The Ivy League

The Ivy League Part 2

I demonstrated a parallel park that would have made the heart of any driver teacher proud, and hopefully erased any of my uncle's doubts as to the wisdom of letting me drive. Actually, I was surprised myself. After the way my day had started, I had at LEAST expected to have set off someone's anti-burglar alarm. 

But nope, so far so good.  

We made our way to the front doors, which were blocked by a gang of Hispanic kids. One of them was sitting on his motorcycle, which he had somehow gotten up the steep front steps. I gave the bike an admiring look, but its owner definitely didn't deserve admiration. 

Smirking, he let out a string of words that would have made my mother slap him soundly across the face and threaten to call HIS mother. Though that was tempting, I restrained myself. There would have been a time when I would have responded in kind, but I had promised not to swear anymore.  

"So what do you say, little rich snow girl? You wanna come over here and let real mean show you how it's done?" he asked mockingly, after his speech. 

Beside me, my uncle had turned at least six different shades of red and had opened his mouth to yell at him. I just looked at the kid coolly. 

"Only if you grow a pair first," I said, then continued walking, savoring the expression of shock on his face. Behind us, loud laughter and a jumble of Spanish words was directed at Motorbike Kid, who was now snarling at everyone to shut it. 

I thought I at least deserved the right to a little smirk. 

My uncle shook his head beside me as we walked into the office inside. "I didn't think it would be like this the first day, but something tells me you can handle it." 

"Probably," I said, not interested in the topic anymore. A short little man was bouncing his way towards us, and it was distracting me. 

"Mr. Portokalos," my uncle said, noticing the Human Bouncing Wonder, "this is my niece, Courtney Meyers. I spoke to you about her attending here." 

"Yes, yes, excellent," he beamed and shaking my hand vigorously. I grinned. 

"I have her timetable ready, as well as her locker and student card. How about I show you around?" he asked. 

"Actually, I have to be at a meeting soon, so I'm going to go," my uncle said smoothly.  

Liar. He didn't have anything to do today; he just didn't want to be bored out of his skull like I was going to be. I sent a scowl his way. 

"Fine, fine," agree Mr. Portokaplos? Portalakos?  

Jeez, even thinking his name took too long, I definitely wasn't going to say it. 'Mr. P.' it is. 

"Don't you worry about your niece," he admonished. "I'll take care of her every need." 

"Oh, I'm not worried," my uncle said brightly. "Trust me, you shouldn't be, either. Well, good day. Be good, Courtney," were his parting words. 

"Oh, and that wasn't patronizing whatsoever," I called after him sarcastically. I had enough time to catch the grin of enjoyment on his face. That man needs kids of his own. 

Mr. P. and I bounced our way to my first class, which turned out to be English. My best subject and favorite class. 

He left me at the door and I walked in to find everyone seated... and suddenly staring at me. The teacher paused, mid-sentence. 

Behind me, Mr. P. waved enthusiastically and the teacher waved back uncertainly, and Mr. P. bounced out of sight. I turned back to look at the teacher. 

"Hi." 

"Hello. And who might you be?" 

"A new student," I replied. Sarcasm wouldn't be a good way to start. 

"I see. Well, new student, would you like to introduce yourself to the class?" 

"Not really," I answered honestly. 

The teacher sighed and I did, too. "Fine. Hi, people. My name is Courtney Meyers. I used to go to Richmond Hill High School, but now I'm here. Obviously." 

The teacher brightened. "Really? Richmond Hill? My niece attends school there. New York, right?" 

"Nope," I said cheerfully, bursting her bubble. "Ontario, Canada. There's a Richmond Hill there, too." 

"Oh, right," said the teacher, smiling. "Canada likes to do things after America's done them." 

Not cool.  

"You're just jealous we got the better half of Niagara Falls," I blurted.  

My bad. Did I really just say that? Like, out loud? 

The smile slid off the teacher's face, making her look like she'd been cream-pied. 

"Wait..." I heard a kid say in a slow voice. I located the source, glad of a distraction; it was a jock in a leather jacket, sitting in the front row smack in front of the teacher's desk. Figured. 

"So that means you're from Canada?" 

Caught on, have you? was what I wanted to say. Instead: "Yeah." 

"So does that mean you're Canadian?" 

"Very good," I praised him. Darn sarcasm, it was there even when I didn't call on it. 

"Can you say something in Canadian?" a girl asked enthusiastically. 

"Are you his girlfriend?" I asked slowly. Birds of a feather... 

"No," replied the girl, watching me. 

The jock looked at me, too. "Say something in Canadian!" he agreed. I stared at the rest of the class; some were grinning, so I was sincerely hoping this was a joke. 

I shrugged. "Eh."  

"What does that mean?" he asked excitedly. 

"It's Canadian for 'Help, my igloo's melting'." 

"Cool," he said, turning around to beam at a friend behind him. The friend smirked. 

"Ignore Quint here," he said. "Too many footballs to the head. But I happen to think Canadian chicks are hot," he informed me. 

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that so." Nothing in my tone suggested interest, but he grinned anyway. 

"Yeah. And baby, aren't your legs long." 

"Long enough to reach the ground, thanks," I said, glaring at the teacher. Speaking of long, THIS was going on far too long. 

"That will be your seat," she pointed at the back beside a beautiful girl who was braiding her hair, the picture of boredom. I made my way over and sat down. 

"Eh?" she asked, not looking at me but rummaging around in her Guess purse for an elastic while holding her braid together. 

"Best I could do," I muttered back. "After all, that IS the reason I moved here. I was homeless back in Canada. You Americans and your natural disasters; all our igloos are melting." 

She finally turned around. "Clever." 

"Thanks. You're not." 

She grinned. "As far as you know." 

"Fine," I nodded. "In that case, what do you refer to Quint as in the privacy of your mind?" I asked, pointing at the huge jock who was now absent-mindedly sharpening a mechanical lead pencil. 

"Mutant Atom without a Nucleus," she said, without missing a beat. The nucleus is the brain of every cell. 

I appraised her. "Hi, I'm Courtney." 

"Hi, I'm the person with the power to make your melted igloo into a good or a bad thing," she said. 

"Point taken. Let's try again: Hi, I'm an average, not-very-bright but very shy new kid from Canada. I admire you, will you be my friend?" 

"No," she said, laughing. "And hi, I'm Grace."

**I know, this one wasn't very funny. But it'll get better, especially when she meets the Ivy League :) **