The New Girl

I really don’t want to wait until tomorrow, I want to start now. I just want to be in school already, meet new people, and get the first day over and done with. First days are always the worst. Through the many different times I’ve switched schools, I can definitely say I’m speaking from experience.

My family is constantly moving from place to place, and every time that happens, I need to switch schools. It’s not particularly fun, but I also won’t complain. Every new school is a new opportunity to either change, grow, or become someone else completely. The power I have in my hands is endless. Nobody knows me yet, so technically I could become anything.

But at the same time, every new school is another place where I know absolutely nobody. It’s another place where I don’t know if people are going to accept me or completely snob me out. I never really know what to expect. So far I haven’t exactly had amazing experiences, but every time I remind myself that it’s temporary and that I can survive it. I only need to survive four months, so it’s usually not so bad.

Of course, the schools don’t know that.

They just know we moved from another town and that my parents are trying out this area. They know it might not be permanent, but they usually assume we’ll stay for the whole year. Nobody expects somebody to just disappear after a few months.

Honestly, I think that’s part of the reason I never get too attached to anyone anymore.

Anyway, even though first days are horrible, I would still rather they happen immediately. I don’t care if I’m exhausted from unpacking boxes all night, and I don’t care if I’m grouchy. I just want to get it over with before I have time to think about all the possible ways things can go wrong.

I’m still not exactly sure how I’m going to act at this school, but I decided on one thing.

I’m going to be myself.

No pretending I don’t like sparkles.

No pretending I don’t care about colors matching.

No pretending to be quieter or cooler or less excited about things.

Pretending usually ends terribly anyway because once girls get to know me even a little bit, they start questioning me and getting confused. That’s usually around the three month mark, and it’s really fine because by then I already know I’ll be leaving soon.

So instead of making a list of what I will do, I make a list of what I won’t.

I get out of bed, grab my sparkly yellow notebook and matching pen, and climb back under the blankets.

I will not be loud and noisy

I will not start conversations first

I will not borrow things during the first week

I will not be too quiet

But I will not be too loud either

I stared at the list for a long time after that.

Every single thing on it is about what I shouldn’t be.

I tap my pen against the page, trying to think of something I will do, but nothing comes into my head. I think it’s because I have absolutely no idea what this school is going to be like yet, so I don’t know how I’ll act. All I know is what usually goes wrong.

Eventually I close the notebook, shove it into my bag, and force myself to sleep.

The next morning I put my uniform on and stand in front of the mirror for way too long. I keep imagining different scenarios in my head and how I would respond if they happened.

If somebody ignores me, I’ll pretend not to care.

If somebody asks questions, I’ll answer normally.

If somebody laughs at me—

I stop that thought immediately.

The walk to school feels way longer than it actually is. By the time I reach the office, my stomach already hurts.

The principal gives me a giant smile that looks extremely fake and walks me to my classroom. Halfway there she tells me everybody is “very excited” to meet me, which immediately makes me nervous because nobody is ever actually excited about the new girl.

When we walk into the classroom, every single head turns toward me so fast that it almost feels planned.

“This is our new student,” the principal announces brightly. “Everybody make sure to be extra welcoming.”

A few girls smile, but most of the smiles look planted.

I smile back anyway and go sit down where the teacher tells me to. Unfortunately, where she tells me to sit is the very front middle seat, which is probably the worst seat in existence.

The teacher starts teaching almost immediately.

Math.

Normally I would love that because I actually love math. I love numbers and equations and how everything always fits perfectly if you do it properly. Numbers make sense in a way people usually don’t.

Still, I don’t raise my hand once, even though I know every answer.

I want the teacher to like me, but I definitely do not want everybody deciding I’m a know-it-all on the first day. That title sticks forever.

So instead I quietly do my work in my sparkly blue notebook with my matching blue pen. I notice a few girls glance at it, then at each other, but I pretend not to notice. Maybe they think it’s pretty. Realistically, they probably don’t.

The bell rings and the teacher leaves the room.

And instantly everything changes.

One second everybody is normal, and the next second I have a crowd of girls surrounding my desk.

Way too close.

I don’t think they like new people here. From the looks of it, most of them have probably known each other since third grade and never had anybody new show up before.

I quietly put my blue notebook away and take out my sparkly pink notebook with the matching pink pen instead. If they’re already staring at me, I might as well give them something to stare at.

I start doodling little flowers in the corners of the page while the comments start.

“Oh look, all her notebooks have matching pens.”

“Do you think she needs matching colors to concentrate?”

“She probably organizes her closet by rainbow order too.”

A few girls laugh.

I keep doodling.

“Ooh, and she draws too. Do you think she draws unicorns and rainbows to match all the sparkles?”

The circle around me tightens slightly. Not enough to completely trap me there, but enough to make leaving awkward. Which I’m pretty sure is intentional.

The insults keep getting worse and worse, and I can feel myself reaching the point where I’m either going to cry or accidentally say something mean back.

Then I look up for a second.

One of the girls looks familiar.

I don’t know where I know her from, but I know I’ve seen her before.

Unlike everybody else, she isn’t laughing that much. She keeps glancing at the other girls before looking back at me, almost like she wants to say something but doesn’t know if she should.

I look around the circle more carefully after that.

Some girls are obviously enjoying this.

Others look uncomfortable but are laughing anyway because they don’t want the attention turning onto them instead.

Every school has those people.

The real bullies and the girls who are just scared of becoming the next target.

Finally I stand up.

Nobody was expecting it, which made it easier.

I push past the weakest part of the circle and walk straight out of the classroom before anybody can stop me. I hear a few laughs behind me, but not as many as before.

The hallway is quiet, which somehow makes everything feel worse.

I lean against the wall and stare down at my notebook. One of the corners bent because I squeezed it too hard. Great. Now I have a ruined notebook.

I take a deep breath and tell myself that this is fine. It’s always awkward at first. Maybe not usually this awkward, but still. I only need to survive four months. I’ve survived worse.

Then I hear footsteps behind me.

“Wait.”

I freeze for a second before turning around.

It’s the girl I recognized.

Now that I’m looking at her properly, I know exactly where I know her from. Another school. Three years ago, or maybe it was four. We sat next to each other for a few weeks before I moved again. I remember because she used to wear tiny silver clips in her braids every day, and one time she let me borrow a purple marker.

It’s weird the things your brain remembers.

For a second neither of us says anything.

Then she holds something out to me.

My blue pen.

I didn’t even realize I dropped it.

“You left this,” she says quietly.

I take it from her carefully, and for some reason I suddenly feel embarrassed about the matching notebook again.

“You probably don’t remember me,” she says.

“I do,” I answer immediately, which surprises both of us a little.

She smiles, but only for like half a second. Then it disappears again.

Behind her I can hear noise coming from the classroom. Laughing. Chairs moving. Somebody saying my name.

The girl glances back toward the door, then back at me, like she’s nervous somebody will come out.

“They’re not always that bad,” she says.

I almost laugh because people always say things like that, and usually they are wrong.

But before I can answer, the bell rings loudly.

She jumps a little at the sound, then steps closer to me.

“There’s actually something you should know,” she says quietly.

The way she says it makes my stomach twist.

“What do you mean?”

She opens her mouth to answer.

But right then the classroom door swings open, and suddenly every girl is looking directly at us.

and friends.