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SAMPLES

Quote:

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes
I never knew daylight could be so violent
A revelation in the light of day
You can't choose what stays and what fades away

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۞ Ӎonica ℓucy Ӎayer

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“I need two Venti double espresso mochas, a dash of vanilla, and hold the cream, sweet cheeks.” Mona rolled her eyes when Ricky gave her his usual cheeky grin. Although he didn’t work in the café and he was only trying to help, she had been thinking about filing him for harassment. She barely had time to down her chai, how could he think up of more nicknames for her? Mona sighed and went to her espresso machine, gracefully plucking two venti sized cups from a stacked case, she pulled a few levers, pushed a few buttons, and watched the liquid drizzle into both cups. By the time she put sleeves on each one, she was already reaching for the vanilla and stirring both cups. Although the machine looked retro, Mona's mother had given it an upgrade. Mona smirked. Less than a minute and she was already onto the next order. Perhaps she didn’t need Ricky after all…

“C’mon sugarlips, I haven’t got all day… to look at dat a**.” In one swift turn, Mona placed both ventis on the counter and glared Ricky. “I’m sorry sir, but if you’re not going to buy anything, then get out of my café!” she hissed before immediately changing her contorted expression into a smiling one when she handed the customer her order. Ricky rolled his eyes and slipped behind the counter, playfully bumping into Mona’s hip with his. “Lighten up, Mona. Better yet, take a break. You’re always working,” he complained. Mona shrugged and went back to the espresso machine to fill out the next order. “It’s what I do… my job, but you wouldn’t understand something as complicated as employment,” she remarked before giving another award winning smile at her finished order and next patron. Ricky smirked and took a step towards Mona, invading her personal space. He leaned in close to her ear as his hand snaked up the side of her torso.

“No, but I do understand something about the female anatomy. It’s not too complicated…” Mona smacked his hand away and looked to the corner of the retro café. Officer Sturgess always sat there after a hard day of work, today was no exception. She watched the middle aged policeman take a sip of his coffee before wrinkling his burly mustache at its bitter taste before speaking. “Officer, arrest this man for loitering and sexual harassment.” Ricky scowled and took a step from her, already having enough run ins with the police for his extreme hover board stunts. A few patrons looked on the scene in interest; they were familiar enough with the café to overhear plenty of Ricky’s conversations with Mona and simply smiled in intrigue. Unfortunately, Officer Sturgess also knew of their teasing relationship and merely shrugged, he was on break. “Sorry miss, but I already got him for disturbing the peace.”

A few customers laughed while Mona sighed and tended to the next patron. “Well, come back when you’re on duty and bring your strongest handcuffs and nightstick why don’t you?” By the smiles and laughs she was earning from her customers, Mona sometimes thought she should give herself a raise for providing the café with entertainment. “Oh, so that’s what you like… mused Ricky, when she ignored him, he pouted and continued to follow her. “Seriously, what’s your problem?” After finishing up with her final customer, Mona turned and rested her hands on her hips. “My problem doesn’t wear a shirt and smells like cheap hair gel. Now shoo!” As if on cue, Charlotte walked in decked in a mini skirt, platforms and a very noticeable pushup bra underneath her blouse. Mona couldn’t even contemplate her outfit until after she breathed a sigh of relief. It was an hour before closing time and she could beat the clock with her best friend at her side.

Speaking of the clock… it was 10 pm… Where was Charlotte planning to go this early? Ricky gave a long slow whistle as Charlotte made her way behind the counter to give Mona a hug. “What I’d give to be in between the two of you right now.” The two friends scowled in unison before parting. Mona took another order as she eyed Charlotte’s outfit. “Seriously, where are you going?” “And can I come?” Ricky added. Charlotte gave her friend a knowing smirk as she sidled up next to her, acting too nonchalant. “Guess which non-sorority girl got invited to the infamous Sigma Chi party of the year… this girl!” she squealed. “And I can invite anyone I want. I came over so I could help you pick out an outfit for tonight. You get off at eleven.” The last part wasn’t a question, Charlotte knew Mona’s schedule by heart and always found a way to sneak some fun in her breaks. Mona frowned and looked away, earning a scathing look from Charlotte as she flipped her blue hair, reading Mona’s mind. Ricky looked on between the two, still not understanding their telepathic ways. “Not this time, Mona. You need a break and I need some eye candy on my arm.” Ricky looked mildly offended, but resisted his usual quip in the hopes of seeing a real catfight unfold.

Mona merely shook her head. “I haven’t started Dr. Whittaker’s essay.” Charlotte’s expression fell into a pout, then into one of confusion. “You’re telling me 3.7 Monica Mayer procrastinated on an essay that’s due tomorrow? I find that hard to believe.” Mona gave her friend a sheepish shrug and paused when no more customers lined her counter. She leaned against the espresso table and sighed, unwilling to admit that she was overwhelmed. “The semester’s almost over, you know how things pile up. I’ll just do the essay tonight. It’ll get done,” she encouraged. Charlotte crossed her arms and shared a knowing look with Ricky. Both of them knew how Mona overworked herself. Charlotte leaned beside Mona. “Okay, but when are you going to sleep, hm? You also have that interview Saturday with the Gazette, or has that slipped your mind too?” Charlotte pasued, trying to read Mona’s expression, but her friend appeared completely calm, a front Charlotte knew too well. “Have you thought about calling your mom?” Mona interjected. “No, I don’t need to get my mom worked up because I pulled an all nighter. It’s college, Charlotte, that’s what we do. Besides, if it starts getting too busy around here, I’ll just hire more people. Now, you go out and have fun tonight and make sure you tell me every detail tomorrow. Ricky, don’t crash on your way home and don’t get anyone pregnant. Have a goodnight guys.”

Even if Mona could reassure Ricky, there was no way she could convince Charlotte, the look on her friend's face said it all. Her knitted eyebrows, pouted lips and glossy eyes symbolized her concern for her friend. But when Mona was resolute, she wouldn’t be budged; there was nothing else Charlotte could say to change her mind. Sighing, Charlotte gestured for Ricky to follow her as they exited the café. Mona eagerly waved goodbye to the two of them, plastering on a smile that brimmed from ear to ear. Hopefully they would get off her case for a little while.

Mona sighed when she locked up the café. Although her muscles and head ached for sleep, the day was far from over. Plop. Plop. Mona looked towards the sky only to feel water droplets land and scurry down her face. Perhaps there’ll be lightning. That always cheered her up. Slipping her fingers to the hood of her jacket, she slid it over her head and began walking. Mona didn’t own a hover car of any sort; although almost everyone wanted one, this was New York City. Everyone walked. She began picking up the pace when the rain decided to fall harder. The cool rainwater slid down her neck and onto her scar, eliciting a shiver from Mona. Briskly walking past closed shops, Mona began to slow her pace, the sound of her footsteps against the rain puddles nearly overwhelmed a muffled sound in the distance. Before passing the opening of an alley, Mona paused and garnered enough courage to press her ear closer to the edge of the brick wall…

”I don’t have your money…”

”Your shoes suggest otherwise. Where are you hiding it, in your gut, perhaps…?” Mona had heard enough. She sidestepped and blocked the alley exit. Lights from the street shadowed her appearance as she took a step forward, gesturing for the mugger to desist with her outstretched hand. “Stop this,” Mona stated firmly and loud enough for her voice to carry a dull echo. She regarded the two men and when they both stared at her with incredulous eyes, something began to bubble in her stomach. Assessing the attacker’s wardrobe, black overcoat and mask with Navy Seal-esque muscles, Mona knew this wasn’t any ordinary mugging. Perhaps he was part of a gang, and the scared business suit owed them too much. But she didn’t stop to think more on the subject.

The ‘mugger’ gave his victim another shove against the wall and chuckled at the spectacle before him. A girl was going to stop him? Laughable. He muttered a 'don’t move' to the overweight suit and watched as he threw himself against the brick wall, instantly paralyzed by the greasy words that slipped out of his mouth. The gangster regarded the girl and began taking casual steps towards her, savoring every moment of her stupidity and anticipating her awaiting screams. He crudely smiled when he was a foot away from her, the stubble underneath his mask emphasized his unruly behavior. Mona could smell the stench of cigarettes in his breath, but her confidence never wavered. When he approached her, Mona balled her hands as energy began to form in her cupped palms.

“You want me to stop?” he asked as if he had misunderstood her and attempted to clarify the situation. He chuckled as he thought about the demand, letting it roll in his mouth and paused to pensively chew on her words. “Well, what are you going to do if I don’t stop?” he challenged, a stained hand snaked to Mona’s chin, his dirty fingers gripping her in a strong hold. Mona furrowed her eyebrows as her eyes darkened. “This.” Mona reacted. She smacked his hand away with her her wrist as streetlamps and traffic lights surged with light, burst then died out, which darkened the already dimly lit alley. Immediately, she blinded him with an orb of light and watched as he covered his eyes. Mona went in with a roundhouse kick, but he caught her leg and threw her down the alley.

She skidded to a stop on the muddy, gray road, groaned and got to her feet. She turned to the victim, wondering why he was still here. “Go!” she urged and watched him scramble away in the rain. Without distracting herself for too long, Mona regarded the mugger and sidestepped him just before he rammed into her. She braced the alley wall and felt energy charge her veins as photons accumulated in her palms once again. She turned, only to look up at the imposing figure that shadowed her form with ease. Mona glared. He’s fast. He threw quick and targeted punches, all aiming for her pressure points… and her face. He clipped her ears and when Mona grew tired of dodging him, he hit her dead in the chest, knocking her to the ground and the wind right out of her. He went to kick her side, but before he could, Mona sent a photon bolt at his shoe and completely melted it. He yelled as the expensive Italian material burned his foot, but was only distressed for a few moments before he growled at her. He wasn't going to play nice anymore.

He began sending volleys of punches at her, moving too quick for her hands to fire more bolts to stop his attacks. It ended with her pinned against the alley wall, his nicotine breath poisoning the air she breathed. He held a wrist in each hand and smiled sickly when she struggled. “It looks like you’re out of options.” Mona’s eyes began to light up in a blinding shade of white. “Think again.” Photon bolts blasted out of her eyes and into his path. Immediately he released her stepped back, shielding himself. Finally when Mona had felt she had gained the upper hand, two more men, dressed in the same attire as the gangster, rounded the corner and looked on the spectacle in confusion. “Tony, you’re getting beat up by a girl… What the hell?” Mona stood her ground as the three exchanged a quick conversation before putting all of their attention back on her. “She’s not normal man, she’s one of them.” Feeling her heart thud against her ribs and hearing her heavy breathing, Mona knew she was growing weary, but she held her ground and pressed on.

At first she did quite well by both startling and injuring the newcomers with her powers, but they still outnumbered her. They formed a triangle and closed it, forcing Mona to turn every which way to anticipate who would strike first. The original gangster made a dash for her arms while the other two grabbed her legs. She struggled and squirmed and shot useless eye bolts into the dark as they twisted her about. “Let me go!” she muttered and continued to kick and punch every which way. The three merely chuckled at her futile attempts at escape. The original mugger moved towards her hood. “Not until we get a look at who you are…”

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Through the crowd, I was crying out
And in your place there were a thousand other faces
I was disappearing in plain sight
Heaven help me, I need to make it right

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✭ And I'd do anything to make you stay ✭

[]

✭ Tell me what you want me to say ✭

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Quote:

Sometimes I'm open to recieve
Sometimes even when my eyes
are closed I can see
But sometimes in a matter of minutes
I'm so far down
And suddenly I'm looking up
to see the ground

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☼ Șoleil Ϻariposa Ѵentura
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“Soleil, is it? I hope I’m pronouncing that correctly---please, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself? Westford High has never had an exchange student before.” Yo sé Sol muttered to herself. Yes, when the local Americans hadn’t even heard of a Starbucks, Sol safely assumed they also had never heard of a foreign exchange program. In a small town where mountains caressed the sky and barn sides adorned murals of confederate flags, Sol imagined that Randolph, Virginia had never experienced a cosmopolitan upbringing, much less Westford High. Sol sighed, wishing she had no obligation to answer the TA as he tried to make small talk before the actually science instructor decided to arrive.

Sighing, Sol scooted her seat backwards and rose awkwardly, observing the bubblegum flavored cheerleaders, the lazily postured jocks taking up room for their prized bodies, and everyone else who tried to shrink back in their desks, hiding beneath the shadow Sol casted. “You can call me Sol if my name is too much a bother.” The words Sol had procured from her English lessons sounded as foreign to her as she was to the town. Her voice, laced with a heavy Spanish accent that made her unconsciously pronounce every letter in every English word she spoke. The first comment had elicited giggles from her surrounding classmates. She doubted any of them had every heard a Spanish accent before, much less any other accent that existed within their own country. The TA nodded encouragingly, as if his urban mind begged for a conversation relating to other cultures. Educated in a system where she had to respect her elders, Sol sighed and began what she was sure to be the first of many introductions.

I’m from Madrid, well, more specifically the outskirts, a, how you say, a type of suburb?” Again, giggles erupted from the class, Sol had a habit of saying her b’s like v’s and vice versa. “Although I learned English at my school, many Spaniards, use English almost everyday because of the tourists. My professor thought I spoke the language well and recommended me for an exchange program, so, here I am.” Sol did admit that she sounded a tad bitter, but these students probably never used whatever language they learned outside of the classroom, many of them probably weren’t taking a language at all. Sol paused longer than she should’ve, not really thinking of anything more to say and sat down, not in the mood to tell them her hobbies. She danced, Flamenco, Ballet, Hip-Hop and Ballroom. Sol, in fact, wanted to shove the desks away and twirl, letting her feet guide her as she filled her head with an eternal Mariachi band.

Over the duration of her morning classes, Sol’s mind drifted back to her home, comparing it to the host home she’d be sharing. Sol never had a father until today, and he was the typical uninvolved, working American who liked to read his paper and watch American football whenever it adorned the screen. Sol’s actual mother grew strength from the single parenthood; whenever there was a lesson to be learned, she’d made sure to point it out to Sol. Her host mother, however, remained fairly quiet and only talked in hushed tones. Dutiful and religious, she ran the home, making comments to either diffuse tension or fill the empty space overhead. Sol didn’t get a chance to talk to her new sister, Victoria, a senior and captain of varsity track and soccer. Although she was a year older than Sol, American, and fairly liked around the school, she tolerated Sol enough to make polite conversation with her. Sol respected the distance, slightly disappointed they didn’t talk about soccer, or fútbol. Sol was quite gifted in the sport, but, if Victoria found conversation with her a displeasure, Sol didn’t have to be congenial. A paper airplane landing neatly on her desk had broken her revere; Sol opened it to find the word “Spik” written all over. Crumpling it, Sol found the idea of eating outside all the more appealing by the second.

Once lunch came around, Sol found her locker and transferred her items, then closed the door on her fingers. “¡Pinche! Mierda! Joder, joder, joder!” She swore, clutching her bruising fingers as she kicked her locker door closed and turned to lean against it. Students scurried past the hurt Sol, destined to find a better place to be than beside the cussing Spaniard. Her fingers began to throb, grunting, Sol grabbed her belongings and reluctantly made her way to the office. Despite her wish for seclusion, she knew her hand needed to be looked at. Walking, Sol found, wouldn’t decrease the pain thrumming in her small fingers. Sol jogged through the halls, weaving through students as if they were dance partners she wanted to avoid.

Finally reaching the office and opening the door, Sol merely raised her bruised hand at the secretary, who had raised her brow in question. Sol was content they didn’t have to talk in order to have her point towards the nurse’s office. Once arriving there, Sol made the same gesture towards the nurse who sprang to her feet and began fluttering around Sol’s wound. “Oh my oh my, what did you do? Oh, I’ve run out of bandages, um, please, stay here, I’ll be right back. Feel free to have a lollipop.” The nurse seemed flustered and too unprepared for the training required, but Sol didn’t mind the peace and quiet. She stood, glancing through the opened door to find the office deserted of almost everyone, presumably out for lunch. Sol dug through her bag, retrieving her iPod. If anything could distract her from pain and America, it was music. Placing her earbuds in their rightful place, Sol flipped through the artists until she found her favorite Argentinian rapper. Blasting the music in her ears, Sol suddenly found her shoulders bobbing, her feet shifting weight effortlessly, and her torso moving her center of gravity at every beat. Soon, Sol found herself smiling, and began doing fancier footwork and body twists; her feet were all but a blur to her. She chuckled, shifting herself around the open room as she began to forget her day completely.

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So don't ask me how we came to be
Becasue it really doesn't matter
you see because life is but a dream
filled with ultimate distractions
Manuver your way through them and your free
If you get there first come find me

☀ And then the steetlamp in my head flips a switch and I come back ☀

Quote:

Margo
Danielle
June

"The morning after the storm is always brighter than the rest, Right?"

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┏

“Now don’t get in trouble, and if you do, make sure it’s for a good reason,” Margo’s mother, Julie, warned, patting her daughter’s small back while handing Margo her acoustic guitar case. Margo’s mouth split into a dazzling smile, a trademark of hers, as she nodded towards her mother, acknowledging her worry, but silently reassuring that she had absolutely nothing to worry about. Margo’s mother caught her daughter’s signal. She simply placed her hands on her hips and struck a pose as if she were sixteen again; this time she eyed her daughter’s driver, Marc, Margo’s work associate and one day old boyfriend, with suspicion. With the telltale wagging finger most mothers used to desist any shenanigans, Julie continued, “ And you, young man, may have charmed my daughter and even possibly myself, but if I hear any funny business going around the coffee shop or the school, your driving privileges with Margo will be suspended indefinitely.”

Although Marc was, indeed a charmer, he was twenty-one and insisted that his boss hire Margo to work in the local café near the school. The same day Margo found out she had the job, yesterday that is, was the same day she and Marc exchanged phone numbers. Although Julie’s mother senses were relaxed in general, she took note to add some reasonable doubt in this budding relationship. Margo let out a peal of laughter, her voice clear and smooth as chimes in the wind, tinkling into the ears of all who’d listen. “Oh mother, you tease. You yourself know that I’m not a, oh, how to phrase this without insulting you, a strumpet? Besides, I have a music lesson first period I need to catch, and nothing shall detain my musical inclinations!” Margo declared, speaking rather boldly and quirkily was her normal pattern of speech, and adding a little humor here and there put Margo on everyone’s good side. Like Marc, Margo was also a charmer. She smiled wide in the hopes people passing would soon have a smile too, passing energy and feel-goodness around as if it were the common cold. Marc, also stricken with the disease, got out of his truck and opened Margo’s passenger side door, “Your chariot awaits, miss,” he added, given a dramatic bow as if Margo was of royalty. Margo placed a shocked expression on her features, she was quite the actress as well. “Why mother, isn’t this what we always planned to happen?” She asked, donning a Southern belle accent, “A gentleman’s caller! Now I don’t have to live off my dowry! Besides, I love when chariots await me! I’ll see you after work mom, love ya!” With that, Margo buckled in, closed the door, and watched her mother chuckle in the rearview mirror as she was pulled away towards her destination: High school.

Although Margo and Marc made light conversation, Margo’s mind had entered another world entirely. Margo had transferred to new schools before. Knowing the high school hierarchy by heart, Margo could always stay a step ahead of everyone else, and that’s how she liked it. Although she was a trained actress, her upbeat, energetic and corky attitude was by far real and all the more emphasized in the high school environment. No one could truly fit her in a clique, so she made friends in all cliques, charmed them with real compliments and offered help, and therefore, received help in return. The ones who were never particularly close with Margo, found her strange and quite the anomaly they didn’t want to dissect. Her odd mannerisms and direct attitude were by far the best defense mechanism towards bullying and drama. Others described Margo as strange, confident, comical and unyieldingly accepting of others; this way, no one could find many qualms with her and instead embraced her as an unsolved mystery.

Arriving at school, Margo smoked a quick cigarette to keep her mind at peace, popped in a few breathmints, bid farewell to Marc, hauled her leather bag and guitar case and headed for her first day of school. In this school, no one knew Margo, and from what Marc told her about the students, they’d try to pin her down and find out all of her secrets before lunch. Margo took it in stride. She had no problem speaking freely, as well as charming others if she didn’t want to talk about it. By first glance, she was far from a prep despite her sunny disposition; wearing skinny jeans, boots, a dark sweater and a brown jacket, she could be considered alternative or even punk since she was in a band at her previous school. Thoughts of her past evaporated Margo’s smile. Margo tried to live in the present, but she had been bitter about moving for the third time in her high school career. Margo had been considered immensely talented with the guitar at a young age, which progressed to her music career at Beverly High School. Margo found her most beloved friends in music class and had started a band with them. They played at school events and even at local cafes, they were quite revered in the town. Besides the music, Margo had never felt so connected to three other human beings until the band. Once she moved, however, Margo’s sunny disposition had left for two weeks, but returned when she met Marc. Margo vowed she’d never start a band again, knowing that the connection she had with her fellow girls only came once in a lifetime, and they could never be replaced by another band she could form elsewhere. But the move was for the best, Margo knew that breaking bands and leaving friends were just the small sacrifices she had to give. There was more than one reason why her and her mother always moved, and this time, it had been dire. In this small town, no one will be able to find Margo or her mother. No one.

“Excuse me, miss, miss? Are you alright?” Margo snapped out of her revere. Since she wasn’t the down-to-earth type of girl, Margo had been standing in the middle of the entrance hall, staring at the ceiling while she reminisced. She had to recover quickly before the administrator thought less of her. “Oh, quite sorry! I was distracted by the lovely facilities around here, my previous school was never this nice in its architecture,” Margo could also improv quite well. Margo reached out an eager hand, her smile brimming from ear to ear, “I’m Margo June, and I believe I’m your newest student. Mind helping me find out what classes I have?” Like most people who meet Margo for the first time, Ms. Finley was taken aback. Most adolescents weren’t familiar with etiquette or proper introductions, so finding a student who had those attributes was surprising and a god send. “Well!” Ms. Finley replied as she shook Margo’s hand, “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Ms. Finley and I’m the school’s secretary. I’m sorry we couldn’t mail it to you ahead of time, our systems have been down, and well, our problems aren’t top priority. Just follow me and we’ll try to get things sorted out.” With that, Ms. Finley led Margo to the office where she sat at the computer, restarted it a few times, then proceeded to curse it with an old lady’s vocabulary. “Fiddlesticks! I just can’t seem to pull up the page. Well, I have you under file, but I can’t give you a copy, school procedure and all. I’ll just write it down for you.” Margo simply nodded. “It’s fine, thank you for going to the trouble.” Although Margo appeared a brown noser, every word she said was sincere and represented her own attitude. Even she knew one would catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Ms. Finley scribbled on a sheet of paper, gave it to Margo, and pointed her in the direction of her first class. Margo thanked her, looked at her schedule and walked to her locker.

Immediately, Margo found Ms. Finley had made a crucial mistake after being so flustered by the computers. She had written the room numbers and the names of Margo’s teachers, but she failed to write what classes Margo had. Margo didn’t want to give the woman more trouble, she’d simply find out what classes she had when she got to them. Sighing, she closed her locker, unsure of what to leave and resolved to bring everything. Although Margo could find her homeroom class, she noticed that the school was awkwardly built and she’d have to find someone to help her navigate the place, but she’d dwell on that later. Knocking gently on the door, Margo heard the room hush as her first teacher, Ms. Waterson, opened the door. Before Ms. Waterson could speak, Margo introduced herself. Taking a confident step forward, Margo held out her hand and began, “Hello, Ms. Waterson, is it?” Her voice rang loud and clear as a singer’s voice should, “I’m Margo June, the new student,” after shaking the teacher’s hand, who was also taken aback by Margo, the student motioned towards her guitar. “Sorry about Old Rosy here, you see, Ms. Findley forget to tell me what classes I have, and I didn’t know if I had music now or later---long story short, this isn’t music class. It won’t happen again. Mind telling me where I should sit?” Margo encountered silence. She glanced at her classmates who stared at her, drinking her in as if she were a glass of water. Margo merely smiled and waved at them with one move of her hand, furthering their surprise. She took their shocked expressions and one student’s chuckling in stride. Margo turned when Ms. Waterson finally found her voice. “Well, yes, it’s understandable. This is your first day, welcome. Since Mr. Jamison finds it hard to control himself, perhaps he’ll be more controlled sitting in the front of the class.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order. The jock in the back of the class stood, grumbling as he took his things and transferred to the front seat, eyeing Margo angrily while she smiled brightly. “In turn, Margo, you may take the only other available seat, in front of Mr. Beliveau.”

Margo nodded and took her time walking to her seat. When she finally sat, Margo placed her guitar under her seat and her bag on her desk. Just then another question popped into Margo’s mind, her hand shot up as a result. Ms. Waterson, again, taken aback, acknowledged her. Margo, smiling again, asked, “Mind informing me what class this is?” Margo received a few laughs, whether they were laughing with her or at her didn’t matter, as long as they laughed, Margo knew she had nothing to fear. Even Ms. Waterson chuckled as she answered, “English.” Margo nodded and relaxed back in her seat. Ten minutes went by when Margo realized eyes were still on her, she smiled. These kids knew nothing about her. Even her relationship with Marc, unless he told any of the high schoolers he was dating the new girl, and he wasn’t the type to do so, no one knew anything about her past other than she could play guitar.

Margo suddenly remembered she had no idea what her classes were, she turned around and eyed the kid behind her. Margo had perfected her observation skills, this kid was well liked and admired, probably a popular; nevertheless, she asked him what she confidently knew he’d answer. Not remembering his name and observing his hair color, Margo gave him a quick nickname, “Hey, Raven,” she said earnestly, letting him know the name was a term of endearment instead of an insult. “You wouldn’t mind showing the new girl where her next classes will be, would you? I’d much rather know where I’m going instead of spending the day figuring out where I should be.” Gasps erupted from the neighboring students, shocked by her audacity to even speak to the student. “Miss June, although it is your first day here, I don’t tolerate outside conversation.” Slowly, Margo turned around, plastering a smile on her face while responding in her sweetest, honey dripping, voice. “Rest assured, Ms. Waterson, I didn’t mean to exploit you. I was just asking Mr., what was it, Beliveau if he could kindly give me directions to my next class. It won’t take up anymore of your time, I promise.” Again, the classroom fell silent as every student watched Ms. Waterson’s expression. The old teacher was flustered by Margo’s extreme etiquette; she fumbled with the piece of chalk in her hand and quickly said, “well, please finish up and return your attention here,” then went back to the chalkboard. Margo nodded and turned back to the kid behind her, her voice, almost a whisper, “So, what do you say, Raven? Mind helping me out just this once?”

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"But times have changed and wars are raging underneath our skin"

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