Seniors

I sat up with a jolt. Something hard, wet and sticky had just hit the back of my head while Iwas engrossed in writing my essay. A piece of gum. Christ, it was only the first week of school, I thought as I put my hands up to try and release the thankfully not embedded gum from my hair. How could I survive the rest of the year here?
"Hey," a whisper cuts the silence in the classroom during the test. I try to ignore the jock sitting next to me-I don't need trouble.
"Hey, bitch, I hear you like to suck it," he continues as he tongues his pen suggestively. Meanwhile, his friends laugh quietly. "Do you want to come over? I could show a REALLY good time." Blissfully the bell rings and I'm out the door before I have to pay any more attention to this asshole.
Sometimes, walking home is almost a form of Chinese torture for me. I live nearly a mile away from school, just short enough to miss being bussed. Generally, the first half of the walk is filled with voices around me, talking about thier weekends, thier friands and family. Eventually, they peter out and I keep more company with the sidewalk than with anyone. The only true bright spot was Roger, the boy next door. He's my age, though he doesn't go to my school, and hot as hell, too. From what I can see, and often look, he's got the body of a swimmer with the looks of Jim Morrison and Heath Ledger. Long, dark, curly brown hair with brown eyes coupled with a quick grin, sex appeal and confidence. In other words, he is the absolute epitome of hip. Sometimes, when he sees me, he'll shoot me a grin and call me by name, something which I consider to be a minor miricle as no one else seems to see me.
Today I was not as alone as I would have preferred. Some underclass girls followed me home. Why, I don't know, nor I did I know who they were. I do know that one of them hit my back with a wad of mud while her friends giggled. Stop it was all I could think to say, which of course only goaded them further. "Hey fatty," Another one had picked up stick and was now poking at my thighs. She just laughed while I tried to swat the the stick away. "Please just stop it," I beg them, right before another clod of dirt hits my arm. In tears, I gave up and walked as quickly home as I could, trying to not feel the sticks, mud dirt and names. I was in tears when we passed Roger's house. Luckily his approach, his good looks and friendly "Hey Serena" to me scares off the other girls-can't look bad to a guy, even if they don't have the nerve to speak to him, but I'm so engrossed in my thoughts- I hate this I hate this hate this- I don't even notice.
"Please," I hiccup out, "Teach me how to be cool."
"What?" Poor dumbfounded kid.
"Make me popular. Make me fit in."
"I don't know if I can teach that stuff to people."
"Please, I'm begging you. I'll do anything." I grew desperate. "I'll write your papers for you."
It was too good a deal to miss. The combination of my four eyed, acne stained snot nosed round face and that deal got him into my corner.
"All right" he sighed. "Go inside and I'll figure something out."
...
"What kind of clothes do you have?"
I look down at what fashion mistake I'd chosen-a knee length courdroy skirt, a baggy grey sweatshirt, running shoes and purple socks. Nothing that had ever graced any magazine, except maybe Librarian's Monthly, if there was one.
"Just stuff like this. A lot of jeans, too."
"Do any of them fit?
"No, mostly baggy."
"You need to get to the mall and find something that fits. I'll go with you on Saturday, if you want."
"Um yeah sure." A date?
"Is one ok?"
"That's fine." Wasn't like I had any plans.
"Next. You need a haircut. You hide your face too much-maybe get one at the mall?"
"Sounds good." He knew more than I did, I figured, being a memeber of what I wanted to attact.
"Should I ditch these?" I asked, taking off my glasses. He pauses for a second and considers me without the.
"Can you see without them?"
"No, no contacts."
"Keep them then. They're you, somehow."
"One other thing before you leave," he continued, "Confidence is a part of coolness. You need to learn to fake it, sometimes, in order to have it, and most people can't tell the difference if properly done. Walk with your shoulders back, head up and LOOK PEOPLE IN THE EYES more often. Don't worry about stuttering, just gather your thoughts. But look at people. Stand up and walk for me. Much better," he said as I strutted across the room to him. "You should practice that. Be aware of it."
"Yes sir Coach sir." I now stood eye to eye, almost nose to nose, with him unnerving him slightly.
"Good. Don't stare, though." Roger punched my arm lightly. "Go home, I'll see you."
...
Back at the new abode, I studied myself in the mirror. Thick, long black hair strove to cover a round, pasty face while dark rimmed glasses hid green eyes. My clothes hung shapelessy, covering a gut, wide hips, and thick thighs. I rubbed my hands over my stomach and felt more flab than any cheerleader has ever felt. Roger was too polite to say so, but I needed more work. I decided to take a walk to some nearby parks.
The county which we'd moved to certainly had more parks then the ones I'd left several weeks ago. My mother's job had transferred her,with no warning, some months ago. I was allowed to finish up my junior year and spent the summer working and living with my grandmother near where my mother and I lived in Florida. I might have choosen to stay, but as my mother pointed out, I had long overstayed my welcome in my grandmother's retirement village. So I traded oranges, Publix and beaches for tomatoes, Wawa and the shore. At least there weren't as many old people. I walk to the parks behind my school, thinking superficial yet inportant thoughts: Hair-Pageboy, fringed, bob? Clothes- Sean John, Tommy, Eddie Bauer, Gap, Abercrombie, or Salvation Army punk?
The rest of the week came and went. I practiced my strut in school, Jackass made a reference to his penis every English class and I advoided the juniors. I kept myself busy combing magazines, and narrowing down choices of colleges. Transcripts would be a pain, and references hard to come by since my teachers hardly knew me. I started a diet and went to the gym every day and even though I had only lost a few pounds, by Saturday I felt better.
There was a new girl standing on Roger's lawn Saturday. Red headed, petite and pixish, she was dressed all in black from her form fitting shirt to her army boots. She grinned at me as she put her hand out.
"Hi. I'm Alyssa" I shook her tiny hand. "Serena."
"I figured. I hope you don't mind I've been assigned to be your dresser/fashion advice goddess."
"No." I liked her, I thought. "I need all I can get."
"C'mon, let's get his ass up." She went up a pounded on the door until Roger emerged, dressed old black jeans and a T shirt tight enough to make me drool.
"Morning girls. Ready?"
"Yeah. Let's see Serena survives your driving."
"I'm a bit of a leadfoot." Roger explained as we headed over to his mom's car.
"I've seen him get up to 90." Alyssa bragged. "He didn't even know it." "Wow." Boy was I being the brillant wit.
"Here." Roger tossed back a book of CDs to me. "Pick one."
Oh God, pressure. Kids judge each other on the music they listen to- what if I picked something horribly dorky? Some of these looked like his Mom's, some I didn't know. The Roots? Who were they? Frank Zappa? Well, I'd heard that he was good, from someone somewhere. I handed it up to Roger.
"Ah, Zappa. Here we go." The the twistiest, freakiest music I've ever heard came out of the stereo while Alyssa and Roger started to bob heads and sing up front. A modicum of success.

The first stop is the department store where Alyssa grabs some skirts, pants sweaters, etc off a sale rack.
"I"m going to try a classic look for you-not too trendy, 'cause you'd look stupid in those. What size?"
"Large?"
She looks at me quizzically before replying. "No," she said as she held up a shirt, "let's try a medium. Pants?"
"Nine ten."
"Take these." She shoves a load of clothes into my arms, and turns to find Roger while I head off.
"Not bad," she said to him. "From what you said on the phone, I'd thought she'd need surgery to look cute."
"She thinks she does. She'd look nicer if she'd get a haircut and clothes that fit. She looks like she's trying to hide in tents sometimes." Absently he picked up some pants.
"Don't worry. After today, you'll have a hottie on your arm."
"It's not so much that. I feel bad for her. She's here alone 'cause her mom works a lot, she's lonely and miserable. If she was pushed, she'd fit in."
"So, she's your charity case for the year."
"Well," he shifted uncomfortably, "Yeah. A little bit."
"Don't worry," she reassured him again. "By the end of the afternoon, she'll see those legs and that chest you've been looking at and she'll feel pretty good. Damn," she muttered, looking down at her own A cup, "What I wouldn't give for a pair of those."
"Now that's something I hate about girls. You're here, wishing you had a chest and I bet you anything she's in there wishing she was built like you. Most guys don't do that. We see a nice pair of pecs, we want them and we hit the gym. We don't wish or complain half as much."
"'Cause girls don't judge guys by looks half as much, and guys know that. Guys do go by looks or attraction, and girls know that."
"Boobs don't make relationships last."
"Yeah, but they start a lot." Alyssa replied. "Why would she want to be built like me? Don't guys like curves?"
"Love'em, baby."
"Chauvanist."
"Completely."
Meanwhile I'd finished dressing. I'd liked what Alyssa had picked out for me-nice bold colors, not all goth black, in cuts that seemed to fit. Still I had to tug the shirts to hide my bulging gut, which would hopefully be gone in a few weeks. I daydreamed about me as a swimsuit model before I grabbed my things and hurried out to meet Roger and Alyssa.
Most of the afternoon is a credit card induced blur, thankfully encouraged both by my overworked and guilt ridden mother and Alyssa. Roger is patient in department stores, Hot Topic, jewelry, perfume and makeup but draws the line at my haircut. Following Alyssa's knowledge, I go up to the hairdresser's on the second floor, ask for Marcie, and pray she knows what she's doing.
She works a miricle while Roger and Alyssa complete shopping. I leave to meet them by the elevator with my hair seven inches shorter, chin length ans sleek. I love it, I think as I leave.
"Hey." A voice that's obnoxiosly familiar taunts me from nearby. Jackass and company have me cornered between the beauty parlor and the elevator.
"What are you doing this weekend? Want to come over? I got some of them girl on girl videos ya did?" He comes in closer, sneering down at me.
"Why can't you leave me alone?"
"Aww, little baby don't want some?"
"From you, you pathetic piece of shit?" A chrus of ohhs and ahhs follow a royally pissed off Alyssa as she comes in from behind.
"Excuse me?" I could see his brain, trying in vain, to figure out if she'd really kick his ass. My money would be on her.
"What, are you too dumb to answer someone who talks back?" She pounded her finger into his chest at her eye level.
"You want a bit of this?"
She laughs. "Not likely."
"What you some type of lesbain bitch?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Oohh, hello girls." Roger snuck up, with his long hair in a ponytail and a pink scarf around his neck. "Oh my God! Rachel how nice to see you!" he exclaimed to the supremely confused Jackass. "Serena and Alyssa, I 'd like you to meet Rachel, the one I told you about. Honey," he said turning back to Jackass,"your show at Clarissa's last week was FABULOUS. I just loved, and I LOVED you in that little mini. Girls, he had on the most gorgeous emerald mini on and when he turned around, it was just to die for. The boys and I adored it. And the dance number! Anyway," Roger continued, grabbing our arms and turning us away from Jackass and his laughing crew, "we have got to get back to our shopping. And don't forget to call Alan-he's feeling used, but he loved that uh, trick you showed him in the bathroom. Ta-ta."
By now the three of us are crying, we're laughing so hard.
"Dude, you're brillant. Where the fuck did you get that scarf?" Alyssa asked as she snatched it and put it around herself.
"Lady left it somewhere."
"What's Clarissa's?" I ask dumbly.
"Gay bar in Philly-it's for underage. We play there sometimes-you should come and check us out."
"Yeah, I'd like that." Me in a gay bar? Why not?
"Speaking of which.." Alyssa shifted topics. "Where are we playing tonight?"
"Joey's. I'll give you directions later. You should come too,"Roger said,turning his attention back to me. "We could use some help."
Jesus frickin' Christ-me? A roadie? I almost wet my self with estasy.
"Yeah, certainly. When?" My blase response belied me.
"Tonight, at about 7." Roger replied "I'll pick
you up."