- [Spotlight 2.0]
I’m forced under the mouth of the door opening, the gusting winds whipping with a fierceness that my body simply can’t cope with; the stormy seasons have begun, and along with it come its endless friends rain, snow, hail, and numerous other weather conditions that aren’t fit for humans to step outside in. I glanced quickly at my wristwatch, it was noon, early classes should have ended by now. I fumbled with my duffle bag searching for my id card, the bitter cold continuously nipping at my tender flesh. My breath catches in my throat the iciness of it cutting me deep within my neck causing it to twitch.
Removing the I.D card from the side pocket, I scan it swiftly unlocking the heavy metal door, and then with the same haste closed it behind me creating some distance between me and the storm. It continued that was sure enough. The pelting rain’s pitter-patter resonance echoed hollowly within the studio, as if the thumping beat of the heart. The automatic lock clicked lowly as I lower my bag to the smooth wooden floor and shrugged out of my raincoat.
To my right the light switch awaits me, my finger curls around it and upon my touch it flips upward alighting the ceiling with an elucidating glow that awakens the gloomily dim room. I walk back towards my bag, picking it up once more, I carry it to the center of the studio, and my street shoes are squeaking with the sounds of tiny rodents enhance the floors glossed appearance. There I remove my faded, torn jeans, and my baggy high school t-shirt, for the outfit underneath it laid dormant to drenched unneeded clothing that I had been waiting to discard for a half-an-hour. Kicking off my soggy shoes, and replacing them with ones more suitable for the next activity I stood facing the mirrors that had been watching my every movement since I’d entered the small room. My muscles contracted as I tensed under the light, I watched my body stiffen beneath my black tights with a perplexed awe. I wasn’t one to become nervous nor stressed when dancing, it wasn’t natural for me to feel this way. Yet here I was, fearing what I had begun, something that I was about to chase.
I hesitate before I pursue the control room; it was a small boxed red room above the studio that gave birth to the blood that flowed freely throughout my veins. I sigh in frustration, before ascending the concrete spiral stairs in the far left corner. Upon approaching the “sound stage” as they call it here, I push my way through the door, as if its own existence meant nothing. I recollect myself, gathering my thoughts as to why I was here in the first place. To dance with all my soul, to practice with all my heart, and to strive, and become the best that there ever was, but sadly my father doesn’t except this dream of mine. Stepping in to the room and two paces to the left I find my music, the actual CD, a collection of classic songs remixed with a few R&B and hip-hop beats. After placing the CD inside the stereo, the beautiful effervescent music escalates throughout the room, feeding my wilted skin and rejuvenating my limp body. Then I find myself once more in front of the square porcelain mirrors, only this time I was swaying to the beat. Allowing all my pains, worries, and fears wash away, and allowing my passion to captivate my soul.
The sound of snare drums takes a hold of the beat, blaring louder than my pounding heart against my chest. So I moved gracefully on that beat my bare toes barely touching the floor, so I closed my eyes for a split moment taking formation again until I no longer thought of the routine. My body moves subconsciously, crafting free-style steps that I can’t control.
This studio was my grandmother’s; before her death she told me of her dream of a place where students would be able to study, and increase their talents of art, it’s actually the only school in Portland only for kids 7-19. But no sooner had she made her dream a reality did she passed on --leaving us with nothing to do but sell it: a man came to us by the name of Roy Winters, he bought the Holland Art Institute, it being named after my grandfather. Roy Winters was a warm-hearted man full of compassion, and because he admired us for what we were trying to do he opened the studio to me for practice after and before classes.
I pause, catching my breath, and also to wipe the sweat from my brows. I close my eyes, and draw in slow breaths as the room begins spinning around me, my head is pulsating to the soothing sound of my heart, a rhombic beat that makes dancing all the more wonderful in my eyes. I glanced to the mirror, my creamy chocolate skin practically glow with a heavenly radiance that I, in all my years of dancing only dreamed of achieving. As the track ended, and so ceased the movement of my feet that once glided smoothly in one motion around the glossy wooden floor.
“Well if it isn’t Kira, should have known you’d be here.” A liquid voice says from behind me. I turn quickly, my breath catching in my throat with my heart joining it there soon after. It’s Julia Evens, a second year student at the Roland Performing Arts Institute. She stands a mere five-foot-one, long dark blond hair, and possess a gorgeous drop dead smile that makes every boy within a mile range radius swoon at that sight of her, “you’ll never change, will you?” She asks, resting her hands on her slender hips, “isn’t today your first day back to school?”
I check my wrist-watch, ten minutes to one, I have plenty of time to make it home, take a shower, change clothes, and then be out the door in enough time to be to school on time. “Hello, to you too Julia, and yes, today is the first day of school. But what are you doing here; evening classes don’t start for another three hours?”
She smiled her full lips curling in amusement, “same as you --practicing.”
I gather my things swiftly, tossing all my belongings into my shaggy duffle-bag. Shrugging into my soggy hooded sweatshirt and sliding my bare feet into my also waterlogged white adidas, which were now stained blue, thanks to my pant-legs, then with the same haste left.
The September storm had calmed its fury, and was now only a little drizzle. Again I was alone with only the chilled wind at my heels, whistling and whipping around my ears. My once wavy brown hair was now damp and sloppily thrown back into a loose ponytail swaying freely with the blowing gust, I scowl dreading how horribly disgusting I must look. With a flick of the wrist I toss the hood over my head, hiding the now nappy, tangled mess of a jungle that I call hair from the rest of the world.
My house isn’t far from institute it’s about a good two or three blocks down, the actual distance is feared more than the walk, especially in drenched clothing I might add. So baring it and containing my raising anger was all that I could possible do. If only I listened to my mother this morning, she knew that I would be too lazy to even consider walking home after dancing for a complete hour and a half like I intended to do; I would usual shrug her off saying, “if I don’t feel like walking than I’ll catch the bus, no big deal.” But if I’m remembering correctly she’s bailed me out on more than one occasion…she’s a “good Christian” and believes in saint hood, helping those who are in need even if that mean carpooling numerous times before the person who supposedly needed help learns to aid themselves. Oh, and if you were wondering who I was referring to, yeah I’m talking about me.
A half an hour passes and I finally approach my house; it is Victorian- in style- with a deep porch that wraps around the house in a mouth consuming way. The rusty black ominous gate, that my father constructed, greets me with the same squeaking screech of a tarnished door hinge as I draw near it. I ascended the stairs with the poise and grace of a ballerina, I have always been rather light on my feet much like a bird or a feather, even my mother explained various times to me that I knew how to do piques and plies long before I could even fathom the idea of walking, or crawling for the matter. But to be honest I think she was exaggerating, just a bit.
I dig into my left-side pocket removing the bundle of metal that was the house key. Counterclockwise is the method of opening the cherry wooden door that blocks my entrance to the house, “nice to see that your home, Kira.” A smooth voice says as I step through the door.
“Hello to you too, mother.” I reply dryly, tossing my bag to the side where many discarded street shoes and my school backpack lay. I slipped the hood from my mane of brown locks as I once again ascended the numerous stairs of my home. The wide oatmeal staircase moans with each movement, “be ready in fifteen.” I shout, from the second floor. After I shower and dress, I go straight downstairs to grab a bite to eat. Two pieces of toast and a glass of apple juice await me on the sleek silver island in the middle of the kitchen, my father sat in his usual seat nearest to the back door reading his morning newspaper at the circular dinner table.
“Good-morning, sweetie.” He says simply, without glancing up from his paper, “up dancing again I see.”
“Good-morning, dad.” I say, ignoring the last comment.
Wolfing down the toast, and guzzling down the juice I gave my father a quick kiss on the cheek say good-bye then rush back out the door. Once I appear outside, my mother at the sight of me started the car. The loud hum of the car roared to life, I shoved my things and myself into the passenger side of the car, which by the way is a late-model red Volvo that my father bought my mother for their fifteenth anniversary. “Did you say good-bye to your father?” she asks casually.
“Yes.” I reply, in the same tone.
I turn and look at her as she drives from the curb, my eyes searching, waiting for her to continue. “I know it may seem like he doesn’t approve of your dancing on the outside, but he is very proud of you, Kira. You’ve come so far, and achieved so much…” her words slowly became indistinguishable mummers, incoherent and unwanted. Though her intentions were good, nothing could excuse my father’s disapproval of dancing, her word held nothing but emptiness for they were nothing but lies. She knew and I knew that they were lies and that why she told them to me, to give me a warmth and sense of pride that I already possessed without my fathers consent. And the fact that she doesn’t approve of me dancing either doesn’t make me feel any better.
We finally reared the corner of
“Bye, Mom. See you later.” I said simply, as I stepped out the car leaving my mother to further contemplate the situation. I lifted my bag onto my shoulders one strap after the other as I fell into the buzzing bee hive of school. I was a moth drawn to the flame of high school, because by second hour I had forgotten all about my issues with my father and began to concentrate on the beginning on my junior year…it couldn’t have come sooner.
Fourth period came in a blur of confusion, swirling in a vortex of numbers, words, phrases, and of course drama. It washed over me like the previous cold shower of rain brought by the stormy season, as if hail I felt it slow affect me like poison. This hour was lunch, the best time of the day, a time where I could loose myself in something that didn’t take too much focus and attention. “Hey girl, can you believe we’ve finally made it to the eleventh grade? I mean were actually upperclassmen!” said Grace Adams. Grace, or Ace, or Gracey as she likes to be called, has been my friend since seventh grade. We‘d came sisters, twin sisters at that, yet you’d never think we would be anything but acquaintances. She was a flaming red-head, tall, and lanky with a bubbly personality, while I on the other hand am…well you get the idea.
“I can believe it,” I scoff, “it’s the first day and I’ve already been assigned two AP Chemistry assignments, four pages of Calculus homework, three pages of French, and the day isn’t even over yet!”
“Please!” she says, “You’re so flipping smart you’ll have all that done in an hour at the latest, don’t start today girl, it’s our first day back.”
“Sorry, you know I don’t mean to be so-“
“-Depressing,” she interrupted.
“Yes,” I say flatly, rolling my eyes, “it’s just I’ve got so much on my hands at the moment.”
She shook her head, she knew all to well what I was referring to. We enter the lunch room together, Grace carrying her sack-lunch, and me with nothing but an empty belly lunch. We scanned the packed cafeteria in search for the sights of seats. We took a few steps inside and continued to look around, “There!” Grace exclaims, over the growing volume of chattering students. She pointed to an unoccupied table near the window, a place uninhabited by East-Lake students, trash, and various other things that could be found lying about on the floors of the high school. “So-“Grace begins casually; entwining her thin fingers together, “what class do you have next?”
“Let’s see, I believe I have Physics…” I reply questioningly, as we made our way towards the table. Once seated I flipped open my bag, and removed the small piece of paper that was my schedule from it, “yes, defiantly Physics.”
“You know I think I have that class as well….but I don’t know what period.” She takes a bite of her turkey sandwich and then she begins waving it in front of me tauntingly, I willingly gave into her taunt snatching the sandwich from her very fingers and enjoying a bite of the deliciously delectable half eaten lunch.
“Jeez, Kira, and here I thought that you weren’t hungry?” she says sarcastically.
I ponder that for a moment than shrug, “I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”
Grace laughs at my response, “Fine. I’m going to get pizza, be back in a second.” She stands, leaving the table presenting and holding herself with such, as her name was, grace and refinement. I envied her, more so than I would probably admit to. She seemed so…flawless so completely perfect. I could comprehend why I was so attached to her, she was everything that I wanted to be, and wanted to have. Awesome parents, who actually agreed and accepted everything they’re daughter did, movie-star looks, and the perfect reputation. I mean, I was pretty, hands down, but she was something completely different than the word. Hell she probably defined the word!
I remained at the table fidgeting idly while she waited in line for lunch. I realized lazily that lunch would soon be over; I moaned lowly despising how short the period was. The clacking sound of Grace’s metal tray shook me from my bitter thoughts, that shimmering sliver ringing throughout my ears, “I just went from whoa to hello!” Grace says, her eyes playing with a childish luster. She pointed towards a group of boys, who gathered around the descending stairs of the cafeteria. Through squinted eyes I peered over at them, I had previously overlooked them all when we first entered the chattering room of half-starving teens. But the one in particular that Grace seemed astonished by was center of attention among them.
He, of Asian features, stood a stunning six foot at the most; his skin was a very radiant shad of a milky cream, which appeared soft and tender at the touch. His lips were full and plump, and from what I saw he enjoyed licking them as he talked. He, like most other boys hair was the low clean cut, but it worked for him. In a way it almost defined his character….outgoing, social. His name is Dante Wong, he’d only gone to East-Lake for a year, and yet within that one year he had become the most popular boy that attended the high school. Every boy that crossed his path wanted to be him, and every girl that he met (much like Julia Evens) flocked to his arms. From last year’s encounters of him, this behavior only encourages his ego. Dante’s biggest flaw! “Oh, wrap him up I’ll take him!” Grace coos, as she stares dreamily at him.
“Grace!” I squeal, punching her playfully on the arm, “You don’t even know him. Plus you don’t exactly roll in his circles…” Though hash it may sound, I was right, and she knew it. It would be tough trying to snatch his attention when every girl here was also lining up for his number.
“To be honest I don’t understand what the big deal is, he’s not even all that fine…” I lie.
“Yeah, whatever girl, you know that if he walked over here right now and asked for your number you would give it to him, nothing flat!”
I shrugged then tossed the empty sandwich plastic wrap aside, though there was a slight possibility that I would, I wasn’t going to own up to it. In my opinion, basing a relationship solemnly on how attracted you are to that person’s looks seems oh, I don’t know around the circles of the imbecilic, and it’s rather shallow. The bell rung, signaling the end of fourth hour and the beginning of fifth: Physics, yippee.
“Students please report to the auditorium directly for your ‘welcome to the new year’, assembly. Again please report to the auditorium directly for the welcoming back assembly.” A voice boomed in static ululation over the loud speaker, the voice belong to that of the office attendant, A Mrs. Mary Williams. The entire student body stood in a hurried cluster to depart the cafeteria, weaving in and out as if the delicate needle and thread that held the school together in such a refined and fragile balance.
“See you at the assembly,” Grace said quickly, dumping her tray in the nearest garbage can.
I turned my head sharply a questioning expression lingering, silently waiting to be answered, “What do you mean? Aren’t you going now?” I ask stupidly.
“Hello, wake up. I’m on the assembly team remember? Joined last year…ringing any bells?”
The air was silent and still. I watched her leave in the clattering group of my fellow students, I started repacking my things at a snails pace, and all the students had long cleared from the scene. Leaving me alone, in a hazy curtain of slowness and melancholy that clouded the connection of thoughts in my mind.
* * *
Students spilled into the grand room, clustering around the stage that was dead center. The assembly progressed in a blur, much like the rest of the day.
An irritating buzzing sound that ceases to let up on a hot summer day while you’re relaxing outside in the sun, yes, the monotone voice in which belong to the principal annoyed me more than sitting in the musty, gum infested auditorium seats. I sat eight rows from the front and two seats over from the wooden platform, my attentiveness once again slipping in and out of focus. Our principal, Mrs. Gage droned with a lecture about how this year (for juniors only) is our SAT year, and the importance and significance the score we get plays in our future…
“Hey,” a voice came, calmly and smoothly.
I glanced up quickly, snapping my neck in the direction of the voice, it was Dante Wong standing backpack slung around his shoulder and an Mp3 player tucked away in his pocket.
“Mind if I sit here?” he asks automatically.
I looked around, gazing at all the empty seats that surround me, I shrugged and altered my focus back on the stage. Why wasn’t he sitting with his friends?
“Let me guess, you’re a writer?” he says looking towards me slightly, smiling.
“What?” I asked once again directing my full attention to him; he sat there flashing me a stunning smile, which dazzled me more so than I intended it too. Now that I was up close to him, what everyone was saying was true; his looks couldn’t be matched by anyone at East-Lake. He truly was handsome, more so than I expected him to be, his face very mature and refined masterpiece, chiseled in all the right places, two almonds shaped chocolate brown eyes that drew me closer to him with each blink, as if a hooked fish being reeled for someone’s dinner.
“Your major is Journalism, right?” he asks again, elaborating himself. “You look like, a writer.”
I could hear Mrs. Gage continue to lecture on in the background of our small talk, her words meshed together. “No, Performing Arts, and Drama.” I answer in a self-satisfied tone.
“Ah, then you must be…” he paused to collect his thoughts, “the infamous Miss Kira Thomas that Ms. Taylor keeps raving on about?”
I smiled inwardly, my insides burning slightly from my rapid yet alien excitement, it please me to hear that someone appreciated my work, unlike…my…fa…never-mind. I could feel the heat rising in my face; anger washed over me as I think back to this morning’s event, “Yes, and your Dante Wong.”
“Oh, so, you know me?” He chuckles lightly,
“No. Not really.”
“Then how do you know my name?” he asks, disappointment lingering in his voice.
I shrugged then turned back to the stage; Mrs. Gage had finished speaking and was now seated with the rest of the facility. The corners of his lips turned upward, into a smile as he tossed his black hoodie over his head then changed the volume on his mp3. Okay, he was charming; in a stubborn pig-headed egotistical male sort of way.
“Now, without further ado here is your student body president, Miss Gwynn Thomas.”
Yup, you heard that right. I didn’t mention before that I had an older sister, did I? Well, all I can say about her is that, she and Grace fall into the same category. Like Grace she is also a perfect, just on a higher level, a much higher level. Gwynn has ran this school since she first stepped through the double doors as a freshman, she’s the type of daughter that all parents wished they had. You’re all around overachiever. Not only is she the student body president, but she is also captain of the varsity softball team, head of the year book, head of most committees including homecoming, dance, spirit-week, etc. As a senior she pretty much has the right, I suppose. Unlike myself, she has to uphold some sort of honor for being the eldest daughter.
My parents hold these extremely unachievable high standards for her, which she always seems to reach no matter what they are. As you can probably tell from my brief description of her, she my father’s favorite. She walks to the podium, poised, and graceful with her head held high and proud. I sigh; my sister truly is a hard act to follow. I mean my parents must have been disappointed when they thought they were having another Gwynn, when in actuality they were getting me, this average brunette who doesn’t like to follow the rules or do what she’s told. So instead of another perfect child, they basically got a rebel.
“Good-morning, East-Lake!” She says cheerfully, as if to rejuvenate the entire student-body. “As you may or may not know here, the administration is very serious about upholding the school’s impeccable reputation. At the outset of each school year, new curricula are carefully considered along with extracurricular activities. These are debated, implemented, and as a result, classes are both engrossing and tremendously challenging. Constructed and based upon each and everyone one’s test scores, aiding us in expanding our range of knowledge and stimulating the mind. So with that said, let’s start the school year off on a good note.” She finished with a million dollar smile, I couldn’t help but jealous. She had the entire school eating out of the palms of her perfectly manicured hands.
“That’s your big sis, huh?” Dante asks, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“Unfortunately, it would seem that way, wouldn’t?”
Dante looks up from his mp3 player and goes, “Your cute, you know that,” Then simply walked away without a second glance. I’m cute? What is that suppose to mean?
I don’t know whether I should take that as a compliment or maybe it was just an observation, like oh, your face is nice so that makes you cute. Was cute decent? I don’t even know why I was so concerned about his, he was nobody. Well, not actually nobody. He was somebody; I just don’t know him personally.
Soon after my sister finished her speech, that she’s written and perfected at least twenty times before she’d ever spoken a word of it, the assembly team presented a short video welcoming the freshman to the school. The upper classmen were dismissed during this time. I was partially thankful for this, I remember sitting through that sappy, cornball student-made video. Believe me, it isn’t worth the watch, but now since we have early dismissal I have to seat through a thirty-five minutes of physics, which was cut short because of the assembly. At least I have that to be thankful for. (Two period of this class suck!)
Now I’m standing in front of Mr. Collins physics room, my backpack slung tightly over my shoulder, I go inside and can feel all twenty of the students glaring impenetrable daggers at the back of my head as walk over to my assigned seat. I know it’s mine because the teacher treats all his pupils as if we’re in the first grade, writing their names on name-tags then sticking them on the hard-wood desks. I slide into my empty second-row seat, flip open my backpack take out my brand new purple gel-ink pen, and notebook and begin writing down what Mr. Collins has written on the chalk-board. He begins today’s lecture on how the basic principle of physics is “the branch of science concerned with discovering and characterizing universal laws that govern matter, energy, space, and time.” Now I don’t know about you, but that went straight through one ear and out the other. What the hell? All that was completely over my head!
I look up slightly from my downward head position and the girl beside me is completely staring full on at me, I can feel her eyes penetratingly staring at me as if trying to melt the flesh off of my face. She’s looking me over from head to toe, in a strange passing judgmental gawk. Although it’s strange, and I may be just a little paranoid at the moment, but I think she was checking me out the second I stepped through the door. She just sits there tucking wisps of her raven black layered hair behind an ear because it keeps falling to her face. She begins tapping her French manicured nails on the desk, as if waiting for me to say “uh, hello, my name is Kira.” But I’m thinking the exact opposite, my thoughts are traveling more along the lines of “excuse me, but why the hell are you staring at me? Please be my guest to take a picture, it really does last longer.”
She straightens out her Burberry plaid skirt and then looks away. Out of pure boredom taps her black Jimmy Choo’s on the floor impatiently, clicking her tongue in sync sound. When the bell finally rings I stuff my notebook and pens inside my backpack, sling it over my shoulder than head to the hallway going directly to my slimy green colored locker. The girl from physics watches me as she walks pass, she tosses her sleek hair over her shoulder then joins few girls that are walking down the hall. They begin laughing hysterically at something she says, which leads me to believe that she’s the H.B.I.C (head bitch in charge). Okay, now what is that all about? First she stares at me for forty-five minutes and then continues watching me as she goes down the hall and probably is making some joke about me? I mean who does she think she is?
“Hey girl!” Grace says as she approaches me from the far end of the hall, “whoa what’s with the look?”
I scoff then turn away, leading her to my locker. I start spinning the lock idly lining up the numbers of the combination. Grace is leaning against the locker to the left of mine with her books clutched tightly to her chest. I switch mine then toss my backpack inside then slam my locker shut. Grace is looking at me her face truly concerned, “uh, ok P.M.S. in the house.” she half jokes, placing her free hand on my shoulder. I narrow my eyes, totally angry by the fact that she’s joking at a time like this. I scowl, not necessarily in her direction, just in general, but I say absolutely nothing as I stand there slumped against my locker my arms crossed tightly over my chest. Her smile quickly vanishes as she looks me directly in the eyes and asks, “No, but seriously. What’s wrong, K?”
Finally I just sigh and say, “This day just has been sort of stressful. My dad and I sort of had one of our moments today.” I shrug, walking towards my next class. She follows beside me, her sun-kissed face longing for me to continue. I don’t mention to her the brief chit-chat between Dante and me; it seemed so irrelevant to my frustration that I didn’t bother. The two of us head to AP English, the only class, besides Performing Arts/ Drama that we have together (and my favorite too). The thing is once we get there I totally do a double take when I see Dante sitting in the second row seat opening his backpack to retrieve the standard school book edition of Hamlet. Now I know it’s impolite to stare but I couldn’t help it, what are the odds of us having the same class? I mean if you went solemnly by his appearance, there’s no way in hell you would have guessed that he’d be in AP English. Wow, I guess it’s true what they say about judging a book by its cover. Creepy. “Do you see that Dante is completely staring at you?” Grace whispers, leaning in closer to my ear.
I don’t reply, I don’t even look back to see if it’s true because I already know it is. I can feel his eyes watching me, and it’s really beginning to make my skin crawl. I mean what is today? Stare at Kira day? I slam my books on the metal desks; Mr. Dawson is the only teacher in the whole school with metal desks. He’s a total modern day hippie, telling us he refuses to teach a class that sits on what used to be a tree then deface them by scribbling all over them. Now when I say hippie I don’t mean the whole long hair, guitar playing, folk-music singing type of hippie. He’s your free-will organic food eating, tree hugger. I look up just as the bell rings and see him stroll in as it’s a care-free world and he doesn’t have a class to teach.
“Class,” he begins as he walks to his (also metal) desk and sets down his briefcase. “Please take out your Hamlet books so we can review what all of you were suppose to have read during summer break.” I glance at Grace who is all nervous because she one of the many who didn’t read the book. And now she’s panicking as she flips through the book skimming through attempting to at least figure out the important aspects of it. I sigh and shake my head; she always does this wait until the last minute to get something done. It’s not like Mr. Dawson isn’t a understanding guy, I mean we both have had him since our freshman year and it isn’t like he doesn’t let things slide. He usually just smiles, in a compassionate understanding way then says “Don’t worry; take a few more days to catch up on the reading.”
“So Miss Thomas you didn’t complete the reading?” Mr. Dawson asks, now standing in front of my desk.
I shake my head then peer up at him slightly dazed, “What?” is all I can say. He repeats himself, saying that he asked the class to raise their hands to all that did the summer reading and was surprised when my hand didn’t go up. “Oh. Sorry. No, I did the reading.” I say bobbing and nodding my head like a broken bobble-head. Mr. Dawson went back up to his podium and then tells us to open our books to page 59 so he can clarify a really important scene that happened on that page. After I flip open my book I fall right back into my daze daydream type world not really interested in listening to his voice at the moment.
“Psst! Kira, do you know that Dante is still checkin’ you out.” Grace whispers, cupping her chin and rest her head in her palms, and leaning in toward me. “Man he starin’ hard too!” I look over my shoulder, attempting to be subtle and failing horribly at it I might add, and she’s right. He’s looking right at me, not even trying to look away. But I look away finally and focus my attention back on the board; I take a deep breath and try to calm my jittering body down. Ok, this day is getting really weird, I mean since when do I get all anxious when a fine guy looks at me? What is it about him that makes me so uncomfortable?
I took another deep breath; I just wasn’t having a good day (I convince myself) as I partially lay my head down on the desk. Having to live in my sister’s shadow for most of my life I’ve had worse days, but still this one ranks a close second. I looked up faced front, wistfully wishing that this class would hurry and end. Mr. Dawson’s head is blocking the clock that’s hanging behind him, I can’t take two whole periods of this, there’s just no way I can handle being in a class where someone is consistently gawking at me.
After school, I head straight home hating both of my parents for not getting me a car last year for my sixteenth birthday. My back is really killing me from carrying these books, and it feels like I’m lugging around a bag of potatoes. I’m supposedly going to meet Grace in an hour to do homework (mainly catching her up on Hamlet, because she has absolutely no idea what to look for in the reading) and then going to work, but with the way I’m feeling, which is pretty crappy, I might not make it. Right when the school disappears from view my cell phone rings, and I’m really shocked because I normally don’t talk to anyone on it except my mother. I stop walking and answer it feeling the pain in my back intensify as I stand straight up.
“Kira, where are you right now?” my sister asks on the other side of the phone. I can hear the annoyance in her voice as if I just ditched her or something.
I look around searching for the name of the street, “uh, on M.L K. Why?” Just as I ask she swerves around the corner in my father’s 1966 Shelby Cobra GT350 Mustang. She pulls up next to the sidewalk with a thousand megawatt smile, and believe me I had to almost pinch myself to make sure that I wasn't daydreaming again. How the hell did she convince dad to let her borrow it? After turning off the car she steps out jiggling the keys in her hand, still smiling at me.
“So, do you plan on standing there all day or do you want to drive this sexy beast?” she asks, walking toward me and dropping the keys in my hand. “Just don’t crash it, or we’re both dead.”
I smile then hop in throwing my bag into the backseat, I turn the key in the ignition and the car rumbles to life. Gywnn gets into the passenger side making herself comfortable and then I pull away from the curb and zoom off towards home. As I drive my sister inserts her new Rihanna CD, she cranks the stereo and begins singing loudly, and off key I might add. I roll down the windows allowing a little circulation of air (and my sister’s singing) through the car, if she’s going to sing at least I won’t be just me baring it.
“So how did you convince dad to let you get the car?” I ask, side glancing her. After along pause of silence I turned to face her, my mouth open wide, that’s why she let me drive because she didn’t ask for the car she just took it. “Gwynn!”
She just laughs halfheartedly,” Don’t trip little sis, Dad’s not even home. He left this afternoon on another business trip to LA.” She rolled her eyes then turns up the stereo, “Who knows when he’s coming back.” Even though my father does actually work in LA, he also lives there and he’s been going back and forth between the two houses for almost two years now. Sometimes I wonder when he’s gone for long periods of time if he’s just going to up and leave us, not that I would really care, it’s not like he takes much notice in me anyways. All his love and money are invested in Gwynn going to college and making something of herself. And honestly, knowing the truth about what my dad thinks of me really does hurt.
When I pull onto our street I start to panic because our mom’s car is sitting in the driveway. She objects to anyone driving as she calls it The Metal Death Trap, she believes that it was a waste of hard earned money and despises the fact my dad even bought it. I pull directly into the empty space in the garage next to my mom’s new 2007 Toyota RAV4, hoping that I don’t scratch it as I park. Once I shut of the engine Gwynn instantly jumps out and dashes into the house, leaving me standing outside looking like a complete idiot. Before I even step through the door I can sense my mom’s anger, like some dark ominous cloud hovering in the sky. She’s really in a foul mood, and this time it isn’t my fault. As I walk through the door I’m greeted with a long disappointed look from my mom who is standing by the staircase her arms crossed and her lips pursed standing a few inches above me with her stylish coach square glasses falling off the tip of her small brown nose. “Hello Kira.” She says simply, her eyebrow tightly knit. “How was school?” I don’t reply because I know she’s not really searching for an answer. I just stand there my hands shoved into my jean pockets with my eyes glued to the floor.
“So, you took your father’s car? After I specifically told you and your sister not to drive that hazardous contraption!” she screams shaking her head, “Do you know how dangerous that thing really is?” Again I don’t reply, because I know all she’s really wants is for me to stand there looking pathetic and pitiful. I shrug refusing to look her in the eyes and admit that I know driving dad’s car was wrong, but I mean it’s not all my fault! Gwynn is the one who brought the car to me, but of course that juicy detail doesn’t matter because she’s my mom’s precious first daughter who doesn’t rebel against her parent’s wishes and does every thing she’s told when suggested. I roll my eyes at the thought, yeah right Gwynn is totally out to sabotage me, but does she care, no! I can feel her narrowed eyes burning holes into my head. And I know that I’m really dead now.
I trudged up the stairs and head to my room, after what seemed like five hours of standing in front of my mother with absolutely nothing to say. I was at a loss for words so all I could do was shrug occasionally, nod some what and avoided eye contact which earned me the ultimate punishment of being grounded for the next four weeks. I throw open my door then slam it shut once I’m safely behind it, proving my point to my mother (and sister) that right now I am not a happy camper! Awhile later I’m lounging on my futon-bed listening to “Let the drummer kick?” by Citizen Cope, and mind you I’m playing the song so loud on my Ipod base that it’s practically shaking my computer desk, but than again I don’t care because I am the horrible second child, who completely disregards any rules set for her, plus my mom hates anything that isn’t clean friendly music. Gwynn knocks on the door, opens it then stands in the hall looking at me with guilt ridden eyes. Her body language is hesitant and shaky, and she’s refusing to hold my gaze. Oh, yeah. I got to her.
“K, look, I didn’t mean to get you into trouble. You know I always got ya’ back.” She says, giving a heartfelt
“On a real note, I thought you would ‘a booked too. I didn’t actually think you would go through the garage door. But I’m really sorry K, really I am.” I sigh then shrug, hating the fact that I am so considerate and allowing her to slide once again with getting me in to trouble.
“Whatever. Don’t worry about it Gwynn.” I say, really trying to sound sincere.
“Listen, I’ll go tell mom right now that it was entirely my fault if you want.” She says, trying to win back my sisterly trust even if it means that mom will be on her case the second she confesses. I know she doesn’t mean it, it’s written all over her face, but still it was a nice thought. I decline the offer, she breathes a sigh of relief then leans over and hugs me, because for about the millionth time I’ve saved her skin. I mean what else could I do? She’s the only one in my family who doesn’t think of me as this Big Disappointment, and even though it’s worse knowing that she’s the only one who actually cares about my existence and acknowledges it I still feel taken advantage of.
I lie back on my bed and close my eyes, dreading the fact that I just got grounded and school just started no longer than eight hours ago. I reach for my phone and call Grace hoping that she won’t trip because I can’t tutor her tonight. She picks up being her usual perky self asking me when I was coming over, and how badly she need my help. My insides get all tight as I explain that I probably won’t be visiting her house anytime soon.
“Dang Kira, didn’t school just start? I mean that must be a world-record for getting grounded before assignments are due! What the hell did you do anyways?” she asks incredulously.
“Just this whole episode with Gwynn and my dad’s car, nothing big though. It’s coo, maybe if I act invisible for a week my mom will let me off with a warning.” I reply rolling my eyes, I mean how hard can it be to act how I normally do? I’m actually praying that this whole thing will blow over, and that my mother will be so occupied with work that she won’t remember that I’m grounded. I the only reason why my mother usually leaves me alone is because she’s always fussing over Gywnn otherwise I would have had a heart attack when I turned fifteen. After Grace further quizzes me on my day, and gabs more on how cute this years juniors are we finally say goodnight then hang up. I roll over facing the wall with my many poster plastered over it. As I laid there in this pathetic curled up ball of self-pity and I realized that being grounded meant that I wouldn’t (or at least for a few weeks) be able to do early morning practices, which means that I will be in horrible conditions when Smooth auditions start. (Smooth a.k.a Smooth beat is a dance company that holds open dance auditions to the public, and also offer scholarships to those who plan on going to Performing Art colleges)
Ok, well maybe the auditions weren’t until spring break. But I still needed to be in top shape when they do roll around. I place my pillow over my head then inhale deeply hoping to successfully suffocate myself so I no longer have to think of how messed up my life truly is. A knock comes to the door, it’s Gwynn, of course, and she says that dinner is ready. I don’t respond though, I merely close my eyes and after that everything is blank.
“Kira, wake up! Your sister is leaving and if you want a ride I suggest you get up!” My mom screams, poking her head around my door. I groan then turn over. She walks in and then tares my comforter off of me then shrieks, “Kira! You slept in your clothes! Get up right now and take a shower. Kira Isabella Thomas!” After she screeches my full name I finally drag myself out of bed and head for the bathroom. Gywnn walks by me in the hall and begins her ranting about how if I just woke up when I was told than mother wouldn’t come in bantering blah blah blah. I am truly not a morning person, well that’s a lie, I became a non-morning person the minute my mom grounded me. Go figure.
I get in the shower and turn the knob so far to the right (Our temperature control is color based. Right side is red, and left side is blue) that the water could boil eggs. I wash up with two different body scrubs, shower gel, and then I squirt my favorite VO5 watermelon shampoo in my hands and gently ease it into hair feeling relaxed and at peace, until my mother starts banging on the bathroom door threatening to turn off the hot water if I don’t get out and be dressed in exactly ten minutes. I plug in my blow dryer fluffing my shoulder length brown curls dry and combing my fingers through it, and then give myself a quick rub down before slipping into my sister’s light-wash Younique jeans (she owes me so I don’t care if she gets on my case) my baby blue and yellow screen-tee that says “dancing fool” on the front of it that I bought from Forever 21, my white and black striped adidas, and my favorite fitted yellow blazer. I then grab my books, slip out the door, and then race downstairs to meet my mother.
Gwynn has already left, I know because my mother is washing all the dishes from breakfast, the sad thing is mine is the only on that remains on the kitchen table. By itself and all alone. Two pieces of toast pops out of the toaster just as my mother turns around and gives me one of her infamous looks. “Kira Isabella Thomas, eat some breakfast before we leave. Your toast is there, and your eggs are in the microwave—now hurry up, so I can take you to school!” I obey, grabbing my plate then walking over to the microwave I place the eggs on the plate then I reach for the toast and slab a giant wad of butter on both pieces. My mom is all about wholesome meals; if it were up to her I would probably weight twenty pounds more, and be wearing preppy-church school looking clothes. I shove a fork of egg into my mouth, swallow then I take a bite of my toast, once done I leave half the egg and the second piece of toast sitting on my plate. And then my mom’s eyes met mine briefly, she gives me another one of her many disapproving looks then hands me a tall glass of soymilk.
Oh, yeah, my mom is lactose and tolerate but last year when she visited the doctor he said she need some form of calcium a day, so now not only does she drink it but she forces everyone in the house to also drink it as well and it isn’t the chocolate kind that has at least a little taste to it, no it’s plain boring still unappetizing vanilla.
I take a swig than dump the rest into the sink. I’m actually glad that I’ve gotten passed the nasty gag factor of soy, believe me it’s hard to go from normal milk that actually tastes good and creamy, to a non favorable milk substitute. My mom sets down the dishes that she’s drying and reaches for her keys that are hanging on the key-rack beside the backdoor. “Don’t forget to feed your dog. Sometimes I wonder why I even bought him for you, you never play with him, and now everyone but you feeds him.” She says her arms folded over her chest. Charlie is my Dalmatian puppy, the only reason why she gets on my case about him is because my dad doesn’t really like animals and to be honest I think my mom bought him without first consulting him, not like she really needs to but I’m sure that’s what he wanted. I open the backdoor and Charlie is sitting on the lawn waiting patiently for his breakfast, his spotted tail wags vigorously once he sees me step outside.
His pink tongue is lolling about as he stands looming over his food dish eager to devour his food, I greet him with the usual behind the ear scratch and a pat on the head then I fill the metal dish with Pedigree puppy-chow and fill the second dish with water. I walk back into the house, grab my books off the kitchen table then head for car where I know my mom is already waiting for me.
The second day of school (Tuesday) is always like the first, people are always wondering around still trying to find their classes (mainly freshman), gabbing about what they did over the summer break, or just loitering in the hallways until the bell rings. So I’m making my way to physics and I’m seriously having second thoughts about going to the class, or taking it at all for that matter. I thinking about going to my counselor and requesting a change in my schedule, my stomach gets all tight in knots when I think of that princess/Barbie looking girl staring continuously at me for the full seventy minutes, which I might add is the requirement to pass this year.
I walk through the door just as the bell rings, and princess/Barbie is sitting in her assigned seat, with her Gucci purse and physic hard bound book before her, tapping her French manicure on the desk with a bored tired look on her face. This leads me to believe that this rude behavior is normal for her. However, I decided that instead of being inspected by judge Amy here, that I would try and be optimistic and not take her staring personally. Her narrowed eyes followed me as I sat down beside her, I dropped my books on the desk than slammed my hands on its glossy surface, I figured why not confront her about this whole ordeal because come on can I really be optimistic. I turned to confront her but what I wasn’t expecting was a smile.
Ok, let me explain her smile, now I don’t know if it was just me but she must have been a girl scout when she was younger because she had that creepy salesmen grin down to a tee. And she has an infinite amount of them, all of them large and completely square. The Apocalypse fell over the class as Mr. Collins entered the room; upon this she gave me a less toothy smile but a girl scout nonetheless. “Cute top,” she whispered, leaning over towards me, “Hey, I’m Megan, by the way.” There’s something smug in her voice as she says her name, I don’t what it is but it seems like she was expecting me to already know her as if she’s Paris Hilton or something. I mean I do know her just not personally, but ever since we came to this school as freshman she’s always been little Miss Popular.
“Kira.”
She pauses as if I’d just spoken in another language, “Kira?”
I nod then focus back on Mr. Collins whose standing at his podium going over last night’s homework, which of course I didn’t do because I fell asleep early. I unzip my backpack and take a clean spiral notebook and pen, and start jotting down a few things, that if I didn’t write down now I would forget later and then I would just put off doing the assignment further, which would give my mom another reason to extend my being grounded. I looked up from my notes, and Mr. Collins is writing something new on the chalkboard but I can’t really concentrate on copying it all down because I can feel Megan’s eyes wandering all over my face. I look up and smile, but this time she doesn’t smile back, she just keeps staring at me. Personally, it’s awkward having someone stare at you for a long period of time I mean does she blink?
After class Grace is waiting for me at my locker, I open it and switch out my books and shove them all into my backpack. Grace hands me half of a cinnamon scone that she saved from lunch, I pop a piece into my mouth just as Megan walks by. Only this time when she does her face is all scrunched up in disapproval, but she acknowledges my presence instead of just passing by.
“Hm, you must be Grace.” Megan says, as a statement instead of a question, with eyes narrowed.
“Uh, yeah.” She says, running her fingers through her red-hair.
Just then two girls coming toward us waving and smiling, both blonds and both are carrying Louis Vuitton bags of different size and types of course. I don’t know what it is but there’s something about owning the same purse as another person that goes against some unwritten girl rule, I assume it’s because people start to believe that your copying off the original owner or something.
“Megan!” they both say, in these entirely unbelievable over animated voices.
It’s not that I care or anything, but I mean can these girls be anymore like barbies? Oh, so plastic, and oh, so fake. I just stare at the three of them, standing in front of my locker, with these really bogus smiles on their faces and can’t help but think what the hell is going on?
“Kira, this is Emily,” she says, pointing to the shortest girl wearing a
“Hi Kira.” They both say as if they’re actually elated to see me.
“Hey.” I say, giving them a same smile as I shuffle my backpack from one shoulder to the next.
When the bell rings for English I couldn’t have been in anymore of a rush to get there. After the weird introductions, and the sudden attention from one of the “so-called” popular girls, wouldn’t you want to rush to get somewhere to think it through? After some also awkward good-byes we (Grace and I) hurry off to class, well we sort of sprinting to class wanting nothing more than to get away from Megan and her fan club. So we’re in front of the door, panting from our half-jog half running work out and Grace asks, “Uh, what is that about?” I shrug because to be honest I don’t know what that whole scenario was about. But obviously this girl scout was selling more than some peanut butter patties and thin mints.
I fling open the door (almost knocking over Mr. Dawson and bring humiliation and embarrassment to myself once more) then walk inside and slip into my seat with Grace right behind me. I throw my bag down at my feet, unzip it and pull out Hamlet and open it to the page number written on the chalkboard. Grace leans down at the exact moment and whispers, “Ok, homeboy is staring again. Is there something going on between ya’ll?” I glance over my shoulder, and to my dismay Dante is staring directly at me, not that I couldn’t feel him staring me (again) when I entered the classroom, which of course is a serious déjà vu moment, but I just nod then look away.
“Thanks for joining us, Miss Adams and Thomas.” Mr. Dawson says, rubbing his stomach. And I’m guessing that that’s the spot where the doorknob almost knocked the wind out of him from when I flung it open.
“Sorry, Mr. Dawson.” We both mumble, leaning back in our chairs.
Mr. Dawson begins reading a passage from the book, using dramatic emphasis as he read each character. It was actually impressive to listen to his voice change as he spoke, I mean being an English teacher must automatically give you acting talent as well as being able to comprehend Shakespeare. Once he sends us off into independent study Grace sends me a text message.
Grace: R U tlkin’ 2 Dante?
At first I’m a little stunned, well actually I was fully caught off guard by the abruptness of the question. I glance in her direction, shooting her a curious look, why did she want to know if I was or wasn’t seeing him. I know she’s my friend but if I was dating him, I would have told her by now.
Me: No. Y?
After getting the text she looks up at me then smiles?
Grace: D iz fine. I mite ask em out.
I shake my head while stifling a giggle, now I know that’s rather mean of me to do because I know that she’s actually being quite serious with me, offering herself up in this very vulnerable emotional way, but being realistic I see Dante dating the type of girl who looks more like Megan and her band of phonies. And by type I mean one of those wealthy, modeling beautiful girls; who does what she wants, and get what she wants. She can wander around the school and be anything she wants because she believes she’s earned that right, but she doesn’t want to be anything else, unless she were to suddenly get rid of my sister.
It actually baffles me how someone who believes that the world revolves around them and is so materialistic, and shallow can really be the most popular girl in the school (behind my sister that is) but that’s beside the point.
She’s looking at me waiting for a response, but I just sit there shrug and shove my phone back in to my pocket then start flipping through my book in a sad attempt to absorb something from today’s lesson.
By the time we make it to seventh period, which our drama/performing arts class, I am so tired of Grace talking about her plan for snagging Dante. I’m happy that she has a crush, and that she’s has her eyes set on the prize, but it all makes my stomach churn in this really annoying nauseous way. I pause with my hand on the heavy metal auditorium doors; I could hear Mrs. Riley instructing another one of her breathing exercises as she warmed up the class. Mrs. Riley is petite elderly hobbit of a woman with wide-bug-eyed wire framed glasses that cover up half of her small face, and whose hair faintly streaked blond from her younger days. She’s was actually an actress before she came to teach at East-Lake, working on shows Star Trek and M*A*S*H, and she even had a few small parts in a couple of movies.
I opened the door and all but a few people peeked around to look at us. Everyone knew that Mrs. Riley was very strict when it came to being on time, because according to her curtain calls wait for no one, or something along those lines. I walked on to the stage with Grace right behind me, throwing our things aside we filed into the semi-breathing circle and began to relax and allow the theater muse to take consume and empower us. (That’s Mrs. Riley speaking not me)
“Welcome back class, and welcome to a new year of performing arts!” she says in this exhilarated voice, as she rises from her director’s chair. Even though Mrs. Riley is on some level of weirdness that no one in the world has discovered yet, I really miss the time spent with her in class; secretly she’s the best teacher I’ve had since starting high school.
“This year we will be inviting profession instructors to teach you in the way of your art. This will extend your range of knowledge and your outlook of your art.” And then again when she starts acting like this, you can’t help but feel a little sorry for her. She goes to her briefcase removes a stack of papers then hands them to Ashley (who is seat directly underneath Mrs. Riley in the circle) who distributes them amongst us. On the sheet of paper is a list of the instructors’ names in alphabetically order and group together by talent, dance/ballet, acting, musician-ship etc.
Mrs. Riley clapped her pale hands together and we all rose from the floor with all eyes watching her. “This semester you will need to sign up for the field you would like to study. Now take into consideration that this might be the same thing you do your senior year, so choose wisely!” she shouts as we all skim over the paper. “Now, to mirror imagery!”
When the bell finally rings I go in search for my backpack that’s hidden somewhere underneath twenty other bags then hurry into the hall happy to end this school day. After school I usually work part-time at this Starbucks inside the
I toss my backpack into my employee locker; reach for my gray apron with the Starbucks logo embroidered in small green letters along the center, slide it over my head then head out to sever caffeine lovers their double shot espressos. Oh, joy.
“This place is so dry,” I moan lying my head on the pseudo-marble counter. My co-worker Vanessa rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she finishes cleaning the counter. She tosses the sponge under the counter-top, goes to the sink to wash her hands, then she leans against the counter elbows propped up to support her head and sighs loudly.
“Well, look on the bright-side, only four more hours to go.” She says, glancing at her watch. “Cheer up kiddo.”
“Yeah right, easy for you to say. Afterwards you don’t have to go back to the house of hell.”
“True that.” She says, shrugging in half caring half sympathetic tone just as a costumer walks into the store.
I tie my hair back in to the neatest ponytail I can manage and then prepare to switch to server mode. I hover over the counter putting forth half an effort to smile and be courteous; I recite the usual throwing in that the week’s newest item is a mango banana smoothie with a shot of white chocolate. The man is a usual here; he always comes in at the same time and orders the same thing. He’s a suit and tie guy, always official and never leaves his job it follows him everywhere. I wonder if he’s so up tight because his wife doesn’t understand his need to be successful, even though I’m going out on a limb and assuming all of this but she’s probably kicked him out once or twice because he stays out late working, and he spends all his time at the office, which means she hasn’t kissed him in a while.
I hand him back his change as Vanessa prepares his drink, ok so maybe I just explained my family’s life, but come on, I can’t help it if he reminds me of my dad. He shifts his permanently glued to the ear cell-phone to his free hand then reaches over the counter for his coffee mumbles an awkward thank you the leaves. I look to Vanessa who’s now munching on a chocolate chip muffin, she offers me some pushing it towards me, and then I break off a piece then pop it into my mouth and smile. Now that I think about it Vanessa actually reminds me of Gwynn, she has so much going for her with her looks, and grades, I mean the girl has won countless scholarships to the college of her choice, and yet here she is working at Starbucks with second rate me.
And within seconds I back to where I started, slumped against the register counter my forehead resting against its cool surface. I feel so washed out, and lost sometimes. I mean not that I am complaining but with the whole Megan and Dante staring at me thing and my mom completely trippin’ over the whole car/dance/school situation, I can’t help but be stressed.
“Ok, what’s wrong kiddo?” she asks looking at me.
I just shrug and go, “Nothing, really.”
“Well how’s everything at home? You and your parents getting along now?”
“Uh, yeah.” I lie, wishing that I possessed a strong enough will to make her stop talking.
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