New To This

Registration

Summer has gone by so fast, and of course that means school is coming even faster. To remind me and the rest of the incoming juniors that the hardest year of our high school lives is coming up we have registration. The last two years my dad would come with me, but now I stand in a long line with my peers and Vince for some reason wants to see the school he just graduated from.

"Ah I remember when I was standing in a line like this," Vince says with his hands in his hoodie pockets. The line moves up a bit and we move just a little making the person behind me almost step on my shoes.

"You know you're going to be standing in a line even longer than this next week," I say.

"Yea and it still won't be like this." Vince lets out a sigh and begins to really look at the line of my classmates we're standing in. He points to various students who as I look at them I notice they're tanner, taller, buffer, and more grown. "See Daya look at those dumb asses over there they'll be less of them in college, and ooh see that girl who's always eating hot cheetos in class there will be less of her and her crumbs." Vince's voice is not that low, and the girl who eats not just hot cheetos, but takis, lays, and cheeto puffs turns around. Instead of scolding Vince she gives him a flirty smile with her lips that are stained red from all of the food dye she consumes.

"You're wrong college is bigger there are going to be more of her," I say.

Vince laughs and pats my shoulder while looking down at me. "Ahh you crack me up."

I just shake my head and Vince and I continue to slowly move up the line. It's actually moving fast, but it slows down as everyone begins bumping into their friends. Unfortunately I don't have this pleasure as Harper texted me saying she has a dentist appointment and won't be coming until the last hour. After Vince has a whole ass conversation with one of the guys who's going to be a receiver on the team we make it inside the school and follow the other students into the school cafeteria where ID's are being passed out.

"Price, Daya," I tell the woman at the desk and she fumbles through a box of IDs to pull out one with a picture of me on it.

"I'll take that," Vince says. The woman doesn't hesitate to give my ID to him, and look over to the next person in line.

"Bro why do you look like you're being tortured," Vince says. We start walking to the big table in the cafeteria where schedules are being passed out. I look over vince's shoulder at my ID picture that was taken in May when I was broken up with Ziyah, and Vince isn't far off from his statement. My box braids look good, my shirt isn't wrinkled, but I'm smoldering so hard these factors can barely be seen. Why the photographer didn't tell me to perk up I don't know, but I will be back on that uncomfortable stool in October.

We keep walking to the scheduling table, and Vince squints his eyes and brings the ID closer to him. "My glasses aren't looking so bad now are they?"

Vince shakes his head. "No you know who you like in this picture?" He shows me the horrid photo again.

"A girl who's braids smell."

"What? No, you look like mom." The second the word comes out of Vince's mouth and he puts the card right next to his face I see it. I look exactly like mom when she's about to yell, cry, or tell me Ziyah isn't good enough.

Shaking the thought out of my head I gather my schedule from the perky woman at the desk. Not only does this paper have all of the glasses I signed up for in May, but my address, the name of my parents, and !D number. Because just giving us our glasses and locker numbers would be too easy.

just like my ID as we're walking outside the patio Vince takes hold of my schedule. "Oh you got Ms. Martin first period, sorry I screwed that one up for you." Wouldn't be the first time.