Driving down the road towards what will be my new school for four agonizing years, the only thing I can think is that it will be better than my old town, my old school and my old life. My mom and I need a fresh start to get away from the pain of the death of my father. I need to be somewhere where people don’t give me those empathetic looks and gift baskets, the creepy stuffed animals with ‘Cheer Up!’ written on their belly. It has almost been eight months since his death. My first reaction when I heard the news was that they had the wrong guy. It couldn’t possibly be my father, the strongest person I knew who could withstand anything. My second reaction was to run, and that is exactly what I did. I ran down the street, fell to my knees and cried. That’s when the reporter took my picture. He had followed me from my house, down the street and snapped the perfect shot of a daughter at her breaking point. My father had been a famous newscaster, his death was mourned by my entire town and covered on the news that night as an ode to his life and his dedication to the news station. The reporters were at our house the minute that his death became public. Unfortunately, my mother and I were not exactly public people like my father was. Our first and only reaction was to hide in the house, curled up on the couch watching movies.The next week, I got to see my tear-stained face on the television as I ugly-cried at his funeral. Now I am in Wilmington, an ordinary town on the beach. My mom wanted to go somewhere happy and buy a little cottage in the sand, where she could watch the sun rise and set every day. She started taking culinary classes at Cape Fear Community College and here I am, heading to my first day at Eugene Ashley High School. My mom didn’t say anything as I got out of the car. I shut the door loudly and spun on my heel to take in everything. I wasn’t exactly a shy person but at that moment, I wanted to shrink away. With all these new things happening, I felt like a new person with absolutely no control over the future. I had no control over what people would think or do or say. I had a clean slate, a new page and no idea whether this new life would be amazing or just like my last. Taking a deep breath, I vowed to make it the best I could make it. I was going to show everyone just who Avery Smith is.

I slowly walked towards the front doors, head down, and eyes watching my feet as they made their way to my personal hell for the next 180 days. I could tell that people were staring at me. Maybe just to look, maybe because I stood out. Let’s get one thing straight, I did not stand out in a good way. My eyes darted from place to place, shoulders hunched, and I awkwardly walked with my arms folded over my stomach; I stood out like a sore thumb. My whole body gave off “NEW GIRL!” vibes as I looked around at all the teenagers casually hanging out around the front of the school, catching up with friends they hadn’t seen over the summer. I noticed a girl sitting in the corner by the staircase, iPod in her ears, clearly consumed by the music as if in a faraway place. She looked peaceful as her music played, her eyes closed as she smiled. As if she sensed me watching her, she opened her eyes and looked at me. I didn’t know what else to do except smile. Luckily, she smiled back. Simple as it may be, it was the first interaction I had with anyone in Wilmington. That wasn’t so bad, I thought. The warning bell rang, I pulled out my schedule to look at which classroom I was heading to first and walked up the stairs into the building.

 I trudged through hallways, acutely aware of everything around me. Squeaky shoes tried to get to their destinations, conversations buzzed all around me, silent expressions told stories, gossip flew, shocked faces of the ones who had discovered, the bell, and finally, silence. My first class was in Room 313. I was completely lost but asking for help was something I was not willing to do. These were the times I wished I had someone, anyone, who could help me. By this point, I had almost gotten used to being completely and utterly alone. My mom’s presence was almost a joke; my dad’s death had taken away almost every ounce of the passion she had for family. I hated to say that I understood but I did, so I just kept our interactions simple. No need for stress or effort, I left her to focus on everything that kept her mind off the one thing she just couldn’t bear.  I continued to walk until I once again come to the end of a hallway. That was when I saw her, the girl by the staircase.

    “Hey!” I screamed out in utter frustration. She looked at me as if I was crazy and pulled the headphones out of her ears. 

    “Please, help me! I am so lost.” She smiled again, the same smile that welcomed me outside of the high school earlier that morning. 

    “Where ‘ya heading?” She asked while keeping her smile spread wide across her face.

    “313,” I replied. I could barely stand the fact that she might be enjoying this. 

    “You go back down this hallway, take a right, pass the drink machines and keep going, take another right, then a left and you’re there.”

As I tried to keep the information in order, I looked back at her, smiled and thanked her. She nodded her head and put her headphones back in, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that she was ten minutes late for class. 

When I finally found Room 313, I didn’t want to walk inside. The anxiety of everyone turning to look at the person who was arriving late to class caused sweat to form on my forehead. My hands began to shake as I gave myself a small pep talk. 

    “It’s only the first day. I bet you’re not even the only person to be late,” I told myself. 

I stared at the door for a couple minutes before I turned the knob and went inside. Just like I had thought, all eyes were on me. The heat rose to my face as I blushed. I explained to my teacher quickly and as quietly as I could that it was my first day and I had gotten lost. 

    “Just don’t try to use that excuse tomorrow,” he replied with a sneer on his face.

I walked back to my desk, with eyes still on me. I wondered how much worse that day could have gotten.

    “Good morning class! My name is Mr. Robertson and I am your English teacher. You may love me, you may hate me. It depends on how you take sarcasm.” 

After this short and not so sweet speech, about one-fourth of the class put their heads on their desks, already having heard enough out of Mr. Robertson. I have always wanted to be a poet. English class was always my favorite. 

    “The first thing I want you to do is introduce yourself.”    

As soon as those words came out of his mouth, tension rose in the small classroom. It was the stupid name-game that every teacher makes you do. Teachers believe that this game “breaks the ice” and makes it easier for the students to get to know one another.     We are all freshman in high school. No matter what you do or how you do it, we will remain awkward and nothing can be done to stop it, I thought to myself. 

In all my fifteen years, this game had never “broken the ice” for me. As the period went on, I learned that Shelly had broken her big toe twice, moved here from Texas and brought along a very heavy country accent. I learned that Tom was a theater geek who spent his free time making dramatic faces in the mirror. I learned that Caroline loved deep-sea fishing and the Red Sox. Eventually it was my turn and I rushed to think of something to say about myself. In all the time I had been sitting here, listening to other people, I had completely forgotten that I had to say something about myself. I wouldn’t say I am unique in any way, I don’t have many talents or abilities that make me special. I said the first thing that came to mind. 

    “My name is Avery Smith. I don’t talk much, but I hear and see almost everything. I am really good at keeping secrets and I can do a back flip.” 

I sat down in my seat as everyone stared at me and I forced myself not to look around. Staring at my desk, I knew I was missing some of those looks that friends gave to their friends when they thought, “What planet did this girl come from?” When the name game had moved on to its next victim, I decided that I could probably look up. When I did, the boy in the front left corner was looking directly at me with a look I will never forget. He looked as if he is trying to figure me out, a curious expression on his face. When he saw me looking at him, his lips curved into the best smile I had ever seen, and he turned around in his seat to face the front of the classroom. I sat there, mystified, and stared at the back of his head until the last person had introduced themselves. I silently screamed at myself for not listening when it had been his turn. I didn’t even know his name. Maybe this period isn’t going to be so bad, I thought to myself as I got out my notebook and started to take notes.

 That smile. Where have I seen that smile before? I asked myself as I searched for my second period classroom. Of course, I am lost as I continued to walk down hall after hall. I couldn’t even follow road maps, none the less vague school maps that I was given in my Welcome package. Those eyes, those piercing blue eyes. They had been searching, trying to solve me as if I were a puzzle. If only he knew what the answers to his questions would hold. If he could understand the pain of my past, I wonder if he would have kept searching. No, those eyes full of curiosity knew nothing. All they saw were the remnants of my now-shattered soul. I would not let it happen again; I would be accepted, I would make friends and do everything in my power to make the best of this new part of my life. As I felt myself begin to tear up, I looked to the floor. I couldn’t help but think of the days when I strutted down the hall, my head held high and eyes looking forward at everything and everyone. I dropped my books with a loud crash. I bent down to pick them up, quickly continuing to walk so I didn’t catch anyone’s attention. I felt eyes on me and as I looked up, piercing blue eyes met my gaze. Standing next to the boy with those piercing blue eyes was the girl from the staircase. They were still smiling.

Walking into second period, I couldn’t help but think of them. Why were they smiling at me? I know I didn’t have anything on my face. Did I really give off that many new-girl vibes? Were they just strange people? I was secretly hoping that I would see one of them in my class, have someone that I could talk to while everyone else turned to the people next to them and asked them how their summer had been. It seemed as if everyone in this small town knew each other. When the bell began to ring and there was still no sign of them, I felt surprisingly disappointed. It isn’t only because they aren’t there but because this is Geometry class, a class I know I will hate. Math and I never really clicked. I think that is why I have always had a passion for literature and English classes.     

    “First things first. Assigned seats! I am Mr. Rodriquez, and I will be teaching you the wonderful world of Geometry.”

I reluctantly grabbed my book and my book bag and slugged up the front of the classroom. The teacher studied me as I walked; he wanted to see my reactions, wanted to know if I was going to cause him trouble this year. Just for entertainment, I looked at him and smirked. At that moment, I would have loved to know what he was thinking. He did a pretty good job at hiding his emotions. I sat down as he passed out old, used up textbooks. I was afraid to know how heavy my book bag would be by the end of the day.   

 “Ok class, today I am going to tell you the rules. I feel bad for the people who don’t listen because I will be enforcing them as soon as possible.” 

Mr. Rodriguez looked at me as he said this. For the first time in second period, my self confidence staggered. He seemed surprised when I looked toward my desk as though he had expected me to have a troublemaker’s reaction to what he had said. 

I will just have to keep him wondering what’s next, I said to myself with a smile.

Lunch had always been my least favorite period of the day. The noise, the crowded room, the combination of smells making you cover your nose with your hand, the people staring at you as you walk to your seat. I never knew what they were saying because all the conversations would blend together. I never knew what they could see that I couldn’t. I walked to the cafeteria line, dragging my tray as I got closer and closer to mystery meat delite. I listened to all the conversations going on around me. Apparently, Johnny kissed Stacy, but Stacy is dating Tom. Your average high school scandal. Someday, all these people would learn that hysterics like that are nothing compared to what they will face and what others are facing right now. My stomach growled with hunger even as I looked at the disgusting food on display. Three girls had begun to approach me and as I looked through my peripheral vision, I could tell that the girl in the lead had her eyes set on me.

    “Can we cut you?” She asked, already expecting the answer to be yes. I had been on the verge of saying yes even though I was incredibly hungry. 

    “No, you can’t,” said someone directly behind me. 

I turned around to see the blue-eyed guy from my first period. I stared at him, shock written all over my face. It seemed like the guy knew those girls but even if he didn’t, he had stuck up for me when I couldn’t stick up for myself. The girls stood there in surprise.

    “We weren’t talking to you.” The girl tried to conceal her embarrassment as she stood up to him. 

    “Yeah, but I’m talking for her since she obviously is intimidated by three impatient people who think they are better than everyone else.” 

    Obviously defeated, they rolled their eyes and walked away.

    “Thank you,” I said. My legs were shaking from the interaction.

    “You’re welcome; Let me introduce myself since all you know about me is that my name is Keith and I love nature. Those name-games never get any better.” 

I didn't tell him that I hadn't paid attention to him when it was his turn in the name game.     “Well, my name is Keith Truman. I love nature, and you are possibly the most fascinating person I have ever seen.” 

I looked at him for a couple seconds and said with a smirk on my face.

     “Is that another way to call me ugly?” 

He looked surprised at my accusation. 

    “Absolutely not! Now, I suggest you move, you are holding up the line.” 

I looked around and realized it was my turn to get food. I blushed, got my food and met him at the checkout line. 

    “By the way, you are definitely not ugly.” 

As he walked away, I watched him go and I held up the line once again. Yes, this was definitely the most interesting day of school I have ever had, I said to myself as I took my tray and sat down at an empty table.