Page 12 of Heartthrobs Don't Date Wallflowers
No I didn’t
Ivy
Yes you did??
Not Zesty
oH would you look at that, I’m getting a phone call
Gtg BYE
Ivy
ZESTY
ZESTY GET BACK HERE
IF YOU DON’T ANSWER, YOU’RE AT THE TOP OF THE LIST AGAIN
four
“Areyou excited for your first day of school?” Mom asked brightly.
I could feel her glancing at me every couple of seconds, in a way that seemed unsafe given that she was also driving at the same time, but I kept my eyes focused on the school building that was getting closer and closer. I twisted a loose thread from my backpack around my finger so tight I thought it might just snap off.
“Just think of it as an adventure!” She chirped when I didn’t answer. Great, another pep talk. Seriously, she pulled this line out every time I started at a new school, like I was about to star in some feel-good movie, instead of being the awkward background character. The one who trips over her own feet and ends up standing in the corner, praying nobody sees her.
“More like a horror movie,” I muttered under mybreath, but Mom was too busy enjoying her own hopeful daydreams to hear me. I wondered if she knew that most of my first days of school ended with me eating lunch alone on the bleachers and pretending to be super interested in my phone even though I had no texts.
I glanced at my reflection in the car side mirror. I thought pulling my curly brown hair into two braids had looked cute when I left the house, but now I was questioning everything. Some loose strands had escaped the hold and were framing my face in a way that could look cute on anyone else but looked horrific on me. And that wasn’t even mentioning how much I hated the school’s uniform—my options of polo shirts were yellow, white or navy, for crying out loud. White might have been fine if I wasn’t certain I’d spill something on it at lunch and have a stupid stain on my chest for the rest of the day, so I’d gone for navy, but it made me look washed out. And the splash of lip gloss I’d put on as a last minute touch before I left the house was supposed to make me look more put-together but I could see now that it was way too shiny and I had no good way of rubbing it off before I got inside.
In short: I was a mess. Just like I had been from the moment I arrived in this stupid town.
“Okay, you’re here,” Mom said. I pried my eyes open to find us parked at the front of the drop-off line and facing a bunch of half-asleep students walking into the building, looking like they were about to face a firing squad. In contrast, Mom sounded like amotivational speaker as she said, “Time to face the day! You’re going to crush it!”
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, forcing a smile as I opened the door.
“Remember,” she called just as I stepped out, “just be yourself!”
Sure, because being myself had worked out so well the first sixteen years of my life.
I shuffled toward the entrance and kept my chin down, avoiding eye contact with anybody. If I was lucky, maybe I could get through this whole day without having to actually talk to anyone. Each step felt like a countdown to disaster, and I was one more nervous thought away from diving behind the nearest plant and hiding there until the end of the day.
But, miracle of miracles, I made it all the way to the office without any embarrassing moments. A serious upgrade from my last first day, when I wiped out on a wet floor in front of everyone. The worst part? Not a single person stopped to help—just walked around like it was totally normal to leave the new kid lying face-down on the floor.
A bell chimed above the door in the office, like I was walking into a store, and the secretary sitting at the desk looked up. “Can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m…” For a second, I actually forgot my own name. My mind went completely blank. I had to blink a few times before I said, “Ivy. Ivy Wade. I’m new.”
“Oh, welcome, Ivy! We alwayslove to see new faces around here,” she said, typing something into her computer. “Let me just pull up your schedule.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, glancing around the office. Luckily there weren’t any other students. The waiting area was small and squished, and I wasn’t sure more than two of us would be able to stand side-by-side here. It seemed like a fire hazard.
“Looks like you’re in Room 304 for first period,” she said, finally looking back at me with a friendly smile. “That’s Ms. Miller’s English class. You’ll like her. She’s really engaging.”
“Great,” I replied, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I felt. I wondered what ‘engaging’ really meant. Was that code forlots of homeworkorI’m about to make you recite Shakespeare in front of the whole class?
The door creaked open again behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of someone stepping into the office. I turned my focus back to the secretary, hoping that we could get through this quickly, before whoever-it-was got impatient.
