Chapter #91A Day of Something Like Firsts, Part 1 by: Seuzz   There is some slight chance that it's not really Chelsea over there, so it seems safest to approach Gillian. You stride confidently over to her and the others. Of the guys, only Christian and Caleb note your approach before you're onto them. "Hey guys, can any of you help me find Mr. Hagerman's classroom," you ask.
Gillian's mouth curls up in a broad smile. "Sure. Are you new here?"
"First day, yeah. I'm supposed to get my schedule and stuff from the office, but Mr. Hagerman was helping set things up for me."
Gillian detaches herself from the group and puts her arm in yours. "Yeah, I can help you out. Come on. I guess chivalry is dead," she mischievously adds, glancing over her shoulder at the unmoving boys.
"He was supposed to have some paperwork prepared for me," you explain as you enter the main doors. You're trying to impart some requests to Joe without breaking character. "Permission slips and--"
"I bet he's got it all for you," Gillian says. "He's real good at staying on top of things like that. How do you know Mr. Hagerman?"
Her tone is so convincingly inquisitive that for a moment you're not sure if the question is genuine or part of the act. "He's an old friend of my dad's," you say. "He's traveling on business--my dad, I mean--and Mr. Hagerman is looking out for me. He's even setting me up with a place to stay. Supposed to be, at any rate."
"You're not staying with him?" Gillian laughs. "He's a real hottie."
"Maybe he is, but I've got money to pay for my own place."
"It must be nice to have rich family, rich friends. Oh, I'm sorry, I don't mean to make it sound like that."
"You can make it sound like whatever you want, I don't care. My name's Rosalie, by the way. Rosalie Martin."
"My name's Gillian Kiefer. Oh, this is exciting. I feel like there's already a connection between us." She squeezes your arm happily. "I'm glad you asked me for help."
"Is there anything wrong with your friends back there?"
"They're just shy. We'll get you introduced proper later on."
The halls aren't very crowded, but no one seems to really pay attention to you. Hagerman is bent over his desk when you come in, and looks up with only a dim kind of recognition in his eye. "Hey, Mr. H," you nonchalantly greet him. "I wanted to start school today. You have some stuff for me?"
He looks blank until Gillian mutters "Those documents I called you about" under her breath, and then realization breaks. From his briefcase he draws out a small sheaf. "Just take these along to the office," he says. "They won't have a schedule for you, but they'll give you some classes you can try out. It's all set up with Sagansky."
"Thanks." You glance through the forms, but they don't mean anything to you. "I also need some other things," you add in a low voice. "Driver's license, Social Security card--"
"After school," Gillian says in a similarly low voice. "We're all supposed to get together. At Mr. Hagerman's, or the loft, depending."
"Depending on what?"
"On what a certain cheerleader decides. Let's go to the office, get you set up before first bell."
She lingers in the office with you as the secretary processes your forms and gives you a printout. "Here's a temporary schedule," she says. "We'll have to get transcripts from your old school before we can give you a final one."
"Aren't my transcripts in there?" You nod at the pile you'd given her.
She shuffles through it. "Oh, so they are. We'll get you a final schedule real soon then. Mr. Sagansky!" she calls in a loud voice that makes you jump a little. "This is Rosalie Martin, she's a new student," she says as Sagansky sticks his head from out of his office.
The school principal nods and smiles and beckons you back in. He's a tall, rangy man, not bad looking for being in his late forties, and his manner is pleasant as he discusses your situation and what the first week will be like for you. In your experience, Sagansky is a nice man, though he's totally ineffectual at riding herd on the many unruly elements in the student body.
* * * * *
Gillian has disappeared by the time Sagansky releases you, but it's almost time for the first class anyway. You peer down at the schedule. Fuck. Walberg. You were hoping to escape him. You hike your pack onto your shoulder and head off your first class.
It's already mostly filled, and you stand uncertainly in the doorway, looking for a place to sit. The AP crowd is already present: Kelsey and Amanda and Brooke and Lisa and Geoff and Martin Gardinhire and some others. Caleb is in his usual seat, and he does a little double-take when he sees you. Unhappily, you note Will Prescott slouched by himself in a corner in the back, looking angry and persecuted.
"Hey, who's the new girl?" You look over at the voice, and find Kelsey peering up at you with an expression that is sharp but not devoid of all warmth. You take a tentative step toward her, but her exclamation has also drawn Walberg's attention, and he raises his head to look at you too. So you trudge to the front of the room and show him your schedule while introducing yourself. "I think this is temporary," you tell him.
"Ayup," he rumbles. "Doesn't matter. Find yerself a seat and pretend it's for reals." He grips the pencil in his gnarled hands and returns to his note-making.
Kelsey taps the chair empty chair in front of her and grins. Gotta be Chelsea in there, you decide. That or she did a first-rate job of prepping the golem for your appearance. You've never seen Kelsey looking so friendly.
Not that there isn't still a sharkish cast to her smile as you smooth your skirt and gently slide into the chair. "Fresh meat for the killer walrus," she says, and leans toward you. "What's your name?"
"Rosalie Martin." Introductions are going to get old. "And what's yours?"
"Mm," Kelsey says, and her eyes glint. "My name's Kelsey. I like your style, Rosalie."
"Thanks. I like yours. Where'd you get the earrings?"
Kelsey dimples with pleasure and tucks her hair back to show them off. "In Taos. I was up there over the summer, visiting my aunt and uncle. He does some geological work up there, and she's a painter--" She prattles on in this way while you pretend to be fascinated. "So I come by it all honestly," she smugly concludes. "How about you?" She rests her chin in her hand and raises her eyebrows.
You dislike the question, for you've no good answer. Maybe Amanda or Gillian or Andrea could have given a story, but you've not got their memories. But you're not about to let Kelsey put you down as a poseur. "I just put on what I like and what I think will work."
Over her shoulder, you see quiet smiles from the other girls--all but Amanda, who is openly scrutinizing you--and the glint in Kelsey's eye sharpens a little. A hit, you think to yourself. A palpable hit for the new girl.
Kelsey squeezes your forearm. "We need to get together," she says. "I bet we'd have a lot of fun."
And then she rears back and settles in her chair. You hear a creaking from the desk in front, and turn to find Laurent Delacroix openly looking you up and down as he settles his pack on the back of the chair. Roman candles go off inside you as his dark face splits into a blindingly white smile.
Delacroix is the captain of the wrestling team, and his broad, round shoulders strain against the tight jacket he's wearing over a white t-shirt. He's not a bad guy--not a bully-boy like Black or Lynch or the Molester--but he never uttered a word to you in your former incarnation, or acted like he even noticed you. So it would be unsettling enough to have his full and intense attention directed at you. But this is more than just "noticing" you. His expression is just short of "me Tarzan, you Jane, that's the cave I'm going to drag you into." Alarm and excitement swirl inside you, even as the feminized instincts of Rosalie Martin sit up sharply in appreciation of his physical virtues.
"Are you new to school?" he asks bluntly.
"Yeah, I'm Rosalie."
"Laurent." He sits down heavily and turns sideways so as to look at you. "Where are you from?"
"Lots of places," you say. Dammit, you forgot to review your fake bio this morning. "Colorado, most recently."
"You move around a lot?"
"My dad travels."
"He's military?"
"No, his company just likes to move him."
"Must suck. You leave lots of boyfriends behind?"
"None who were serious." You're saved from further improvisation by Walberg calling the class to order.
* * * * *
You dutifully take notes, and find it somewhat easier to pay attention--probably more influence from the girls you'd copied. Laurent twinkles at you after class and promises he'll catch you around.
Kelsey scrutinizes your schedule out in the hallway. "We'll have this class together," she says, pointing to fifth period. She keeps her head lowered. "Be careful around Laurent," she says quietly.
"Tell Laurent to be careful around me."
"Ooh," she grins. "You already have your eye on him? He'd be quite a catch for anyone who could catch him."
"He might wind up on a list," you reply, and let your gaze travel slowly across the mass of students in the hallway. "Am I going to see you around, Kelsey?"
"Oh, yeah. I've got a feeling you're going to make lots of friends, Rosalie."
"I like to think I always do. Right now, though, I have to go find my locker."  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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