The Only Exception

I like my freedom. I love the fact that I can come and go as I please because I had busy parents who are also quite lenient. I guess it’s their way of making up for not being home a lot. I do not mind, since I am not left wanting affection, healthcare and material wants. They do their best to be present, but I understand how demanding and how much responsibility being a doctor is and both my parents are some of the top surgeons in the state. The sound of doors slamming down the hallway from my room makes me sit up in bed, just in time to hear my parents call out, “Have a nice day in school, darling!” I guess breakfast together isn’t on the agenda for today. Again, I do not mind because, in spite of their hectic schedules, they make sure we spend quality time on Sundays, be it breakfast or a quick little brunch in the popular local diner. The alarm clock by my nightstand suddenly shrills, and I reach over to silence it, hating the fact that it reminded me to get ready for school. My senior year had just begun a few weeks ago, and it was already turning out to be quite eventful with all the last-minute projects, class lectures and, of course, college applications. It takes me a quick half an hour to get ready, since I do not have a lot of girly rituals, as one might call it. I shower, towel dry my long red hair, slap some moisturizing cream on my face, put on clothes and spritz my favorite perfume. I don’t really wear make-up unless it’s an absolute necessity or if my life depended on it. Slinging my cross-body messenger bag, I grab the keys to one of my greatest possessions — my Jeep Wrangler. It’s wild, symbolic of freedom, and it’s a nice, bright yellow color. I got it as an 18th birthday present from my folks. Sweet! Yes, I know. I make sure most of the main doors are locked as I make my way to the garage. I let myself out through the front door since I parked my vehicle out front, in the middle of our circular driveway. I gun the engine as soon as I get in and throw a glance towards the house next door. I scoop my phone from my bag and speed dialed my best friend’s phone. He also happens to be my neighbor. Ever since I got my car, Joel Bernstein suddenly lost the ability to drive himself to school. It’s amazing since he never misses the opportunity to parade his classic 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1. Well, I can’t say that it’s that surprising since his spirit animal is a sloth. “Are you ready yet? I have to be in the newspaper room before 7:30!” I barked into the phone. He knows how much I value being on time, especially if I have a schedule to keep. I never like to have my time wasted, so I make it a point to not waste anybody’s time by being late or making someone wait. I finally see Joel emerge from their gigantic porch, regular Pop-Tart in his hand, hurrying towards my driveway. Our houses were separated by a low hedge and since our parents got tired of us busting through the greenery to get to each other’s houses faster, they just had the gardener cut a small path between the rows for us to use. Joel ran through the space in between, clearly not ready to go to school; judging by the way his backpack was half-hanging on his arm, his pale blue button-down shirt incompletely buttoned. He literally looks like someone who got lost in the jungle, emerging from the bushes, disheveled. Goodness! I thought to myself as I watch him scramble towards my car. Who would believe that Joel Bernstein is one of the most sought-after guys in our school? People should really see how messy his room can be and how much of a slob he can transform into when he’s really zoned in on his lazy days. “Can’t you be a little earlier, Winter?” The guy growls sarcastically at me while plopping down on the passenger seat. I reply with a snort and proceeded to drive. “Is Gail riding with us?” I asked about my other best friend, who happens to be Joel’s girlfriend. Joel does not respond as he fidgets with his phone, connecting to my Jeep’s Bluetooth. I wait patiently until the familiar sound of Weezer blasts through the stereo speakers. Yes, we love the band and I think Rivers Cuomo is cute. “She’s riding with Gabriel. You know she hates waking up early, so she’s going to catch a ride with her twin brother.” I smirked because I knew exactly how much Gail Parker abhorred waking up early. She was mostly late to her classes unless I or her boyfriend picked her up for school. “I hate going to school early too, you know!” Joel mutters, lightly punching my arm. “But I love you so, I drag my ass out of bed just so you won’t be tardy.” “Yes, sure Owie,” I retort, rolling my eyes at him. “It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re just too lazy to drive nowadays.” He shrugs, leaning back against the chair, closing his eyes. I see the smug grin on his face and instead of being irked, I find myself just smiling. It was hard not to be best friends with Owie, a nickname I had made for him since we were little kids. There was a certain lightness and calm about him. It’s like that warm, soothing light of dusk or early sunrise. The Bernsteins were truly loads, like Richy Rich, wealthy, but he is never arrogant, and he does not look down on people despite his status in life and in school. Joel is Easton High’s best running back, handsome with light brown hair, electric blue eyes, and a tight, well-built body. He could easily pass up as Paul Walker’s younger brother. You can say he was a ladies’ man until he met Gail when she transferred to our school last year. Finally, we arrive in the school’s parking lot and I slide to the available spot nearest to the school building’s entrance. Perks of being early! I turn to see Joel asleep, snoring mildly. I nudge him, trying to get him to wake up. He mumbles something incoherent but continues to sleep. Again, I am not annoyed or surprised, the guy can practically sleep standing up anywhere! I reached for my messenger bag which he had placed on the floor. “Fine! You can sleep in the Jeep as long as you want. I’ll just have Gail get you when she arrives at school. No drooling on the leather seat please!” I make a big deal out of stepping out of my Jeep, even banging the door. I don’t think he even hears me, but I guess the low grunt could count as a positive acknowledgment. . Pulling my phone out, I checked it as I walked towards the school doors, ensuring that I airdropped the photos that I needed to submit for the school paper onto my device, since I did not bring my laptop. I think of the school publication online and almost snort out loud. It was more like a gossip column, if you ask me. The editors do make a good front page in print, doling out an almost formal, distinguished and informative paper with thought-provoking features and news. However, the gossip board online is an entirely different story. Reputations were built and torn down from it. I try my best to stay out of that section. I don't want to contribute and, most definitely, I did not want to be the subject matter. The main hallway already had some students milling about when I stepped in. Most of them were hanging out in front of their lockers or trying to tinker with its contents. To be honest, I like to be in school when it’s this quiet and less crowded. The halls feel clean and fresh; you can actually do a dance while walking, and you don’t run the risk of bumping into a person or against an elbow or two. Not that I’m the dancing down the hall type, nope, I’m just a weird claustrophobic. I stop by my locker, dial out my combination, and I stuff some of the heavier books from my bag. I pulled out a couple of worksheets that were finished earlier the day before yesterday, which were due today. I shove these into my bag, which makes it, thankfully, less heavy. The hall clock tells me I still have time. I closed the locker door and began heading up the second floor where the school publication office is located. The room is sure to be deserted, since it’s not even half an hour past seven. I hope the paper’s moderator, Mr. Cutler, will appreciate my new photos. I do not think they are that artistic or project any profound meaning, but I like to think of them as clean, well-thought-off angles and shots that highlight significant parts of an event or story that I am supposed to capture. I’m not really into hardcore photography. It’s just a hobby which makes me seem more social and involved in school. I mean, I am not really into the school spirit much or trying to top any of my classes. I’m just floating wonderfully in the neutral zone. The music playing softly down the hall of the second floor stops me for a second. I knew that it was coming from the newsroom. I could hear Muse blasting like there was a private concert being held inside. Shit! I was not the first one to arrive.