On their first day of ninth grade, all students are considered "The New Kid." In my case, the newness was especially intense, for two reasons: 1. My parents had decided to extend my summer vacation, because “your grandparents could really use the company,” so I missed the first few weeks of freshman year, and 2. I was the only student from my elementary school attending this high school. I would have been nervous on my first day of high school even if it hadn't gone horribly wrong right from the first second.
Here's how it started: my mom pulled into the school’s parking lot. Reluctantly, I got out of the car and began walking toward the red door across the lot, lugging my oversized backpack. I swung open the red door and was immediately bombarded by the smell of gym-sock-scented Axe spray. Holding my breath, I walked further into the fumes. Then someone—a boy—screech, “A GIRL!” Confused, I started to continue in the same direction, when I noticed something stuck to my foot. I lifted my shoe up off the ground, gave it a good shake, and...a white jockstrap fell to the floor. It was then that I realized that I'd entered school via the boys’ locker room. After running like an idiot for a few minutes, I came across a door that read “Foyer,” and nearly broke its handle in an effort to open it.
The gag-inducing aroma had dispersed, but in its place, a whole new fear had emerged. There in front of me stood what looked like the entire student body, from grades nine to twelve. Some kids huddled in groups, some danced to the tunes on their iPods; some chased a group of underclassmen (or minors, as we say in Canada), some ate the breakfast they'd purchased from the vending machine. The word “zoo” echoed over and over again in my mind. A number of heads turned in my direction, and whispers filled the air. I could make out one phrase: “The New Kid.”
I was saved by the sound of the school bell, which put an end to the cold stares and rude whispers. Everyone was now running to class. Relieved, I dug into my pocket and unfolded the course schedule I’d received last month. Under the column marked “Day One,” my first class was listed as “ENG1D1-06” in Room 222. After investigating the halls of the first floor for about ten minutes, I realized that the room numbers ranged from 100-199. I dashed up the stairs and finally found Room 222.
Before knocking on the door, I glanced at my watch. It was 9:00 a.m., and I was fifteen minutes late. Standing on tiptoes, I peeked through the glass pane. The teacher appeared to be taking attendance. In hopes of getting a better view of the class, I shuffled over to the left side of the pane, but regretted it instantly. Just as the faces came into view, a number of heads turned towards me, a student raised his hand and gestured towards the door, and the teacher headed over with a big smile on her face. Before I knew it, she’d opened the door, given me a bear hug, and dragged me to the front of the classroom. “We’ve been expecting you, Thagsana! We’re so happy to finally meet you!” she said. Clearly, by "we," she meant "I." I smiled in an effort to appear harmless, and scanned the room in hopes of finding an empty seat. Instead of a free chair, I saw some students with perplexed expressions on their faces, some passing notes, some rubbing their hands together, and some pointing at my oversized bag. “There aren’t any chairs left,” I said. The teacher pointed towards her desk, and I watched as her smile grew larger.
As I took a seat on the teacher's black leather stool, trying to ignore the whispers and laughter in the air, I wondered if my nickname would change from New Kid to Black Leather Stool Girl. Or Oversized Backpack Girl. Or possibly Locker Room Girl. The embarrassing possibilities were endless!
By: Thagsana_R
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