Mia Luce

Oakridge

         The first thing I heard on the first morning of my stay in Oakridge was the obnoxious bleeping of my alarm clock. I rolled over, bleary-eyed, and groped for the “off” button. It was nearly impossible to reach it without out falling to the floor, but amazingly, I touched the button before the fourth beep sounded. I lay still, staring at the ceiling, my head heavy and my neck stiff from the flight. I would have been happier driving, but for some reason my parents thought it was best to shove me on a plane heading across five states by myself.

         I swung one leg over the edge of the bed and sat up, a mop of messy, curly hair falling in my face. I looked around my new room thoughtfully, remembering what it used to look like when I was visiting as a little kid every year. This certainly wasn’t the room I had grown up in, that room was back in Trenton. The walls were an off-white, painted ten years ago; there was a desk cramped in the corner and a spindly chair, a chest of drawers, and a blue rug. The east window showed me a grassy stretch of field and a lining of trees.

         I shivered slightly, hating the time of morning when you first wake up, no longer warm and cozy. After a moment of pondering exactly how many tortured steps it would take to get to the bathroom, I finally dragged myself out of bed, the padded carpet muffling my steps, and went into the small hallway. It was dark and claustrophobic. Quietly, I pushed open the bathroom door and turned on the light.

         After a fast shower with the water as hot as I could get it to calm my nerves, I dressed in the clothes I had hung over the towel rack the night before. It was a long-sleeved button-up blue shirt with a lacy camisole underneath and a pair of my new jeans. I hoped very much that I wouldn’t stand out, since I had no idea how kids in Maine dressed. Briefly I saw an image of Eskimos waddling around in the snow, and I was tempted to laugh, but my other anxious thoughts pushed it away.

         I came out of the bathroom, my hair still wet,  and crept down the hallway. This time there was a faint light coming from downstairs, which meant that Vanessa was already up and waiting for me, as I had been expecting. Vanessa was biologically my mother, but besides not being completely comfortable with calling her “mom”, she had told me on the drive from the airport that I could call her whatever I wanted. I hadn’t been around her much as a kid.

         I ambled down the stairs, stumbling on the bottom step, and into the bright kitchen. I squinted my eyes. Vanessa was there at the table, setting two plates on the yellow placemats and practically bobbing up and down.

         “What do you want for breakfast, sweetheart?” She asked excitedly, enjoying her new role as my mom. “I have toast, cereal, blueberry muffins…”

         “Actually, I’m not very hungry.” I replied tiredly, sitting in the chair across from hers.

         “Are you sure? It’s your first day of school.”

         “I’m fine.”

         She sat down with a bowl of Lucky Charms and I noticed how pretty she looked today. Her thick blonde hair was pulled neatly into a ponytail, and she was wearing a lavendar blouse and skirt. She was always a very good-looking person, and sweet. But she was strange-minded. Somehow she saw things in a different perspective.

         “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Vanessa suddenly spouted, noticing the question mark on my face. “I got a great job last week, as a secretary for the mayor of Oakridge.”

         I smiled encouragingly. “That’s great!” I cried, trying not to sound too surprised. It had been a while since she was able to hold down a good job. Maybe this would be the one, though. This seemed like the perfect thing for her.

         “Thanks, sweetie,” she said, twisting a pearl earring distractedly. “I should probably get going. I have to be at the office by eight. Your school starts at eight forty-five. I think,” she grinned cheerily, stood, kissed me on the forehead like a child, and grabbed her purse off the counter. “Good luck!" I watched her leave through the garage door and smiled to myself, as if enjoying an inside joke. Vanessa was obviously trying so hard to be “mom-of-the-year.”

         I put my unused plate back into the cabinet and jogged up the stairs and into the bathroom again. Standing in front of the mirror, I tried to look over myself critically, through the eyes of a stranger. Regular brown ringlets (well, not even ringlets, more like waves) and genetically inherited hazel eyes from my dad’s side of the family. The only bothersome thing about my was my…plainness. Plenty of girls in Trenton were the same as me, brown hair, hazel eyes. What would my new classmates expect me to look like, a girl from New Jersey? Blonde hair like Vanessa’s, blue eyes, a glowing tan complexion? Ha. I was the opposite.

         I scoffed at my insecurities as I brushed my teeth with unneeded vigor. Whoever it was that said it doesn’t matter what others thought of you must have been incredibly good-looking.

         I rinsed my mouth and stared again at my reflection. Okay. I was going to have to live with the fact that I was about to become the new kid in a close-knit, small-town high school. But, maybe people were different here in Oakridge, Maine. Maybe the constant fog clouded their brains and made them think that a new student was a potential friend.          

         When I made it into the living room at last, it was only eight fifteen. I wondered what Vanessa expected me to do for half an hour. Stare at the wall? I wasted two minutes swallowing a Nutri-Grain, seeing as my stomach was snarling at me to eat.

         Stare at the wall was pretty much what I did until it wasn’t too early to drive to school. I stuffed two binders, a spiral notebook, and a pencil in my navy shoulder bag and grabbed my keys from the hook.

         When I opened the front door, a wintry breeze rippled my hair and chilled my spine. It was an overcast day, not unusual. Great gray clouds hung low and threatened the ground with rain or snow or whatever came out of of the clouds here in February. My old black Impalas waiting faithfully for me in the small driveway. I hurried over to it and climbed into its frozen interior, turning the key in the ignition. It purred happily and warmer air blasted in.

         Vanessa had given me vague directions to the school, but I had been preoccupied at the time and only remembered it was close to City Hall. So, I figured it would be on Highway 81, right? Ha, wrong.

         When I pulled up to a stoplight, confused and lost, I looked around and saw a girl in the drivers seat of a beat-up Voltswagon Beetle. She was jabbering away on a cell phone and picking at bright pink nails. I assumed she was headed to school, so I followed behind. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice me.

         Oakridge High appeared to be one medium-sized brick building, shrouded on either side by parking lots, one for students and the other for staff. I entered slowly into a line of cars and parked inconspicuously toward the back, party hidden by a bushy pine tree. Getting out of the car and slipping on my brown knit coat, I refused to look at anyone looking at me and walked briskly, hands shaking, towards the glass door that everyone else was entering through.

         Before anyone could make eye contact with me, I severed into the office on the right.

         Inside the warm room was a small sitting area with a few plastic chairs and a leafy plant sitting on a coffee table. In the middle of the office were three vast wooden desks piled with a disarray of vibrantly-colored notices, flyers, and sticky pads. The walls around me were a shiny, mossy green. Behind the desks were doors leading to the principal’s, vice-principal’s and nurse’s offices. A secretary saw me come in and straightened up in her seat, so I trudged over to her like I was ready to face the death sentence. The brass nameplate on her desk that read, “Rachel Gray, Secretary” was partially obscured by picture frames displaying two red-headed children. Her own hair was just as vivid.

         “Uh, I’m Campbell Harris-” I began, seeing the expectant look on her face, but she interrupted me by shifting a pile of papers aside, nearly causing a paper avalanche. She pulled out from the mess a packet made of stiff, violently green paper and scrawled something on it with a fuzzy zebra pen.

         “This is your schedule,” she said, holding up the packet. It was a schedule, all right. “The room numbers are right here. And this-” she flipped a page, “is  a map of the school. Welcome,”she smiled warmly up at me. “Do you think you need an office aid to help you find your first class, dear?”

         I glanced at the group of freshman sitting on the floor in the corner, all of them suddenly eager. No thank you.

         “I’m pretty sure I can find it, thanks.”

         She gave me the packet and told me to have a nice morning. I shoved it into my bag, not wanting its bright green pages to become a “look at me” sign.

         When I was out in the chilling cold again, more and more students were arriving. Thankfully, my car blended in perfectly with the others. There weren’t any shiny Mustangs like in Trenton. Students flooded the sidewalks and I joined the crowd, trying not to stare at anyone. Some were asleep on their feet, wandering around like zombies, and others were chattering happily, their breath visible in the air. When I saw two people exchanging boxes of chocolates and a few others carrying teddy bears, I realized it was Valentine’s Day. Great.

         I went through a side door that was closer to my first class, moving to avoid a passing clique of girls. First period, I saw, was English with Mr. Stevens. I had never had a male English teacher, English being an almost feminine subject, so this would certainly be interesting. I could feel the scorching eyes of curious strangers on me as I found D112 and stepped nervously into the brightly lit classroom.

         I tried not to freeze in the doorway, but of course I did anyway when I saw a class-full of kids ogling at me. Quickly I unfroze and and maneuvered in between rows to Mr. Stevens, who was seated behind his desk. He was balding and short, with glasses and a striped polo shirt. He nodded his head in acknowledgement of me and gestured to an empty seat in the second row from the door. I sat, relieved that he didn’t announce my presence to the class, and dug for a pencil in my bag.

         The girl next to me on the left was trying not to stare. She was small, with a willowy frame and thick black hair that hung about her shoulders. I watched her give up a and lean across the aisle. She had chestnut-colored eyes, like a doe’s.

         “Aren’t you Campbell Harris?” she asked politely, folding one hand under her chin. I nodded, though it was obvious she knew who I was already. She smiled sweetly. I’m Gabbie Nelson.”

         “Hi,” I mumbled, wishing Mr. Stevens would start talking or something.
         Gabbie glanced around the classroom, smiling meaningfully at a few people. Was it my imagination, or were people giving us envious looks? Nearly everyone was gawking at us. I blinked, but the faces didn’t go away. So the fog did cloud their brains.

         “Gabbie!” someone from behind me muttered, and Gabbie turned around to look at a girl with strait red hair and a fashionable beige sweater. She whispered, “Chris’s looking at you.” Gabbie stared across the room, but I couldn’t tell who this “Chris” was. She blushed, then noticed me searching for whoever she was looking at. She said hastily, “Oh, this is Tiffany Gray. Tiff, this is Campbell.”

         The red-headed girl waved at me. She looked like the secretary, but then again they had the same last name, so Tiffany was probably one of the kids in the picture frames, her daughter.

         “So, what’s your next class?” Gabbie asked, fiddling with her fingers.

         I took my schedule out of my bag and peered at it. “Um, History, with Mrs. Garcia.”

         “Us too!” Tiffany cried. She and Gabbie read my schedule and announced that we had every class together. Hmm, what a coincidence.

         The morning went by remarkably quick. Gabbie and Tiffany introduced me to several people, but I remembered none of them. History and Calculus were a breeze; we had been ahead of them in Trenton, but I didn’t mention that to anyone. When noon rolled by, Gabbie and Tiffany lead me down the hall into the cafeteria and over to a circle of vending machines, where four people were already standing in a half circle.

         “Hey everyone,” Gabbie said comfortably. “this is Campbell. I told her she could sit with us at lunch.”

         “Cool,” said a tall guy with spiky blond hair. He flashed me a handsome smile. I just stood there. “I’m Chris Wallace, nice to meet you.”

         “You too,” I muttered, my face flushing. I noticed Gabbie look suspiciously at Chris, and then at me. Oh, this must be the Chris in English who was looking at her. Obviously she had a thing for him.

         He smiled again, and mumbled, “This is Cora Smith,” he gestured toward a girl with dark, short hair, then at a brunette who grinned shyly, “Lark Lawrence, and Gage Nelson.” The only person left was a boy with the same black hair and brown yes as Gabbie. I guessed that they were twins. Everyone beamed at me and I noticed that all of them were good-looking and well-dressed. I felt out of place.

         We began walking toward the cafeteria, all seven of us in one big group. They must have been the cool crowd, because almost everyone who passed either eyed them jealously or lowered their heads. I stared at the white tile, flecked with gray, my cheeks pink. In the wide, open cafeteria, there were ten tables, and only about one hundred or so students. There was only one lunch, so this was the whole student body? In Trenton, my senior class alone was an estimated three hundred kids! This was a small town, indeed.

         We got trays (deli sandwiches and salads, a nice change from the gross tacos I was used to) and sat at a completely empty table that I sensed no one else dared to take.

         All through lunch, Chris and Cora kept up a running interrogation, asking me general questions about myself. I was too hungry to pay attention to how I was answering. The majority of the students around us managed somehow to eat and stare at the same time. Most tables were full, but I noticed one at the very back, where only three people were sitting. I thought that was a little odd. Maybe they were the nerds; I couldn’t see them very well.

         As I was leaning over trying to see past Gabbie’s head, one stood up. He began loping toward the front, toward me, and I stared at him, transfixed, all the way out the glass doors into the parking lot, where other students were leaving campus for lunch.

         He was no nerd, that’s for sure.

         He had sauntered by so quickly that all I got was a glimpse. He was tall, maybe 5’ 11”, and had raven black hair that was casually styled, yet perfect from every angle I saw him at. I noticed his pale skin before Gabbie blocked my view and he was out of sight.

         “Uh, Campbell? Hello?” Gabbie muttered, looking at me quizzically.

         “Huh?”

         “I asked you if you have any brothers or sisters.”

         I blinked. “Um, no. Just me.”

         After a long (and admittedly, agonizing) lunch, I followed Gabbie and Tiffany to Physics. Our teacher, I saw, was Mr. Barnes. He was a thin man with gray hair and wiry, square glasses. Instead of desks, there were eight lab tables with a sink each. Those high stools were going to be the death of me. Each table sat four. Before I could even go up to his desk, Mr. Barnes folded a piece of paper and left the room carrying it.

         I looked around blankly. Gabbie and Tiffany gave me apologetic looks from their full table across the room. I decided to sit at a table with only one other girl at it, who was short and had glasses and braces both. I felt sorry for her over here, all alone. She looked up at me, amazed. How could I be amazing? Really.

         I had assumed, stupidly, that she and I would be the only ones at this table. Wrong again.

         Who should come through the doorway now, but the mysterious boy from the table at the back?

         I childishly refused to look at him. But when he froze briefly at our table, something drew my eyes up.

         Oh. My. Lord.

         I very nearly gasped, but stopped myself just in time.

         He was the most beautiful human being I had ever seen in my entire eighteen years of living. He didn’t even look like a human being, he was so striking. Tall and slender, he had those long, wiry muscles, not too big. A perfect head of satiny black hair, casually disarrayed, hung a little in front of a pair of sapphire blue eyes. He was pale, really really pale, the color of porcelain. And he was staring at me.

         “I… I-” I blubbered. “Am I sitting in your seat?”

         He sat gracefully atop the edge if the stool next to me and simply said, “No.” His voice was low and smooth, like velvet. He smirked slightly and I saw something on his face…smugness? But, why? I knit my eyebrows in bewilderment, and kept my gaze up, away from him, which was excruciatingly difficult, toward the center of the classroom. I was itching to gaze at him again. Most of the kids looked curious, waiting to see what the new girl would say to the…mysterious, undeniably gorgeous guy.

         “So,” came his smooth voice again, and I turned around in astonishment. He blew me away again. “You’re Campbell Harris, right?” He asked, enjoying my stunned reaction. For some reason, I was pleased when my name came out of his lips.

         “Y-yeah,” I stuttered.

         “Jack Lewis.”

         He smiled an alluring smile; his pearly white teeth were dazzling.

         “Hi, Jack,” I managed.

         He leaned sideways in my direction and rested his cheek on his pale fist placidly. My heart skipped about three beats as Mr. Barnes finally reentered the class and took his place at a podium. Without an introduction, he began a lecture on inertia, a subject we had already finished weeks ago in Trenton.

         “As all of you should know by now, inertia is the property of matter that…”

         Jack had a glint of chestnut in his hair that glimmered when he turned his head. He caught me staring and I looked down in embarrassment, a second late.

              “This causes an object to keep going even after the force has…”

         Wow. His eyes were so bright and calm and blue.

         “Friction also plays a key role in slowing the rate of…”

         I saw Jack peer over into the corner of the class. I hadn’t even noticed the other incredibly perfect person in the room.

         She was tiny. She could pass for thirteen, easy. Her hazel hair was cropped chin-length, but it was glossy and silken, and she was just as pale as Jack. He gave her a meaningful look, and she raised her delicate eyebrows slightly. Immediately, I knew she was his sister. There was some kind of unexplainable sibling connection between the two of them.

         The rest of Mr. Barnes’s lecture was lost in my swirling thoughts of Jack Lewis.