Complicated

New Student

1

It was one of those mornings where you don’t feel like leaving the warmth of your bed. I struggled to wake up. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and rolled out of bed, taking special care to avoid the identical twin bed next to mine. Stumbling to the bathroom, I managed to catch a glimpse of my lavender Moonbeam clock, I was late. Again.

I sighed. Staying up late was finally catching up to me. I stared at my reflection. Dark purple crescent moons hung from my green eyes. Normally, a dab of concealer would take care of that problem. Unfortunately, I was just that late. My bus would be arriving in ten minutes.
Time to move.

I quickly changed out of my fleece pajamas pants and old hand-me-down t-shirt into jeans and a sweater. Georgia hardly ever got cold. However, the fall and winter mornings were brutal. I did not want to freeze at the bus stop. I wasn’t in the mood.

A quiet knock on my door let me know my ride was leaving in five minutes. Every morning, my father drove me to the bus stop before heading to work.

Pausing first to grab my socks, backpack, and purse, I quietly tiptoed through the kitchen, snatched a bag of poptarts, and continued on my way out the house and into the garage. My father was already sitting in the driver seat of the cream colored A6 Avant Audi. I hopped in the passenger side and bade my father a silent good morning. We were very compatible for the morning routine—neither spoke a word and both were always ready on time. Even if I woke late, I somehow pulled off leaving my house at 6:20 am.

After my father had dropped me off at the bus stop, I had no choice but to shiver reluctantly, awaiting the arrival of my bus. Several other kids usually accompanied me, but the recent cold weather had parents driving their precious kids to school. Today all of us were present. It was Monday. The heaviest load was always on Monday.

I was surprised I could actually move when the bus arrived. My muscles seemed to have stretched themselves as flat as they could to my bones, searching for warmth. The heat and darkness of the bus was pleasant. I absentmindedly collapsed in a seat by myself. Leaning my forehead against the frosty window, my thoughts drifted.

Last Saturday had been amazing. One word: party. If there was one thing that could lift my spirits, a good party was it. Like frosting on a cake, this party was for my sweet sixteenth birthday. Super exciting. Queen of the party, center of attention. It was my night.

It did not go wasted. There were twenty-some people there, eating, laughing, partying. The details really weren’t too important, just what happened.

My first kiss. And it wasn’t on a dare or part of a silly teen game. It was for real and for me, the birthday girl. Derek Jameson. Derek kissed me, slowly and sweetly, before heading to his mustang and driving himself home.

To my dismay, Derek wasn’t my boyfriend. Yet. I couldn’t wait till I would see him at school. That moment—him asking me out—was just on the horizon. I could taste it. It tasted softly sweet and of honey, just like our kiss.

The squeak of the bus door opening broke my reverie. Students silently stood and unloaded single file. When my feet hit concrete, I immediately became part of the stream the current swiftly moving inside the warm, too familiar building and into the harsh fluorescent lighting. I followed, smiling at several kids who had come to my party. No Derek yet.

I was walking past a table in the commons room when I heard his voice.

“Hey, Micks!” He called out to me.

I turned my head and winked at him, playing hard to get. I kept with the current. A moment later Derek Jameson was at my side.

“Where you going?” He inquired.

“To my locker,” I responded. His voice made my stomach tighten.

“May I join you?” He asked politely.

He was too cute. I smiled brightly, thrilled. “Of course, Derek!”

“So,” he said.

“So…?”

“It was a good party, huh?”

My breath caught in my chest.

“Uh, yeah, Derek. Very good.”

He leaned against my neighbor’s locker and grinned. We spent the next minutes prior to first period reminiscing together. The sweet boy walked me to my first class, chemistry. As I turned to enter the class, slyly forgetting to say goodbye, Derek caught my shoulder. He spun me around to face him and kissed my cheek. I blinked once, smiled, and whispered, “See you later, Derek…”

Derek ducked his head, smiling. “Yeah.” Derek backed away grinning. “Bye!” He exclaimed. In his distraction, he bumped into a senior. The guy glared down at the junior. I giggled as Derek, embarrassed, apologized and hustled off.

I entered my classroom, strode to the blue plastic chair in the back left corner, and planted my butt firmly in my seat. Queen. I flipped my brown curls over my shoulder and folded my arms across my chest. The bell rang, and my fellow students fell silent as my teacher, Mrs. Orrender, began passing out worksheets about stoichiometry.

I reached into my backpack and retrieved my poptarts. I hungrily tore open the silver packaging and smiled a good morning to the brown sugar and cinnamon poptarts laying on my desk. I broke off a chunk of breakfast pastry and bit into it. I smiled—delicious!

As I munched on my breakfast, I watched Mrs. Orrender pass out the classwork. I groaned in disgust, and she eyed me, jaw tightening at the food. She shook her head at me and continued passing out the worksheets.

She had just finished when a new pair of tennis shoes squeaked into her classroom. Expecting it to be a tardy student, Mrs. Orrender turned to a gangly-looking, brown-haired boy.

“Why, hello,” She greeted, “Who might you be?”

The kid nervously shifted between feet, uncomfortable. “I’m Joshua West.”

Mrs. Orrender extended her right hand and he took it, shaking slowly. “Welcome, to Gwinnett High, Mr. West. I’m your new Chemistry teacher, Mrs. Orrender.”

With a sweeping gesture, she motioned to the only empty desk. With a plastered smile, she said, “Class, welcome our new student, Joshua. Please make him comfortable in this new setting.”

I rolled my eyes. She was trying too hard to care. New student—big whoop. I eyed him carefully. He was tall, easily six feet. Clearly, he wasn’t comfortable with his height yet because, when he walked across the room, his arms swung too far, knees bending. A recent growth spurt? His long legs wore the new jeans well, tight across the hips, loose elsewhere. The midnight blue shirt he wore was tucked in his jeans in the front. The brown leather belt he wore was worn and faded. He had his backpack hanging from one shoulder, hand shoved in his pocket. His other hand gripped a handful of papers tightly. Poor guy, I empathized. When I noticed his face, I nearly laughed.

His bright blue eyes were wide with fear and helplessness. His lower lip quavered. I immediately felt a strange emotion run through me. Sympathy. This kid was scared stiff.

Not stiff enough. The absurd boy was heading towards me, in his strange lope. I was suddenly uncomfortably aware that the only empty desk was directly to my right. I rolled my eyes again. Great. The big baby was gonna sit by me. Yippee. I slumped back in my seat, not bothering to mumble hello to Mr. Joshua West.

Instead, I dug out a pencil and began balancing equations. Mr. West can have a different helper.

Joshua took his seat and stared down at his new wooden desk through long brown bangs. I swear a tear fell off his slim cheekbone.

The boy in front of him, Marshall, turned in his blue plastic chair and welcomed my new neighbor. Marshall’s warm smile brought a small curve to Joshua’s lips.
He lifted his chin and introduced himself as Josh West. Marshall asked what his next class was and whether he wanted any help. That’s Marshall—Santa’s little helper. Marshall was a really kind kid, always looking out for others. I was glad somebody would take care of Baby Josh. I smirked. Derek would enjoy this situation.

Mrs. Orrender was droning on and on about stoichiometry, standing with her back to the class at the white board. No one—well, Marshall was the one exception—was paying attention.

“Hey,” A soft, sweet voice called from the corner.

Ugh. I looked at Josh with a wide smile and politely said, “Hey, Josh. I’m Michelle, but most people call me Micky.”

Calm, innocent blue eyes stare at me, taking in my every word. “Well, then, Micky…Thanks for letting me sit next to you.”

I leaned toward him, arching my back, top straining, “Not like I had a choice.”

A small, sad smile replaced his faked confident one. “All right, I get it. We’re not in the same social class. The first time you rolled your eyes was good enough.
I’ll leave you be.” He sunk into his seat and began the worksheet Marshall had gotten for him.

I shot him an incredulous look at him. Observant little baby. I smirked again. Oh, this was good. Derek would get a real kick out of the new kid. I sat back in my chair again and continued working through balancing the equations. Only forty five minutes left until next class. I smiled. Hopefully Derek would accompany me. Then I could share my interesting story about Mr. West.

I slid my gaze to Josh. My jaw almost dropped. He was two problems away from having the worksheet complete. No way! He was smart! Figured—he seemed the geeky type.

I twisted a curl between two fingers. Geeky or not, he seemed nice. If he ever decided to do something about his hair, he could easily jump from geek to hottie. I shrugged thoughtfully. Someone will need him just as he is.

With that, the rest of class passed boringly, with no more new students, wasted conversations, or useless thinking. Josh was to stay geek.