Stay Gold

school daze

"Birdie Louise!" Daddy screamed at me.

I rolled out of bed and looked in the mirror. I was still wearing the same pink blazer and skirt from last night. I sighed. I was already running late so I just slipped on some low heels and brushed my hair. 

"You wore that yesterday," said Dad as I walked from my room to the kitchen.

"And?" I questioned, grabbing the piece of jelly toast laid out on the counter.

"Alrighty then, see ya later," Dad said, before Daddy kissed my cheek and I left for school.

Clark was waiting in his car smoking a cigarette. He and I were in the same grade, because he didn't inherit the brains and was held back a year.

"Hey, cuz," he said as I opened the passenger door of his car.

"Shut up," I grumbled.

I pulled out a tube of pink lipgloss and applied it to my lips. It was really the only make-up I wore. Made me look and feel like a fairy. Besides, I actually thought I was naturally pretty. 

"Didn't you wear that outfit yesterday?" Clark asked as we walked into school.

"If someone asks that damn question one more time-"

"Didn't you wear that yesterday?" Krista said as she came up behind me, a sly grin on her face.

"Fuck you," I mumbled.

School was really boring, except for Miss Glosser's class. Miss Glosser was a young, curly haired teacher with round glasses and was actually cool. Not like those teachers who tried to hard. I was in advanced English. 

"Everyone open your copies of Carrie," Miss Glosser said.

Another cool thing is that she really only chose challenged books. Carrie was just one example. We had read everything from To Kill a Mockingbird to Lolita.

I loved the story of Carrie. And not just the violence (athough if I had telekinsesis, I would probably destroy more than she did). The story of a girl who just wants to fit in, but is then cruedly pushed back to her old self by pig's blood. Kind of like a reverse baptism (Hey, I should write that down in our "Thoughts" notebook). 

I personally related to Carrie. And not in the way you would think. At the 8th grade formal, a Soc boy asked me and I meant with him. I wore a brand new dress and I looked great. But some Soc boys didn't like that I was dancing with one of them. Long story short, I went home crying and covered in red punch. 

"Birdie? Can I talk to you?" Miss Glosser called in the middle of class.

I slowly stood uo and walked to her desk. Her wild brown curls made her head look bigger, and my heart was beating fast. Had they finally found out about the cigarettes in my locker? Or the time I shot blanks at two Socs in the caf? Or that I was really the one who spray painted "Fuck you" in the girl's bathroom?

"I wanted to talk to you about this gifted writer program. It's a free program that you enter and your stories could be published in newspapers and such. I wanted you to come to the meeting tomorrow. We're needing a few more girls to join," she said.

I was dumbfounded? Me? A Greaser and hoodlum in a gifted program? 

And so against my better judgement, I agreed.

"Yeah, totally!" I exclaimed, trying to hide my excitement.

"Good. I hope to see you there," Miss Glosser said.

The final bell rang and I was homebound.

"Gifted writers program?" Daddy said that night at dinner.

"Yeah. The first meeting is tomorrow," I said.

"I think she should go, Johnnycake," Dad laughed.

Eww I hated thair nicknames for each other. Dad's name - Ponyboy - was already bad enough to have your daddy yell across a gas station.

"I do wanna go, I'm just a bit shocked."

"Then go! Go for your dreams," Dad said.

"Stay gold, Birdie," Daddy said, winking.