A Happy Ending?

A Warm Welcome

       It takes all my strength to pull my arm away from the car door handle. There's a fighting urge to grip onto that handle, jump into the front seat, and yell for my aunt to step on it. She'd probably tell me to get out. She'd complain about the time, but laugh at my futile attempt. Besides, even if the least likely scenario went into play and we actually did end up hightailing out of that stuffy, moody morning crowd, I knew I couldn't be away from that place for more than a day. Not when my iPod is in my locker.

       So, as a result of the sometimes unwanted rationality of my self control, I still walk the dreadful walk into my inevitable doom.

       My new Chuck Taylors squeak on the linoleum, earning me brief glances from the pasty faces around me. I try to return the glances with a smile, but they all seem to look away at just the right moments.  So, somehow, in a hallway bursting at the seams with adrenaline-fueled adolescents and girly, flirtatious screeching, I couldn't feel more alone.

       That same soothing voice always playing in my head surfaces again: "They're the ones missing out, oblivious to how wonderful you are. You deserve smarter friends than that." 

       Although I know that any mother thinks their daughter is wonderful, the thought comforts me. Like an incantation, the words seem to make me a bubble of love and support that helps me drift through the chaos a little more easily. When I finally reach my locker, I pluck its shiny lock into my airy bubble and start to turn the numbers to my combination. 8-15-3--

       My concentration is broken by another high-pitched squeal drifting down the hall. Probably another cheerleader poked in the ribs by a pathetic, love-struck boy. He doesn't yet realize that it's not just a spell he's under, but a curse. A slow, insidious toxin that integrates itself into your judgement until, without even knowing it, they no longer have any control. They are just mindless soldiers whose sole purpose is to aid her reputation. I pity the mystery flirter.

       The girlish screeching sound heightens, closing in on me. It stops maybe a foot away from my back. Sulphuric smoke rises; suffocating my senses when I take a breath to brace myself for battle.

       "Jay, help! This weirdo is breaking into my locker!" The cheerleader/dragon screeches.

       Jay. I had attempted befriending him at the beginning of the year. It seemed to work at first, we set up a lunch date at McDonald's. Only I was stood up. He stopped talking to me the very next day. A week after that, the ugly looks began. I guess he preferred a seat next to a certain cheerleader, listening to lies about a certain someone.

       I.e. Savannah Rodriguez. Meet the dragon breathing sulphur down my neck. He thinks he has a chance, she thinks he has a mental disorder.

       Jay leans into the locker beside me, clearing his throat. My face twitches. My breath hitches. The dragon's minion leans in.

       "What do you think you're doing, weirdo?"

       I try to breathe in some composure before turning to stare at his greasy face. Never show weakness to the enemy. "I could ask you the same thing, Jay. You realize she's taken, right?" Really, I'm just trying to help the guy out. This chase he keeps running is starting to look sort of pathetic.

       "Do you realize that you're... fat?" I swallow. My composure cracks. But why should that hurt? It's the easy response. It takes no brains to come up with that.

       So, turning back to my locker and searching for a reply that would prove that I'm unprovoked, I snicker and mumble a sarcasm-dipped "nice one".. Although I could have and wanted to say some things much worse than that, I don't. But the deep growl confirms that he's heard it. Lack of an attempted reply tells me he really has no better material in mind. I've won the comeback portion of the battle. But not the war.