Team Spirit

5. Sam Has An Epiphany

5. Sam Has An Epiphany

We sit on top of the picnic table just outside the front doors to watch people file into the school. It's a first-day-of-school tradition 'cause Lars likes to pretend it's the red carpet, judging just loud enough for me to hear but not anybody else.

"Amy wore that exact same outfit last year," Lars says. Amy probably did, but she looks fine. Lars is honestly the only one who'll notice.

I don't really have much to say about fashion choices. The best I know, I learn from Lars scoffing at what other people decide to wear. For the first day of school, she has her sunglasses, the blue-and-white denim jacket she made by sucking all the colour out of the bottom half and popping it full of studs until it looked dangerous enough for her, and these black jeans worn out in the knees with sandpaper instead of wear-and-tear. I take special care to note the shark teeth dangling from her ears and the beaded bag strung across her body.

I have to pay attention to these things. What she wears is the key to keeping her happy. Nothing derails her angry rants or cloudy moods like asking where she got something.

"Shane somehow looks more like a fuckboy this year."

He kind of does, but it's best not to say so.

"Underarmour hoodie, didn't see that one coming, Zach." She glares. She's wearing her round sunglasses, but I can still feel the hatred coming off her without seeing her eyes, like a heat shimmer. 

I try to hate Zach, but he's also hard not to stare at, predictable hoodie or not.

I watch for probably too long and Lars clutches at my arm before Zach can pay any attention to me or wear I might be looking. For having spindly little fingers, Lars' grip is pretty tight.

"It's her!"

"It's who?" There are dozens of people filing off buses and out of cars, a lot of them falling into a her kind of category.

"The girl from the party. The blue-haired one."

I see the blue hair, but I honestly have no idea why she matters.

"Roman!" Lars calls out, looking for a second opinion. Poor guy picked the wrong time to walk by.

He's got a shark tooth around his neck, something from Lars, matching her earrings.

I have some mixed feelings about their break-up.

"Roman, who is that Tumblr bitch?" Lars nods in the girl's direction.

"You don't even know her. You can't just call her a bitch," I protest. I swear, Lars doesn't mean to be so catty. She just never has a good first impression of anybody. The first time she met Roman, she asked him if his jeans were ripped on purpose or if he just didn't give a shit about how he looked.

"She looks like she stole a mall mannequin's whole outfit." Lars says it like that's perfectly good justification to hate somebody on sight.

"That's Wren. She worked at the bowling alley for a while," Roman says.

"Wren. Oh my God. Even her name screams edgy grunge girl," Lars scoffs.

Blue-haired Wren must've heard her name. Her head turns, looking us over before walking toward the picnic table.

I could disappear, pretend I don't know these people, but there's always the chance Lars'll try to drag me back by my collar.

She's wears flannel and her blue hair in odd little pigtail buns too high on her head. Already negative points for Wren. We do not wear plaid.