The Guy Who...

"What? You know him! I know you're new but you have to know him!" she gave a pointed look at a guy who threw his head back and laughed. He didn't notice us though.
The laugh looked forced, but it fooled everybody.
"He's the guy who took our football team to the states finals." at my blank stare, she exhaled through her nose sharply. "The guy who helped Mrs. Rudy go to the hospital."
Sounded familiar, but I shrugged.
"He's the guy who lost his little brother in a motorcycle accident." As my eyes widened in recognition, she laughed a hard laugh. "It's funny; nobody remembers him like the hero he was. They just remember him as the guy who lost his little brother."
(Author's Note: Based on true events.)

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5. Leslie Pierce

     ​ My lips are dry, my hands are shaking. I stand at the gates of the school-my school- and just stare. People walk around me and give me funny looks.

     I wanna fit in, and I don't want anyone staring at me.

​     Where is this girl at? Emma?

​    I hope she's not like the girls in my old school, the ones who befriend you, then throws you to the lions' den. I grab my shoulder bag, and slap my hand on my thigh.

     A boy bumps into my shoulder, hard. I don't think he does it on purpose, though. I turn to him, but he's already walking away, through the opened doors of the school. As I watch, the people make room for him, and whisper and mutter as he continues to walk.

​     Curiosity makes me tilt my head in wonder; is there something special about him?

      My speculations-however brief-are interrupted, and I watch as a girl with wild curly black hair walks up to me. She looks official-like student council official-and small. In one arm, she holds three thick textbooks, and she holds out her right hand to shake mine.

​      I take it tentatively, hoping she won't notice the sweat on my palms.

     "You must be Leslie Pierce, I presume? I'm Emma Rhine, president of student council. Welcome to Brickwood High." she says professionally.  I nod, and pull out a slip of paper in which I've scrawled an answer:

      Thank you for welcoming me. 

       Emma nods, then her green eyes flicker with curiosity...and interest.

       "Come on, I'll show you around."

 

 

       Brickwood High is bigger than my old school.

       There are over seven hundred students in the eleventh grade alone, including me, and the building is not only attached to another building, but there's also classes sort of underground.  Emma is fast for her size, and she shows me where all my classes are at (which I forget), and tells me the names of all the teachers. (Which I also forget.)

       My first class is Trig, which thankfully I have with Emma.

        She sits in the first row, and places her books on the desk. I watch as she pulls out a small backpack that's crammed with folders. She reads through each label carefully and hands me one.

       "These are the notes for lesson that we're going over ,and this," she hands me a stack of papers, "is the best routes to get to your class faster. I recommend you use the elevator; it's faster than most people think."

       I nod, and  sit down next to her, pulling out my notebook and pencil from my satchel. 

       Emma quirks an eyebrow, and says nothing else.

        I turn to the front of the class, and take careful notes on what Mrs. Cane says.

       This day shouldn't be too bad.
   
 

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