The Girl Who Could Change Fate

Chapter 1: Lacey Joy WhiteFifteen. Kinda small. Round, heart-shaped face. Wannabe punk-rock chick, but mostly just chill. Careless, indifferent attitude, yet overall sensitive. Dressed usually in tight jeans, t-shirt, and old-style black Converses. Have a pretty sluggish swagger, though arms swing ape-ishly when walking. Yep, that's me. Lacey Joy White. Your average, everyday teenager. And the one getting shoved into a locker. At first, I didn't like to think of Lincoln High School as being another education system dominated by labeling and phony people. I hated stereotyping, after all. So it had been a bit of a shocker when, second week of freshmen year, my best friend and I had been barricaded inside a school trailer for two hours. Naturally, my philosophy of “just be yourself” went down the toilet after that, especially since one could get popped for saying something that deep. So you had the regular high school “Pyramid.” The preps, A.K.A. jocks and cheerleaders, were on top. You know—the ones who partied hard and got drunk every Friday night. Next were the punk- rockers who didn't give a damn about anything except skateboarding and music. They tended to score lower than a D on most tests because, well, they really didn't give a damn about anything except skateboarding and music. The third level of the Pyramid consisted of teenagers with a remote standing status—the ones who participated in extracurricular activities like Key Club and Drama and boasted of association with the preps through voluntary carpooling (on their part). Typically, they were a bunch of wannabes who never succeeded in reaching top high school reputation. Last was everyone else not worthy enough to be on any of the other levels: the nerds or geeks or dorks or whatever you want to call them. The ones who could be cared less about. Guess which one I was considered to be? Why I mention this now is because, after my face's daily meeting with a locker, I saw him. Alexander Price. My three-year crush who didn't know me save for being the creepy girl in English class gaping at him from the back of the room. I always thought of the “Pyramid of Popularity” every time I caught sight of him. It reminded me—reminded all of us—that there were opportunities everywhere, even if you were under the dumb illusion that achieving high school popularity really showed something in the overall scheme of life when it only mattered when you wanted it to. Only choice could stop you—always choice—because, ultimately, you can never be yourself: only who you're trying to be. Abruptly, I straightened up, although that was a little hard with my stupid messenger backpack weighing me down on one side. It had been a leathered, vomit-colored piece of crap my mom had gotten me from the Salvation Army for my birthday last year, but I had quickly mended it with some Avenged Sevenfold patches when I heard Alex liked them—'course, that was until his favorite band became Trivium. Anyways, I took it off and readied myself. This could be the day that he finally noticed I existed. “Hey Alex!” I said, rather croakily. But I didn't care. All I could do was admire his emo haircut and the way his thick, black curls shook slightly as he turned his head towards me. His mesmerizing dark eyes, framed by luscious lashes and heavy eye-liner, twinkled with confusion as he regarded the noob who had called his name. My breath caught. He had actually looked! And boy, was he dressed fabulous as always! A brown skater t-shirt that betrayed the fine musculature underneath. Baggy olive-green jeans that I would have thought ugly except on this occasion. And, oh my! He even had chains dangling from the loop of his pants! Beginning to understand why I wanted to become a punk-rock chick? He stared blankly at me for the briefest of seconds before walking away into the crowd of the school hallway. Desperation seized me. My stomach lurched uncomfortably—my mind jarred to a sharp stop. What was I going to do? Trinity came rushing out of the adjacent corridor; spotted him sauntering off as well as the deep, dejected defeat etched into my countenance; and hissed, “After him!” I need not be told twice. I thrust myself into the throng of students, taking note that, where Alex and I had been standing, there were four other people. A total of six. No wonder. I hurried up to reach the boy of my daydreams, struggling among students with apparent difficulty. Hey, at five-foot-three, school hallways are dangerous. “Alex…” I huffed and puffed. Classes hadn't even started and I was already worked up. He glanced at me with blatant unconcern. “Uh…Amanda.” “Lacey.” Amanda was the lesbian who sat next to me in English class and had a big-ass crush on me. Why anyone would like me, I have no clue. But he was one seat away, so it didn't matter that he hadn't known my name! “Oh.” It sounded like a dismissal. “We're in the same English class,” I offered. “Right.” And he just continued to walk away, leaving me feeling bereft and broken. I knew I should have said more, perhaps talked about the punk rock music I knew next to nothing of or complained about the long, stupid Macbeth worksheet Mrs. Kramer had given us for homework. Or the intense emotions I had for him that bubbled and blossomed just below the surface. I let people jostle me around for another minute, then headed back to where my messenger backpack was. In my absence, it had been ripped and battered up, and I noticed that my math book was missing. Sighing, I hoisted it onto my shoulder and scanned the remainder of the multitude for my one and only best friend, Trinity. She came immediately, passing through several students with fluid elegance as if they weren't there, her long, straight raven hair gracefully sweeping to the middle of her back like a dark, glistening cascade. Her slender figure and smooth curves allowed her easy access—and no, not in the perverted way. “What happened?” she demanded. Although she wasn't on dork status like me, she wasn't even close to the next popularity level either—possibly because she hung around with a loser. Even still, she dressed like a total prep—extremely short, skin-tight skirt that exposed too much flesh; low-cut tank top screaming her cleavage that barely dangled out of sight; and complete with make-up and straightened, silken hair which made my own cobbled together mascara and limp brown locks look like a bad day. Nonetheless, Trinity had been my best friend since the third grade. Buddies for life. Seriously. “Uh, it went okay,” I admitted. “We talked—for about ten seconds.” She frowned, but to me it had been record time. “Please tell me it wasn't about English class.” “How'd you know?” Trinity rolled her eyes before strutting off, though she waited patiently for me to catch up due to the condensed load of leather tumbling down my right side. “Talking about school is so uncool,” she said with forced finality. “We don't have anything in common, remember?” “You like the same music—or at least you pretend to.” “Yeah, we'd have such a great time discussing bands I know absolutely nothing about. Trivium or Atreyu or whatever,” I replied sulkily. It was true. The most punk-rock band I listened to was Paramore, and it was safe to say they weren't in the same genre of music Alex liked, not even close. I was hopeless. Couldn't this day go any faster and be over with? I was conscious that the light overhead was dimly flickering. Maybe my wish would happen… Trinity and I argued playfully for a few minutes before resolving to head off to class, just as the first bell rang. While she went to math, I hastened down the English hallway. My spirits were drowning in gloom again. First period was the most dreadful, loneliest course for me; the only person whom I could vouch for as “friend” was Amanda, and that was because she was more than willing to be my language arts “BFF.” Perhaps a little too willing, I reflected as I saw her jubilantly wave at me before happily marching into the room. I was about to follow her when someone abruptly stopped me. “Hey…girl.” In a heartbeat, I had wheeled around at the sound of that lovely, lavishing slur. I confronted a strong, square-jawed face and profound, penetrating eyes slightly shadowed by loose, intertwining bangs. Abundant pure pleasure spiked up my spine and behind my ribs in tingling fashion as my upper lip began to sweat profusely and my legs shuddered to jello within a fleeting second. Alex. I couldn't believe he was actually speaking to me just like that, and with as much inclination as Amanda wanted to get kinky with me. The future did hold happiness, after all. “Yes?” I asked, my voice quivering more from the fear of almost fainting from excitement than of the fear that I would probably say something stupid. “You're in my English class, right?” he inquired. “Why, yes, I am,” I answered dazedly, oblivious to the fact that I had already mentioned that earlier this morning. “Can I copy your homework?” Despite that I was engrossed in ogling his biceps and how they flexed under the strain of hauling his hefty backpack, that comment struck me as a little weird. Class would start in a matter of minutes and he wanted to cheat off me now? Why was I suddenly experiencing a badger of suspicion that clawed its way into my mind and relentlessly burrowed itself there like an aching itch? And after completely ignoring my attempts at meager friendship today as if I was the ugliest girl in school, what cause would be good enough to simply turn over my A+ worksheet? Did I really like him? Contrary to previous thoughts, my hand was digging into my backpack with as much desperation as a kid trying to pull gold out of his nose. After two seconds of not being able to find it manually, I tore my stupid messenger bag off and began half-hazardously tossing books and papers out without the slightest concern for them until— “Here you go,” I stammered breathlessly, cramming the piece of paper into his arms. “Just give it back before we have to turn it in.” He didn't respond, just swaggered into the classroom without even a thank you. For some reason, I wasn't feeling too good about that transient meeting. Swiftly, I jammed all my books and papers back into my bag, witnessing a frisson of mixed triumph and elation jolting through my body. I could trust Alex to return my homework before the teacher demanded it…Right? I hurried into English class and took my assigned seat in the very back of the room right when the final bell rang, and pretended to be unaware of Amanda's drooling gaze as she goggled at me in her starstruck fantasies. Within five minutes of class, Mrs. Kramer asked for us to pass up our homework. As I had already been staring at Alex two rows away, I didn't miss him cast a furtive glance in the teacher's direction before erasing what appeared to be a name on the right side corner of a worksheet. My name. On my worksheet. He didn't even try to glimpse me as he scribbled his own name down and handed it forward. Perhaps he knew he would see the expression of utter horror that was steadily warping my face. I wouldn't have wanted to see it either. “Now, that worksheet will be counted as a quiz grade…” Mrs. Kramer began. I didn't listen. Alex's betrayal was gnashing at my insides with teeth of biting cruelty as bitter understanding of his intentions dawned upon me with all the force of a tidal wave. I was suffocating under depths of cold reality, the truth more stinging than his actual actions—the truth that I was no more than a tool…that it was only illusion—an illusion I clung to nevertheless because it was all I could do. Man, life can be a b***h. I resisted the tears that clumped around my lashes, though the temptation to burst with them was more than enticing. My hands balled into fists that I smashed upon my Macbeth book with dull thuds. I didn't really like that—Macbeth happened to be my favorite play of all time, as it made me recall how helpless the title character was in striving to avoid his Fate at all costs—a Fate he could not avoid.