had him to distract me from the torture.

  What? No! Head down. No contact.

  He remained turned around and his eyes stuck to me like glue but, I ignored him as best as possible.

  What was his deal? Why couldn't he just ignore me? I clearly wasn't that interesting.

  His attention wasn't the only thing smothering me, though. Two gorgeous girls sitting right behind him glared at me now, like they were his protective minions. Their perfect hair and make-up, and impeccable fashion sense, caused instant insecurity to poison my veins.

  Ugh. I hated that feeling!

  No matter how fake or mean I knew they were, their disapproving glares still always hit me in my self-loathing weakness.

  Obviously, beautiful boy was theirs and how dare I even consider bumping into him like a moron.

  Sticking to my rule-number-one, I kept my eyes down, averting all possible interaction and therefore, altercation. I needed a re-set to help me fade back into oblivion.

  Picking at the dark eggplant color under my nails, I wished for the seconds to move faster. Without looking up, it was clear all eyes were on me.

  Come on, teacher. Can't you see we are ready for learning?

  Oh my god. My guidance counselor was right.

  I put a lot of focus on my academics. Clearly, it was my shield. My escape.

  Finally, the teacher came in, and all eyes turned forward, off me.

  Thankfully, his bad suit and shiny bald head were distraction enough. Judging by every student's straightened spine and eyes forward, I had to assume he was a strict, no BS teacher.

  "Good morning class," he stated. "I'm Mr. Benson. Welcome to AP English Literature. I’m sure you are all here on recommendation from last year's teachers." His eyes fell on me as if I didn't belong, and then he started again. "We have a lot to cover in a short amount of time and..."

  Blah, blah, blah.

  My mind turned to more exciting topics. All I needed from him was direction and what pages to study. I'd take care of the rest.

  I was more intrigued by the protective body language of the mean girls and their eyes plastered on beautiful boy.

  Okay, I had to stop calling him that. It was just wrong. But at the moment, it seemed so right.

  My eyes moved around the room. In an instant, I cataloged the social standing of every student, their aspirations, and their apparent attempts at gaining favor from the it-girls and anyone else who would pay attention. Even though it was senior year, the same pathetic maneuvers were happening all around me.

  The students were much like every teenager in every high school across the country—a broad mix of cultures and attitudes, skin tones and nationalities. It was very real-world here, and I liked the natural feel of it. The only difference from my previous experiences, though, was that these kids were more entitled. They flaunted all the name brands and shiny new kicks, brand new cell phones and techno-watches galore. Underneath all the privilege, though, were the same insecure, frightened adolescents. Only, with all the gadgets and glam, they had a lot to hide behind to disguise their true fears.

  Then Mr. Benson's voice broke through my multiple layers of processing as he called attendance.

  "Benjamin Drake."

  "Here."

  "Sam Frye."

  "Here."

  More names and I zoned out again.

  Then my eyes shot wide as he called the next name.

  "Dominic Murphy."

  Beautiful boy lifted his hand.

  "Yeah, here. Dom," he replied.

  My breath stopped as I heard his name. Finally. A name.

  "Elaine Rosco," Mr. Benson continued.

  "Laney," pretty-girl-number-one said, flipping her perfectly straightened hair behind her shoulder and smirking.

  Mr. Benson hesitated from the display, then said, "Okay. Seth Tilman."

  "Here."

  Mr. Benson was reaching the end of the alphabet and hadn't called my name yet. Damn it. I didn't want to have to draw any unnecessary attention to myself. What if my name wasn't on his list? What if I was in the wrong room? My heart rate accelerated, causing my face to burn. Humiliation approached and hovered just around the corner.

  Mr. Benson's voice punched me in the face as he added, "And a late addition to my roster, new student, Douglas Brynn." His eyes searched the room.

  I snapped to attention in horror.

  No, he did not. He did not just call my last name first.

  I shrank in my chair. Jesus Christ, Mr. Benson. Really?

  I lifted my hand slightly, noting the shake in my fingers.

  "Um, it's Brynn. Brynn Douglas," I choked.

  He checked his roster once again.

  "Oh, right. Sorry," he replied. "Welcome, Brynn."

  His voice faded out as I caught the snickers of the pretties. I was fairly sure my new nickname was going stick, probably behind my back at first. I supposed there could be worse names than Douglas, but it was just the sheer fact that they had ammunition already. Shit. They made no attempt at hiding their chastising, and somehow, this time, it actually mattered.

  Because of Dom.

  Fuck.

  My cardinal rule. Broken.

  Everything was already falling to shit.

  Second period had its own laundry list of issues.

  First of all, it was AP Physics, and the teacher had a hands-off approach, assuming we were all capable of teaching ourselves. And the class mix, well, it was all the pre-med and engineering wanna-bes. At least this would be a less drama-filled class, I hoped.

  "You seem really calm for just starting in a new school," the girl next to me leaned in and whispered.

  Her warm brown eyes felt safe, and I shrugged one shoulder.

  "I guess I like this class better than my last one," I said.

  "What did you have?" she asked, pushing her long black hair behind her ear.

  "Benson's AP Lit." I watched her for a reaction.

  She chuckled. "Yeah, that's a ball-buster. They call him the Senior Slayer."

  I huffed and nodded.

  "Something tells me you'll be fine in there," she added. "No worries. It's the group of kids that'll be the pain-in-the-ass. Half of them are in it just to look good on their college apps. They know they'll fail, but by that time, they'll already have acceptance letters in hand. Just be ready."

  Hmm. She seemed to know what she was talking about, and I seemed to know the exact pains-in-the-asses she was referring to.

  I liked her already.

  Damn it!

  What was my problem?

  I was supposed to keep my head down.

  What was it about this school? It was almost as if a few select students jumped out at me and I couldn't help but pay attention to them. It was like they were in full clarity of my sight while all the others were a faded blur.

  There was a strange, subtle heaviness around me too. Like a secret everyone knew but wouldn't talk about. It covered the enti
re town. Everyone and everything looked so perfect, clean, and polished, which made me wonder what they were really hiding.

  I always picked up on things like that. I could sense when something was amiss. And here, in this new school, this new town, something was off.

  I bit my thumbnail, pondering the unnerving feeling, then she pulled my attention back.

  "Lab partner?"

  "Huh?" I blinked at her.

  "We need to choose lab partners," she said.

  "Oh, yeah. Okay."

  "I'm Poorva, by the way," she added with a smile.

  "I'm Brynn."

  She nodded like she already knew that and I rubbed my temples to release the tension.

  The rest of the period slogged forward, and I stared at the clock which moved slower than physically possible.

  Finally, at the bell, Poorva jumped up and grabbed her backpack. She slid her feet back into her Converse while keeping the heels crushed down.

  "X-block," she stated. "With Ms. Kelly."

  Wait.

  Poorva was in my X-block with Ms. Kelly... and she already knew I was in there too?

  I didn't know if I should be weirded-out by that or if I should just be happy.

  "Come on," she said. "You're gonna love Ms. Kelly. We have the best advisory group in the school."

  "Um, okay," I mumbled, trying to keep up with her quick pace.

  "People kind of hate us for it," she added. "They know we have something really cool going on, but it pisses them off that they have no idea what it is." She laughed, and it sounded almost musical.

  "So, I guess I'm lucky then?" My tone gave away my cynicism.

  "You could say that. But it's not really a chance kind of thing. You're either in it or you're not." She turned down the C wing toward guidance. "Ms. Kelly chooses carefully. She's never wrong."

  I slowed a bit, wondering what she was talking about.