Authors: Jenna Kay
“Wow,” I said, momentarily speechless. “Um...it looks great!” I was majorly fibbing. Truthfully, her hair was the same color as a baboon's butt. I knew I should have told her the truth, her being my best friend and all. But she was so happy and chipper this morning. I just didn't have the heart to tell her the color was, well, yucky.
“Ya really think so?” she asked feverishly.
I nodded. “Yep,” I fibbed again.
She grinned, hugging me. “I thought it might be, ya know, over-the-top, but then I thought, “Who cares?” I'm Kora freakin' Dodd and that's how I am! You know, adventurous, rough around the edges, a walk on the wild side! Plus, I needed a new look with it being senior year and all, and since I'm single again...”
Kora rambled on and on about how this was going to be the best year ever, and how there was going to be a new and improved Kora Dodd cruising the Garlandton halls. I just nodded, pretending to agree with every word, not showing her how her fast talking was quickly giving me a migraine. That was the best and only way to deal with her while she was on a coffee-driven rant. Best for me just to stand back, give her my undivided attention, and let the caffeine run its course.
She finally stopped her chattering when we stood in front of the school. We stared silently up at the two story, seventy-five year old building like prisoners in waiting, our sentence being sitting all day long in boring, meaningless classes. The old structure reminded me of a prison, minus the bars.
There were only three hundred students (maybe), but the school could hold triple that amount. It was so easy to hide or “get lost” in all the empty rooms that inhabited the ancient school. Getting lost was the popular thing for smokers in need of a drag, or couples in need of quickie (seriously—it happens!). My bestie Kora was a regular in both areas.
“I can't believe summer is over,” Kora groaned.
I concurred. “Time sho' flies when you're havin' fun!”
She waggled her brows. “Or getting plowed!”
I waggled my brows back. “R
iii
ght!”
Arm-in-arm we walked in, the school smell hitting me square in the face. The smell was a mix of adolescent sweat, cleaning supplies, and a musty odor I could never identify.
“Ugh, why does every school smell like butt?” I complained, the offensive scent burning my nostrils.
Kora snickered. “I think it's that good luck spray they bathe the walls in every year.”
“Well, they picked up the wrong bottle.” I gagged. “I think they picked up the ‘gonna make ya hurl’ spray.” Kora giggled.
Standing in line to get our schedules from the office I eyed the depressive surroundings of the school.
“Man. Absolutely nothing has changed since last year,” I expressed to Kora, who was impatiently tapping her foot. Patience was
not
one of her virtues.
She retorted with, “I don't think anything has changed here since the sixties.”
The walls were covered with a drab off-white color with the paint (probably lead-based) chipping in places. The light green and white checkered industrial tiles were still scuffed with black marks from the previous year—or years past. The lockers looked as if they hadn't been touched since the last day of school. Dust about two inches thick blanketed their surfaces.
Yep. This was our Garlandton High School, home of the Bovines. Yeah, seriously. The
Bovines.
Our home away from home.
Home sweet what
ever
.
A mass of childish excitement crammed the halls. Kids who had not seen each other the last three months were finding it easy to sink back into their little cliques. On one side of the hall was a group of cheerleaders gossiping about who knows what. On the other side, a jock was busy beating the crap out of some computer geek because, well, he could.
Just like any school you have your different types of cliques: Jocks, Cheerleaders, Goths, Emos, Geeks, Hippies, Rednecks, Introverts, and Butt Kissers. I found it so bizarre to have so many different personalities under one roof. I also found it bizarre that everyone under this roof could stereotype everyone else so easily, including the teachers. I, for one, didn't belong to any clique. I was just your average nobody who got along with everybody. At least I tried to get along with everybody.
Standing with Kora, still waiting in line for our schedules, I remembered my plan to interrogate her about what happened after the party Saturday. I'd spent all my time with Brenton, had a few too many beers, and when we had finally made it back to the barn, the party was over, and she was nowhere in sight. Of course I'd called her Sunday afternoon, but she was kind of hungover, leaving my question unanswered, which was “How didja get home, Kor?”
“So, hey,” I began, “you never told me how ya got home the other night.” I glanced at her with curiosity. Usually I was the person who took care of her after a hard night of partying, but this time Brenton had had to take care of me, which totally embarrassed me because when I was plowed I never knew what I could say or do—the sky's the limit when I've been drinking!
Her cheeks reddened her pale white skin. “I already told you what happened.”
“No, no you didn't,” I responded with an eye roll. “I called your cell yesterday and your exact words were: 'Hey...cool...at home...huggin' the throne.' Then you hung up on me.”
She laughed. “OMG, I really said that?”
“Uh,
duuuuh
, yeah!” I told her mockingly.
She shot me with an evil eye, then smiled facetiously. “You wouldn't believe me if I told ya.” Kora received her schedule from the unsmiling secretary, finally at the front of the line.
“Try me,” I shot back, taking my schedule next.
Walking out of the office and into the hall she said, “Oh, I don't know...”
I grabbed her arm, my thoughts turning negative. “Please don't tell me it was Nick who took you home—was it? Omigosh, because if you got back with that piece of...”
“NO!” she shouted in my face, and immediately my mouth clamped shut. Glares from curious bystanders caught our eyes, so we moved over to our lockers, which were side-by-side.
“No,” she repeated softly. “It wasn't Nick. There is no way Nick and I will ever get back together.” She paused, grimacing. I gave her a “go ahead” gesture. “It was, uh, Kevin. Kevin took me home.”
My eyes popped open, her answer blowing me away. “Kevin Davis?”
“Yeah,” she grinned, red-faced.
Before I could stop myself, I laughed. “Whoa! You mean the
bronzed god
took you home?”
Her mouth dropped to the floor, and then she slapped me hard on the shoulder. “Shut-up! Man, I knew you were gonna bring that up.”
I shrugged, rubbing my shoulder and sneering. “Sorry, but ya know me. Oh, and by the way...that hurt.” I returned her slap on my shoulder with a charley horse to her arm.
“OW! You slut!” she yelped, shaking her arm out.
Smiling exultantly I told her, “Now we're even.” I pulled my schedule out of its envelope. “Now, let's see what teachers will be tortured this year with our beautiful intelligence and sophisticated wit.”
Comparing our schedules, we were beyond ecstatic. Having all but one class together—how awesome was that! Instead of taking advanced Art with Kora (she's an art genius), I opted for Computer Lab (I'm soooo not an art genius).
“We would've spent the whole day together if you'd have sucked it up and taken art with me,” she said with a hint of banter.
“Stick people don't count as art,” I muttered.
Walking into our classroom I let out a huge, despairing groan. World History was our first class of the day. Boring!
“This class is gonna total bite!” I told Kora pitifully.
She frowned. “Yeah, I know what you're sayin'. I mean, who cares about the freakin' past? It's the present that matters most.”
I smirked. “Amen, Sister Kora.” She stuck her tongue out, making a rude noise.
Choosing seats nearest the back of the class, we sat and flung our book bags on the floor. Kora had chosen a black bag with a skull on the front, wearing a pink bow on its forehead. She also had used her creativity and decorated the bag with various pins, shiny beads, and other objects, showing off her uniqueness. I was still using the same bag from freshman year. It was light blue, harbored a couple of holes, and covered with fake diamonds. Comparing our different styles of baggage, wardrobes, and hairstyles, one would never think we'd be besties. But that was the way the world was—a big huge toilet of stereotyping.
I placed my history book on my desk when Kora made a horrible moaning sound.
“What's your problem?” I questioned.
“That's my problem,” she answered, lifting her chin up towards the front of the classroom. I looked, and then wished I could take it back.
Strolling in was the captain of the cheer squad, Daria Phipps.
Daria, with her perky chest, blond hair, and perfect teeth. Her skin was the perfect shade of a Caribbean vacation, her blue eyes the color of the ocean. She walked with superior grace, her nose stuck so high in the air you'd think she was trying to sniff the ceiling. She was every boy’s dream girl, and every girl’s worst nightmare. Jocks whistled as she walked by, checking out her assets, which made her sway her hips seductively.
She had it all—beauty, popularity, money—and she knew it. If there was a picture next to the word “snob” in the dictionary, her perfect smiling face would be there. Her picture would also be under “tramp” and “slut” as well.
OK, now
I
was stereotyping. Not cool.
Alongside Daria was what Kora and I called her ‘trained monkeys’, aka Melinda White and Gerran Greene. They were just like Daria in attitude and snootiness, but differed in looks. They were still pretty but in their own ways. Melinda had shiny black hair and dark skin, and was taller and skinnier than Daria. Gerran had red curly hair and pale skin with freckles on every inch of her body.
Not only were they cheerleaders but they were mimes as well, mimicking everything Daria said and did. Like they were puppets and Daria was the puppet master, engineering every move and sound they made.
Kora and Daria, from day one, had despised each other. Not despise like in how they look or what they say, but despise as in they truly hated each other, deep down in the pits of their souls. To this day no one really knew why. They've always had problems that resulted in insults, nasty faces, and the occasional hair-pulling and face punching. I was best known as
The Mediator
, getting me landed into the dirtiest of fights. Usually when Daria saw my face getting into their business, she would turn on me and make fun of me, usually calling me “Clearasil” because of my name being, well, Clarity. I'd never let her childish behavior get to me, but Kora took it personally. It was like they were born to hate each other, making them the worst of enemies.
As Kora's number one enemy walked straight at us, my stomach knotted up with a queasy feel.
“Kora, please,
please
ignore them,” I pleaded, knowing deep down that it was futile. She'd already made up her mind about it—I could tell by the huge fake smile plastered on her face.
Daria stopped right in front of us, Melinda and Gerran in tow. Their eyes were filled with disdain, their smirks causing my queasiness to grow.
“Wow, Kora,” Daria began, her lips turned up in the corners, “I didn't know clown-colored hair was all the rage with hookers this year—how fun!” She laughed aristocratically, along with her monkeys.
Kora regarded the girls with a cocky smile. “Clarity, look,” she expressed in mocked wonder, “Satan has World History too, along with two misfit cronies.”
Well, I guessed she wasn't going to ignore them.
The three girls were clearly not amused. “So,” Daria sneered, “how many boys will become men this year? Oh, wait...you've gone through them all!” They laughed vicious laughter.
Kora continued smiling, sitting prim and proper in her seat. Her smile was sweet—too sweet. “Well, I have a date with your dad later. Maybe you should talk to him afterward to see what he thinks of a woman.” She narrowed her eyes at Daria. “I know how you always want to
please
him.”
Daria glared evilly at Kora, shooting daggers out of her eyes. Of course Kora was talking about Daria's step-dad, not real dad. Rumors had been flying that Daria was seen in the back of his car doing something very...w
rong
. Nobody knew the truth, but Kora didn't care. She would say anything to strike a nerve.
That's when I decided to step in.
“Guys, just chill with the insults and leave each other alone.” I knew as soon as I'd opened my mouth that it had been a mistake, because that was the moment Daria realized I existed.
“Hey,
Clearity
,” Daria said, acid dripping in her voice. “I see that you got those bottles of Clearasil I'd left for you. Your skin looks...
clear.
” She glanced at her two followers. “What do you guys think? You think
Clearity's
skin is clear enough?” They agreed, evil snickers pouring out of their glossy lips.
I sighed theatrically, not wanting her to think she was getting under my skin. “Har-de-har-har. That joke gets funnier every time I hear it, Daria.” I glared at her. “You are so funny.”