my life in novel form, part II

By nine o’clock on my third day of high school I was freaking out. I had just barely found my locker and was desperately trying to unload my new books into it. I knew that I only had about 2 more minutes to finish this up and rush to my English class. I loved English but my teacher was already starting to be a square. She was actually quite round, a nice little irony for such a prudish woman. I knew that if I was late I would be publicly reprimanded. My walk became a hustle. Two more doors! The bell sounded and I was three steps into the room. I looked quickly for a seat and found the last one. Our teacher was nowhere to be found. All that rushing for nothing! I quickly sat down. I tried to collect my thoughts, pulling out my notebooks. My heart was still pounding from my run.

“HI!” a face suddenly appeared just inches from mine.

I jumped back in my seat. I couldn’t even reply I was so surprised. The girl sitting in front of me had turned around almost as quickly as I had sat down. And there she was, waiting for me to say something back to her.

“Hi!” she said again. “You must be new here, I’m Noelle. If you need help finding your way around, let me know!”

The face, apparently named Noelle, turned around.

This time, even my thoughts were stammering. I knew that I didn’t have to reply, she hadn’t even waited to hear an answer from me before turning back around. But I was mystified from our short interchange. My emotions changed from bewilderment to anger at myself. Why couldn’t I just be normal and say Hi back to her, or something? What is wrong with me? I must have looked so stupid. She’ll never talk to me again.

Our teacher had arrived and class had officially begun. As I started following along in my textbook I began to study Noelle. The face was attached to a long neck and a slender body. Her face was plain and pretty, her eyelashes danced above murky green eyes. In many ways she reminded me of a giraffe, just without the spots. She was dressed casually in a dark orange tank top and jeans. Her bra strap dangled out of one side. Her hair hung to about her shoulders and appeared to originally be brown, but still had traces of the black it had once been.

My thoughts were interrupted when Noelle raised her hand to answer a question; I hadn’t even heard a question asked. She patiently held her hand in the air, waiting to be called on. It may be stupid, but I had never seen what a bare shoulder looked like when a hand was raised. I was surprised by the way her skin creased above the ball of the shoulder. It was a perfect fold line, like you could hold a piece of paper in it. I began to wonder if my arm would do that too. I raised my right hand and felt with my left to see if my skin creased as well. It did! How cool is that?

“Yes?” the teacher paused and looked down at her seating assignment, “Jenica is it?”

Oh no! The teacher had asked a question, I hadn’t heard it, but like an idiot there I was raising my hand. “Um, could you rephrase the question?”

A low laugh swept through the room.

My teacher, Mrs. Zeirold replied, “The question was: What did you do over the summer?”

First of all, I hate being asked this question upon returning to school. Everyone else has had some amazing experience or vacation, like going to Africa, or surfing in the Caribbean. And I stayed home making as much money as I could to pay the extra bills that summer brings, my parents had less work during the summer because of their schooling schedules. Once a year my family would go to St. George and stay in a cheap hotel and swim for a few days. We couldn’t afford to eat at restaurants so we would bring MRE’s from our food storage. My dad warmed them on the car engine. We didn’t look like we were vacationing, we looked homeless. The typical English assignment is a difficult enough essay for me to turn in, let alone to have to share in front of a classroom full of people with interesting lives.

I lied, “I spent the summer building schools in Mexico.”

Another sweep went through the room, but this one a whisper of admiration.

Dang! Why was I only interesting when I was lying about who I was?

Noelle, turned to me, slower this time, “That’s cool, man.”

I whispered, “I lied.”

She whispered back, “I figured. I have no life either.”
And despite the terror that our first encounter had caused within my heart, we became almost instant friends.

my life in novel form, part I

My first day at Orem High School started with complete loneliness. Living over 10 miles from the public school I took public transportation. Sitting among members of the working class and the mentally challenged, I found repose, albeit within the state of being alone. Loneliness among strangers isn’t so hard to handle, but among your peers, that’s a deeper rejection.

I made it through my first three classes without major incidence. The lunch bell rang. I headed for the cafeteria with the other 600 or so people in my class that didn’t have a ride to go off campus. As people began lining up for certain foods I hung back, so unsure of myself that I couldn’t even decide what to eat. I felt like all 600 people were watching my every move. Who is that loner? What will she eat? I began to question if certain foods could make me more popular. But at the same time, would buying cafeteria food make me look like a loser?

I finally decided on a Blimpie sandwich. I hated Blimpie, they were the worst sandwiches ever made. But the better looking people in the cafeteria were buying them up. And it did appear that the “losers” were eating regular school lunch. As I tried to get in line at the Blimpie counter I was stepped on twice, damn my height! I had picked the line with the football team. I was suddenly so aware of my short pants, my awkward boots, my heavy backpack. Was I wearing deodorant? I was stepped on again. People continued to cut in front of me because they didn’t even notice that I was there. I tried to speak up for myself; nothing came out but a whisper. I finally pushed my way to the front of the line; all they had left was ham sandwiches. I hate ham.

As I paid too much for a sandwich I didn’t want, a thought finally stung me. Where was I going to sit? I had been so torn up by the food choice that I hadn’t even contemplated the idea of where to sit after I had gotten my food. I turned to find every table crowded to the brim; every table but one. The tables originally sat 8 people, but this table had all but 2 of its chairs commandeered for other, more popular tables. This orb of hatred stood as an island. Because of how crowded the other tables were everyone was walking right past my lonely little table, in fact some were even walking on top of it because there was so little room to get by. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t put myself on display as the only one in the room without a friend.

I plastered a smirk (always play mysterious) on my face and walked around the little table, forcing my tears back, heading for the door. I passed groups of kids collected in clumps along the hallway. I walked out into the sunshine, into the bliss of none-competition. I found a tree and flung my backpack under it. I ate the morbid sandwich, realizing that I had forgotten to get a drink. I could barely swallow the soggy bread. I also came to the realization that the sandwich was completely plain, no mayo, no lettuce, no flavor; except of course ham. I hate ham.

I had high hopes of meeting more people like me at the new school. But what “type” of person was I anyway? At my previous school I had found a group of misfits, scoundrels really, with the proper name of the “rat-pack.” There were 10 of us girls, 2 lesbians, 2 bisexuals, the rest straight; what an odd name for an orientation. Straight, like everyone else is crooked? And gay, when did that name land on someone? Do they really think they’re having more fun that the straight folk?

To get back to the point, in this group of girls 7 of them were users of one or all substances. We also had witch. A real live, cursing, vampire loving, witch. And then, there was us, 3 of us that weren’t using, weren’t sleeping with anyone, and were not casting spells; home by 10 pm type girls. How we found ourselves in this group of friends, I’m just not sure. But I do know that we had each separately, sincerely tried to fit in with other types of people.

I knew that I didn’t belong with the slut cheerleaders; I was didn’t have the ability to fake perkiness. I was intelligent, but not a dweeb; I wasn’t willing to settle for that type of life, social suicide is what it would have been. I wasn’t athletic in any way, so I didn’t fit it with the jocks, the dancers, or the skaters even. I came from a poor family, so it limited me greatly as to what type of friends I could even afford, so not a preppy either. I liked the idea of drama and art, but I didn’t have the time in my schedule to take many elective classes. So who was I really?

My life at home consisted of raising my parents and my little brother. Both of my parents had decided three years before that they needed more education in order to further their careers. I became a mostly-stay-at-home surrogate mother. My parents went to school full-time and worked campus jobs. I was left to cook, clean, do laundry, raise my 8 year old brother, pay bills (sometimes with my own babysitting money), balance the checkbook, go grocery shopping, etc.

My parents had graduated together and we were all looking forward to moving on to the next chapter in our lives. I looked forward to getting out of our apartment. Technically we fit in the apartment. After all it was 3 bedrooms and there were only four of us. We weren’t supposed to look at it as tight, but “snug.” But in an apartment there is nowhere you can go and hide.

Night after night when I had taken all that I could take I would sit on the shared porch of the apartment complex. Rejuvenation came from my escape. Sometimes all that it took was a moment, to catch my breath, before returning to my family. Often times though I spent far more time. In the winter I found complete solace, wrapped in a blanket, starring out at the night sky. Winter time brought Orion in the evening. My warrior peeked above the horizon in the South. I counted his belt: one, two, three; trying desperately to think of three people that might love me. I was starving; turning myself inside out to find love.