Accidentally Yours

Monday, August 10th 8:40am The first day of school—the worst time of the year. I mean, name one person who actually wants to go to school. Between the constant smell of sweaty, prepubescent teenage boys who want to f**k anything that has a v****a and the practically inedible cafeteria food—I do not know which one is worse. Not to mention that there is nothing less appealing than the whole concept of being stuck inside an old building for eight hours straight. No offense, administrators, but I have better things to do than listen to you ramble on about anti-bullying campaigns for the twelfth year in a row. Speaking of twelfth year, I'm finally a high school senior! I have wanted to be a high school senior for forever. I know that it sounds weird, but take a moment to think about it. You have way more freedom as a senior than you ever did as a first-year student. Plus, there are a ton of cool senior activities that you finally get to participate in. For example, mere hours ago, I was camped out on the football field with the rest of my senior class celebrating my first senior sunrise—It was admittedly a little anticlimactic, but I felt free nonetheless. This is going to be my year… I can feel it. I’m going to make sure of it—I don't care what it takes. I am in the midst of shoving an unnecessary amount of textbooks into my assigned locker when I suddenly hear my name being called from the other side of the corridor. “Amelia!” I turn in the direction that I hear the boisterous voice coming from. It is practically impossible for my eyes not to notice the energetic eighteen year old approaching me at a speed quicker than lightning itself. She approaches me so quickly that I do not have enough time to react before her arms are wrapped around my body. Some of the students in the hallway briefly glance our way, but essentially continue on their path to their homeroom class. A large smile makes its way onto my face as we part. “Hey, Stells.” I greet my eager best friend. Stella and I met in elementary school when I accidentally fell off of the monkey bars. While the other kids on the playground gathered around to laugh at my misfortune, Stella was the only person to step out of the crowd and help me up out of the sand. She even accompanied me to the school’s nurse, where I inevitably found out that I had sprained my wrist. I don’t know what I would have done if Stella hadn't been there that day. Stella releases her strong grasp on my body. As her face moves further away from the crook of my shoulder, her grey eyes widen with amazement. “Oh my god, you look hot!” she gasps. The ‘transformation’ that my best friend is overreacting about is nothing crazy. I did not get lip fillers or a boob job like she is making it sound like. Yesterday, after researching for weeks prior, I went to the hair salon for the first time ever. I asked the hairdresser for subtle highlights and layers. I later found out that she cut a few pieces of hair near the front of my head to help frame my face better. Along with this change, I also did a lot of research over the summer on clothing aesthetics and color palettes—I figured out which colors looked the best with my skintone and used that as a guideline when I went clothing shopping for the school year. After many hours of watching makeup tutorials and perfecting my skincare routine, I was basically all set for the new school year. Judging by Stella's reaction, it looks like all of my effort wasn’t completely wasted. My first two years of high school were rough, to say the least. When I first started at Clearwater High for my freshman year, I had high hopes. I spent the entire summer watching cliché, teen, high school movies. They all had conventionally attractive female leads who were able to make new friends the moment they walked into the school. In every single movie, the female lead somehow gets entangled with the popular crowd. Every boy falls in love with her and every girl is envious of her—I wanted that to happen to me. I wanted to be that kind of girl. Unfortunately, it didn't happen that way for me—Quite the opposite happened, actually. Instead of immediately making friends, I was made fun of by all the upperclassmen. Although they bullied all the freshmen, it just felt like they were constantly bullying me. They made fun of me for being too happy, being too loud, walking too slow in the halls. A majority of them even made fun of my looks and what I wore. I remember Stella and I attempting to try out for the cheerleading team that same year only to be beat out by the older kids. Unfortunately, the following year wasn’t any better. We were beaten out again in our sophomore year. That time it was by girls who had better technique than us. I tried to befriend some of the girls in the hopes that they could help me improve my technique for spring tryouts. As expected, all I got in return were dirty looks and glares from them—one even making fun of my physical appearance. Still desperate to try and make both friends and the cheerleading team, I tried out again the following year—I got beat out yet again this year. At this point in time, I remember thinking that they had a one-sided grudge with Stella and me. Though, I clearly didn't let it get to my head considering that Stella and I are trying out today after school once again. I mean, it is kind of like a tradition at this point. I roll my eyes at the obvious exaggeration, “If you would have come to the senior sunrise you could have seen me much sooner.” “I love you, Lia,” Stella confesses. “But I love sleeping way more.” I laugh at the girl as I continue to stuff my locker. Barely a minute passes by when the first warning bell sounds throughout the school. Stella reaches into her back pocket to retrieve her cellphone, the glass screen illuminating her makeup-free complexion. I cannot help but admire her naturally clear skin. “I have to go—My homeroom is across campus.” She groans. This interrupts my blatant staring. “I’ll see you in first period?” the grey-eyed girl questions. “Where else would I be?” The sarcastic remark rolls off of my tongue. Stella rolls her eyes at me before making her way down the long corridor. I watch as she strolls down the corridor. Her thumb scrolls through something on her cell phone as she walks past her twin brother, Easton. She does not offer him a word, a hand wave, or glance as she continues on her path. I unconsciously shift my gaze from her to her brother. It is only when my eyes land on him that I wish that I was looking anywhere else.